kimaracretak (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fiachairecht) wrote2019-11-16 07:32 pm
fiachairecht) wrote2019-11-16 07:32 pm
Entry tags:
fic: the moon that breaks the night (undeadwood | miriam/arabella | m)
Have yet to see the Undeadwood finale but have been thoroughly spoiled and am super pleased! I feel like m/m fix-it is gonna be the next and possibly forever big thing in this fandom, which means I am once again wildly missing the fannish zeitgeist by showing up with praise kink-y werewolf femslash, but consider: praise kink-y werewolf femslash is Best. Also for my ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ladiesbingo square 'werewolves', which I had not expected to have filled so soon!
Title: the moon that breaks the night
Fandom: UnDeadwood
Characters: Miriam/Arabella
Rating/Warnings: M, sex, werewolf Arabella (not particularly relevant to the sex), praise kink (very relevant to the sex)
Summary: Miriam helps Arabella take her mind off things.
After the men have dispersed, Arabella watches Miriam cradle her gun in her arms and lean back against the bullet-scored wood of the Grand Central hotel. The town is still lit up like a firecracker, but the streets are deserted in a way Deadwood never gets. Under the unnatural silence, Arabella says, "I, uh. Expect I should be getting home."
But she doesn't move. Doesn't even turn away. Miriam has that effect on her, she's learning, and more than that, she's learning that she doesn't even mind.
"It's not a good night to be walking," Miriam says, eyes fixed on Arabella's. "Not even for someone like you."
Like you. The words lodge somewhere beneath Arabella's breastbone, and she opens her mouth to wonder what Miriam could possibly think she knows about her, but Miriam gestures to the Colt at her hip.
"Just because we took down this lot doesn't mean I want you to have to face any more on your own. My room has space if you don't mind staying close."
Arabella's never been much for small rooms, and she knows full well how much trouble she might face in the morning if Mr Whitlock knows when she slipped home. But with a night as full of crazy shit as this one's been, she thinks maybe one thing more can't hurt.
"I think I just might," she says, and Miriam's smile grows. It's the real smile, the one she's only worn for Arabella all day that says nothing about power and everything about things Arabella hasn't seen much of in her life.
It's enough to ease the burn of the silver at her waist as she steps over the hotel's threshold and casts one last glance at the moon, enough that once she's inside she immediately accepts Miriam's proffered arm. Enough that, as Miriam leads her up the stairs, she can put aside the familiar ache in the hinges of her jaw in favour of remembering the sweet burn of Miriam's whisky on her tongue.
Miriam unlocks her door without looking at lock or key, eyes fixed on Arabella. Arabella herself mostly just watches Miriam's hands, wondering how they stayed so steady.
Might be the drink. Might be Miriam has more secrets than most of their little hunting band, not that Arabella was keeping track more than casually.
She follows Miriam inside, not that the insistent hand at the small of her back gives her much choice. And once they're both safely inside the small room, Miriam locks the door again, the scrape of metal on metal echoing in Arabella's ears.
Maybe they were safer now. Maybe they'd never be safe again.
"You're not dead," Miriam says.
Arabella raises an eyebrow as she divests herself of hat and gloves. "Neither are you. Neither are any of us, which is more than I can say for -"
"You're not like me, though," Miriam cuts her off before she can finish the sentence. "Not alive. Or maybe just ..." she walks closer, reaches up to grip Arabella's chin in her tiny strong hand, and Arabella's teeth ache. "Maybe you're just differently alive, hm?"
There's a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, and although she doesn't wink Arabella feels like she's been caught in some kind of power anyway. Tongue-tied, just like the men, and not even in a very pleasurable sort of way.
"I'm as alive as you," she says, carefully. Miriam hasn't let go of her chin, but Arabella can see her other hand, not reaching for her gun but not far from it either. "I'm maybe a little more ..." she licks her lips, uncertain. Cynthia was always the one with better words for this sort of thing; Arabella hasn't explained her condition to anyone in years. "I'm a little more in touch with certain ... aspects of my character."
Miriam purses her lips, and Arabella can almost see her brain working, picking up the pieces and putting them together. Like Mr Whitlock with his puzzles, but ever so much more attractive. "Aspects that revolve around the moon and your herbs?"
It's not really a question. Arabella nods, and Miriam's fingernails bite into her skin with every movement of her head. The sting is grounding, in a way Arabella would never have expected.
"Aspects that you can control?" This time, her tone is sharp enough that Arabella knows a real answer is being asked for.
"Yes, ma'am," she says automatically.
The ma'am slips out without her even meaning to, but Miriam's whole face lights up at the words. She drops Arabella's chin only to grab her hand with both of hers, and says, "Good girl."
Her approval is fierce and bright as the sun, and it makes Arabella weak in the knees like nothing she's ever felt. "I do try," she says, eyes downcast, and Miriam just smiles, sweet and secret. "It helps, sometimes. Having someone like you around."
Miriam raises an eyebrow, all innocence. "Someone like little old me?"
Arabella would almost believe her, except for how tight Miriam was holding on to her hands, how easily her fingers tapped against the veins of her wrists like she already knew exactly what kind of blood was there. "Yeah," she says, and God damn them both but Miriam was gonna make her say every single word. "Someone with - with a firm hand. Who's gonna notice the wolf and still not run."
And Miriam sure as shit isn't running. Miriam is raising their clasped hands to her mouth so she can kiss the backs of Arabella's hands, her tongue dipping into the hollows between her knuckles just a little too intentional to be innocent. Miriam's looking up from under her eyelashes, taking a half a step back and daring Arabella not to follow her.
Arabella follows her. She's a proud woman, always has been, but anything else is unthinkable, even after all the unimaginable things they've seen today.
Miriam walks them back until she's sitting on the edge of her bed, Arabella trapped between her thighs. "Oh, darling, I don't think this is the wolf," she murmurs. One hand still tangled with Arabella's the other now tapping lightly at Arabella's hip, and even through their layers of skirts Arabella can feel the heat of her, the scent of dust and sweat and perfume pooling at the back of her tongue. "I think this is just Arabella Livingstone, in desperate need of a night without her husband, or anything else that might be found in Deadwood."
She's right, and still the last vestiges of Arabella's caution - her sister's old caution - tie her tongue. Arabella shifts her weight from foot to foot, and the side of her leg presses against the hard shape of metal against Miriam's thigh.
Her pistol. Arabella looks down in time to see a shiver run through Miriam's whole body, the sort of thing she thinks might look put on if it was one of the girls at the Bella Union - if it was Arabella herself, too few nights ago.
On Miriam, though, it just looks like freedom, and desire and jealousy both pierce through Arabella's heart like a railroad spike, pushing her to speak. "Might be you're not wrong," she says with difficulty, and Miriam licks her lips. "Might be I've seen a lot of shit recently and could use some help getting reacquainted with some ... nicer, more familiar things."
The ring that keeps her wolf at bay is still cold on her finger, and that's all that keeps Arabella's mind from straying too far down the path of what Miriam might be when her grin turns positively feral. "Mind I said I'd never let a woman drink alone," Miriam says, pulling Arabella even closer until she can press her nose against Arabella's stomach, so close to where Arabella wants her that there could be absolutely no mistaking her intent. "I don't tend to let them eat alone, either. We need to stick together."
Her voice is wicked and kind all at once, and Arabella doesn't quite think she trusts her but goddamn does she want her, want to kneel between Miriam's legs and push up her skirts and feel that strong hand on the back of her head like something better than safety. "I'm here," she says, and marvels at how steady her voice sounds. "Aren't I? Together."
"Don't see you doing much about it, though." Miriam lets her legs fall open, and the invitation is more than enough to silence Arabella's protest at the diminished touch. "You want something to quiet that beautiful mind of yours. Show me."
It's not enough of a command to make Arabella flinch, but it's firm enough to soothe the aching knot of too much in her chest. Arabella goes to her knees carefully, one leg at a time, sinking to the floor with a slowness that belies how eager she is to touch, to taste. She doesn't know how Miriam's struck that balance, doesn't know how lucky she got to happen upon Miriam in this empty world, but she'll take it.
Arabella looks up when there's only cool wood beneath her knees, the uneven texture bleeding through her skirts and Miriam's warm eyes above her. She rests her hands on Miriam's calves, squeezes lightly and is rewarded with a pleased sigh. "Good girl. There's a start."
"Yeah?" Arabella says quietly, sliding Miriam's skirts up until they're bunched around her waist. Beneath, she's wearing stockings and silver garters, and even though it's not yet her bare skin Arabella leans forward to press her lips to Miriam's shin, to her knees. Miriam doesn't say anything, just shifts until she's no longer sitting on her dress, and Arabella takes that for encouragement.
She noses at Miriam's inner thigh, more a promise than a touch, and still the scent of her is sharp and hot and almost overwhelming. Arabella's hunger and the wolf's always did align well; she nudges even closer, up towards where Miriam's wet and hot and waiting, and she knows she's done well when Miriam reaches down and fists a small hand in her hair. "Look at me," she says, and Arabella doesn't just so she can feel the burn as Miriam tugs her head up, excitement skittering down her body like sparks along a dynamite fuse.
"Yes?" It comes out softer than she'd intended, and a half-smile pulls at Miriam's lips like she knows every damned desire that crosses Arabella's mind.
"Set my gun aside. Lest you want your mouth on it as well."
It's a thrill - more of a thrill than it should be, the idea of Miriam's gun in her mouth, both of them well aware it couldn't kill her even if Miriam did pull the trigger and leave her throat wrecked. The thought sobers her enough to start pulling at the buckles of Miriam's thigh holster. "Due respect, Miss Miriam, that's the sort of thing I only do when I know a lady a little better."
Miriam's eyes narrow like she knows full well that behind those words is a woman who's never done anything of the sort, no matter how many times she'd buried her fingers between her legs and thought about it, but she does Arabella the courtesy of not pointing it out. "Best get to knowing, then," she says, and Arabella nearly stabs herself with the clasp of the last buckle at the promise that Miriam's not not giving her.
She finishes getting the buckles undone and slides gun and holster alike across the floor, and the sound of them hitting the bureau's leg is drowned in Miriam's laughter. Arabella gets Miriam's knickers off with fewer complications, and Miriam's voice stutters into breathless silence when Arabella finally gets her mouth on her.
Miriam's hot, hotter than the barrel of a just-fired gun, the skin of her cunt is flushed against Arabella's tongue and she tastes even better than she'd smelled. And she was right about the rest, too, it's hard to remember there's a world outside Miriam's skin when they're pressed together like this, Arabella's chin wet with Miriam's slick and her scalp stinging with the burn of Miriam's nails.
"Oh," Miriam finally whispers, and soft as it is the sound filters through the haze around her, draws Arabella's attention back to the throbbing between her own legs and the way Miriam's voice just makes it worse. "Clever girl. Hungry wolf."
Arabella groans, and only the way Miriam's trembling against her lips and hands has her resisting the urge to lie back and see what she might let Miriam do to her.
She knows she'll find out soon enough - Miriam's close already, sliding further to the edge of the bed to push herself harder against Arabella's mouth. She wants to go slow, draw out their moments alone out of time and the rare quiet in her mind, but when she glances up at Miriam to see her chest heaving, eyes shut and sweat beading at her temples, she thinks it wouldn't matter even if she did.
"Don't worry," Miriam says, and Arabella wonders if she's spoken aloud or if Miriam's just responding to the slowed pace of her tongue. "This is far from all we'll do tonight."
That, at least, Arabella can trust her with easily, and she dips her tongue back between Miriam's lips with renewed eagerness.
"Good," Miriam sighs, and Arabella makes a soft, pleased noise against her skin. In the morning, when she starts thinking again, she'll have to decide how much trust she's willing to place in Miriam, what she'll do to feel like this again. But for now, she and the wolf are both content to focus all their energy on pushing Miriam even deeper into pleasure, and on following her down.
ladiesbingo square 'werewolves', which I had not expected to have filled so soon!Title: the moon that breaks the night
Fandom: UnDeadwood
Characters: Miriam/Arabella
Rating/Warnings: M, sex, werewolf Arabella (not particularly relevant to the sex), praise kink (very relevant to the sex)
Summary: Miriam helps Arabella take her mind off things.
After the men have dispersed, Arabella watches Miriam cradle her gun in her arms and lean back against the bullet-scored wood of the Grand Central hotel. The town is still lit up like a firecracker, but the streets are deserted in a way Deadwood never gets. Under the unnatural silence, Arabella says, "I, uh. Expect I should be getting home."
But she doesn't move. Doesn't even turn away. Miriam has that effect on her, she's learning, and more than that, she's learning that she doesn't even mind.
"It's not a good night to be walking," Miriam says, eyes fixed on Arabella's. "Not even for someone like you."
Like you. The words lodge somewhere beneath Arabella's breastbone, and she opens her mouth to wonder what Miriam could possibly think she knows about her, but Miriam gestures to the Colt at her hip.
"Just because we took down this lot doesn't mean I want you to have to face any more on your own. My room has space if you don't mind staying close."
Arabella's never been much for small rooms, and she knows full well how much trouble she might face in the morning if Mr Whitlock knows when she slipped home. But with a night as full of crazy shit as this one's been, she thinks maybe one thing more can't hurt.
"I think I just might," she says, and Miriam's smile grows. It's the real smile, the one she's only worn for Arabella all day that says nothing about power and everything about things Arabella hasn't seen much of in her life.
It's enough to ease the burn of the silver at her waist as she steps over the hotel's threshold and casts one last glance at the moon, enough that once she's inside she immediately accepts Miriam's proffered arm. Enough that, as Miriam leads her up the stairs, she can put aside the familiar ache in the hinges of her jaw in favour of remembering the sweet burn of Miriam's whisky on her tongue.
Miriam unlocks her door without looking at lock or key, eyes fixed on Arabella. Arabella herself mostly just watches Miriam's hands, wondering how they stayed so steady.
Might be the drink. Might be Miriam has more secrets than most of their little hunting band, not that Arabella was keeping track more than casually.
She follows Miriam inside, not that the insistent hand at the small of her back gives her much choice. And once they're both safely inside the small room, Miriam locks the door again, the scrape of metal on metal echoing in Arabella's ears.
Maybe they were safer now. Maybe they'd never be safe again.
"You're not dead," Miriam says.
Arabella raises an eyebrow as she divests herself of hat and gloves. "Neither are you. Neither are any of us, which is more than I can say for -"
"You're not like me, though," Miriam cuts her off before she can finish the sentence. "Not alive. Or maybe just ..." she walks closer, reaches up to grip Arabella's chin in her tiny strong hand, and Arabella's teeth ache. "Maybe you're just differently alive, hm?"
There's a smile playing at the corner of her mouth, and although she doesn't wink Arabella feels like she's been caught in some kind of power anyway. Tongue-tied, just like the men, and not even in a very pleasurable sort of way.
"I'm as alive as you," she says, carefully. Miriam hasn't let go of her chin, but Arabella can see her other hand, not reaching for her gun but not far from it either. "I'm maybe a little more ..." she licks her lips, uncertain. Cynthia was always the one with better words for this sort of thing; Arabella hasn't explained her condition to anyone in years. "I'm a little more in touch with certain ... aspects of my character."
Miriam purses her lips, and Arabella can almost see her brain working, picking up the pieces and putting them together. Like Mr Whitlock with his puzzles, but ever so much more attractive. "Aspects that revolve around the moon and your herbs?"
It's not really a question. Arabella nods, and Miriam's fingernails bite into her skin with every movement of her head. The sting is grounding, in a way Arabella would never have expected.
"Aspects that you can control?" This time, her tone is sharp enough that Arabella knows a real answer is being asked for.
"Yes, ma'am," she says automatically.
The ma'am slips out without her even meaning to, but Miriam's whole face lights up at the words. She drops Arabella's chin only to grab her hand with both of hers, and says, "Good girl."
Her approval is fierce and bright as the sun, and it makes Arabella weak in the knees like nothing she's ever felt. "I do try," she says, eyes downcast, and Miriam just smiles, sweet and secret. "It helps, sometimes. Having someone like you around."
Miriam raises an eyebrow, all innocence. "Someone like little old me?"
Arabella would almost believe her, except for how tight Miriam was holding on to her hands, how easily her fingers tapped against the veins of her wrists like she already knew exactly what kind of blood was there. "Yeah," she says, and God damn them both but Miriam was gonna make her say every single word. "Someone with - with a firm hand. Who's gonna notice the wolf and still not run."
And Miriam sure as shit isn't running. Miriam is raising their clasped hands to her mouth so she can kiss the backs of Arabella's hands, her tongue dipping into the hollows between her knuckles just a little too intentional to be innocent. Miriam's looking up from under her eyelashes, taking a half a step back and daring Arabella not to follow her.
Arabella follows her. She's a proud woman, always has been, but anything else is unthinkable, even after all the unimaginable things they've seen today.
Miriam walks them back until she's sitting on the edge of her bed, Arabella trapped between her thighs. "Oh, darling, I don't think this is the wolf," she murmurs. One hand still tangled with Arabella's the other now tapping lightly at Arabella's hip, and even through their layers of skirts Arabella can feel the heat of her, the scent of dust and sweat and perfume pooling at the back of her tongue. "I think this is just Arabella Livingstone, in desperate need of a night without her husband, or anything else that might be found in Deadwood."
She's right, and still the last vestiges of Arabella's caution - her sister's old caution - tie her tongue. Arabella shifts her weight from foot to foot, and the side of her leg presses against the hard shape of metal against Miriam's thigh.
Her pistol. Arabella looks down in time to see a shiver run through Miriam's whole body, the sort of thing she thinks might look put on if it was one of the girls at the Bella Union - if it was Arabella herself, too few nights ago.
On Miriam, though, it just looks like freedom, and desire and jealousy both pierce through Arabella's heart like a railroad spike, pushing her to speak. "Might be you're not wrong," she says with difficulty, and Miriam licks her lips. "Might be I've seen a lot of shit recently and could use some help getting reacquainted with some ... nicer, more familiar things."
The ring that keeps her wolf at bay is still cold on her finger, and that's all that keeps Arabella's mind from straying too far down the path of what Miriam might be when her grin turns positively feral. "Mind I said I'd never let a woman drink alone," Miriam says, pulling Arabella even closer until she can press her nose against Arabella's stomach, so close to where Arabella wants her that there could be absolutely no mistaking her intent. "I don't tend to let them eat alone, either. We need to stick together."
Her voice is wicked and kind all at once, and Arabella doesn't quite think she trusts her but goddamn does she want her, want to kneel between Miriam's legs and push up her skirts and feel that strong hand on the back of her head like something better than safety. "I'm here," she says, and marvels at how steady her voice sounds. "Aren't I? Together."
"Don't see you doing much about it, though." Miriam lets her legs fall open, and the invitation is more than enough to silence Arabella's protest at the diminished touch. "You want something to quiet that beautiful mind of yours. Show me."
It's not enough of a command to make Arabella flinch, but it's firm enough to soothe the aching knot of too much in her chest. Arabella goes to her knees carefully, one leg at a time, sinking to the floor with a slowness that belies how eager she is to touch, to taste. She doesn't know how Miriam's struck that balance, doesn't know how lucky she got to happen upon Miriam in this empty world, but she'll take it.
Arabella looks up when there's only cool wood beneath her knees, the uneven texture bleeding through her skirts and Miriam's warm eyes above her. She rests her hands on Miriam's calves, squeezes lightly and is rewarded with a pleased sigh. "Good girl. There's a start."
"Yeah?" Arabella says quietly, sliding Miriam's skirts up until they're bunched around her waist. Beneath, she's wearing stockings and silver garters, and even though it's not yet her bare skin Arabella leans forward to press her lips to Miriam's shin, to her knees. Miriam doesn't say anything, just shifts until she's no longer sitting on her dress, and Arabella takes that for encouragement.
She noses at Miriam's inner thigh, more a promise than a touch, and still the scent of her is sharp and hot and almost overwhelming. Arabella's hunger and the wolf's always did align well; she nudges even closer, up towards where Miriam's wet and hot and waiting, and she knows she's done well when Miriam reaches down and fists a small hand in her hair. "Look at me," she says, and Arabella doesn't just so she can feel the burn as Miriam tugs her head up, excitement skittering down her body like sparks along a dynamite fuse.
"Yes?" It comes out softer than she'd intended, and a half-smile pulls at Miriam's lips like she knows every damned desire that crosses Arabella's mind.
"Set my gun aside. Lest you want your mouth on it as well."
It's a thrill - more of a thrill than it should be, the idea of Miriam's gun in her mouth, both of them well aware it couldn't kill her even if Miriam did pull the trigger and leave her throat wrecked. The thought sobers her enough to start pulling at the buckles of Miriam's thigh holster. "Due respect, Miss Miriam, that's the sort of thing I only do when I know a lady a little better."
Miriam's eyes narrow like she knows full well that behind those words is a woman who's never done anything of the sort, no matter how many times she'd buried her fingers between her legs and thought about it, but she does Arabella the courtesy of not pointing it out. "Best get to knowing, then," she says, and Arabella nearly stabs herself with the clasp of the last buckle at the promise that Miriam's not not giving her.
She finishes getting the buckles undone and slides gun and holster alike across the floor, and the sound of them hitting the bureau's leg is drowned in Miriam's laughter. Arabella gets Miriam's knickers off with fewer complications, and Miriam's voice stutters into breathless silence when Arabella finally gets her mouth on her.
Miriam's hot, hotter than the barrel of a just-fired gun, the skin of her cunt is flushed against Arabella's tongue and she tastes even better than she'd smelled. And she was right about the rest, too, it's hard to remember there's a world outside Miriam's skin when they're pressed together like this, Arabella's chin wet with Miriam's slick and her scalp stinging with the burn of Miriam's nails.
"Oh," Miriam finally whispers, and soft as it is the sound filters through the haze around her, draws Arabella's attention back to the throbbing between her own legs and the way Miriam's voice just makes it worse. "Clever girl. Hungry wolf."
Arabella groans, and only the way Miriam's trembling against her lips and hands has her resisting the urge to lie back and see what she might let Miriam do to her.
She knows she'll find out soon enough - Miriam's close already, sliding further to the edge of the bed to push herself harder against Arabella's mouth. She wants to go slow, draw out their moments alone out of time and the rare quiet in her mind, but when she glances up at Miriam to see her chest heaving, eyes shut and sweat beading at her temples, she thinks it wouldn't matter even if she did.
"Don't worry," Miriam says, and Arabella wonders if she's spoken aloud or if Miriam's just responding to the slowed pace of her tongue. "This is far from all we'll do tonight."
That, at least, Arabella can trust her with easily, and she dips her tongue back between Miriam's lips with renewed eagerness.
"Good," Miriam sighs, and Arabella makes a soft, pleased noise against her skin. In the morning, when she starts thinking again, she'll have to decide how much trust she's willing to place in Miriam, what she'll do to feel like this again. But for now, she and the wolf are both content to focus all their energy on pushing Miriam even deeper into pleasure, and on following her down.
no subject
no subject
no subject