deathpixie | On the slippery slope.

Ye gods, I can't believe I actually did this.

I wrote mook fic. Worse, I wrote smutty mook fic. And just to cap it off, it's Collective Mutants smutty mook.

That'll teach me to watch Shakespeare in Love, even if it is just the second half.

See, the problem isn't that it's mook, or smut, but that's it's me writing it. I just don't do smut. I always feel kinda foolish trying. And I'm pretty sure I suck at it, badly. But this idea has been brewing for a while, fueled by intermittent Mel prompts, and even before the movie was finished, I was seized by this overwhelming urge to write. Of course, it's all topsy-turvy - I have an opening scene, then the said smut scene, and a couple of lines for the ending, which possibly may flow onto another fic. And this morning I woke up with the post-mook scene (which isn't going to be happy) in my head. *sighs* And I thought I was done with these characters.

Just goes to show I desperately need to get laid. ;)

There was something poking her in the back.

Slowly awareness seeped back into Allison’s consciousness, along with sensation. She could hear the morning chorus of birds – the magpies and kookaburras rising above the general burble of sound by sheer volume and enthusiasm – and feel the warm sun on the skin of her arms and shoulders. The _bare_ skin of her shoulders.

‘Hang on a minute here.’

She took further stock. There was an unzipped sleeping bag draped over her like a blanket, and another underneath, but she could feel the hard ridges of metal beneath her hip and identify them as belonging to the tray of David’s ute. And underneath the sleeping bag, she was very much not wearing anything at all. There was also something slung over her waist, pinning her down slightly. And there was something tickling her shoulder, not a breeze, because a breeze wasn’t regularly spaced. Nor did a breeze snore slightly.

Full awareness hit, and with it, memory.

‘Oh, hell.’

Gingerly she rolled over. Bad move. The thing poking her in the back was now poking her in the front, and seemed very pleased to do so. Even worse, _where_ it was poking didn’t seem to mind that much either. She inched back – reluctantly – but couldn’t get far with the arm slung over her waist. Her wriggling broke into whatever happy fuzzy place he was in, because Fish’s blue-green eyes slowly opened.

"Um, hi," she said, not sure how to deal with this situation. It wasn’t something she did on a regular basis.

"Hi," he said, smiling. The smile, and the starry look in his eyes, didn’t help, not one bit.

"Ah, about last night…" She tried to wriggle further away, but was prevented by a combination of Fish’s arm and the wheel arch.

"Last night? Last night was _amazing_." He smiled again, the slightly silly smile of the happily laid. "So amazing, in fact, that it had to be a dream. Only now I’m awake, so I thought we could try that again. Sober, this time. So I can remember _everything_." He pulled her closer, back into range.

"Fish…" she started to say, trying to pull her thoughts into something coherent. It was difficult, because he was nibbling her ear and neck. Somehow he’d found out her weak spots. Sometime last night, no doubt.

"Raphe," he murmured into her hair, slipping his arm under the sleeping bag to stroke her back. "Call me Raphe. Like you did last night."

"Raphe…" The name turned into a slight gasp as he ran his hand over her skin, a thousand shivers racing down her spine. She arched, instinctively, the motion bringing their bodies back into contact.

‘What the hell,’ she thought, reaching up to grasp a handful of thick sandy hair and pulling his head down so she could kiss him. ‘We’ll sort it out later.’