Title: Practising the Act
Rated: M rated here and heavily MA rated on my website – click on my homepage link in my profile to read that.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. No infringement intended.
Summary: Post-ep smut-fic for 'Double Trouble in the Panhandle'.
Author's Note: I haven't been reading as much fan-fiction as I used to so I'm not sure if anyone else has had this same thought, but I just felt that the knife-throwing act was so incredibly sexy and there was definitely some hot, hot, hot chemistry between B and B in that episode, so I thought I would do a little post-ep fic (they're my favourite kind), and fill in what I think might have happened between the end of the night and their waking up the next morning to find the circus had left town. Do let me know what you thought and if you're up for the unedited version, go to BFF and read it there. Thanks!
He wants her.
He wants to throw her down on the cramped bed and tear the lacy corset from her body and make her writhe with unimaginable pleasure – the likes of which she has never experienced before. He hates to admit it, thinks it's foolish and childish, but he enjoyed the fantasy. Pretending to be free-spirited circus performers with amazing talents and sex permanently fuelling their showmanship.
She peels off the gold gloves, exposing her long slender bare arms and the crimson nail-polish that perfectly matches the vibrant shade of her corset. Without the eye-patch he notices the purplish bruise that mars her porcelain skin and a wave of tumultuous guilt pours through him – almost as powerful as the electrical sting of desire that zeros in on his crotch when she bends to retrieve one of the pearl-drop earrings that has fallen on the floor. The gold hemming on the corset waves and when she turns to face him, her full rounded breasts heave against the tight, ribbed fabric and almost spill forth.
The sexy fishnet stockings are his undoing and while his heart hammers erratically inside his chest, his penis hardens painfully inside his pants. She notices and he knows it for her powder-blue eyes shift over him as though she is drinking the very essence of him into her mind. Her arousal is as potent as his own even if she has only just become aware of it. God, she's incredible he thinks as she pulls that familiar, pensive expression. Her lipstick has faded only slightly and he can imagine her dark red mouth around him, trailing kisses over his body. She'd be a mind-blowing lover, he knows. He doesn't know how he knows, but he does. Something in the way she confidently tilts her hips and straightens her spine tells him that she would be the boss... the leader. He wants to show her what it's like to be submissively pleasured.
She reaches behind her neck and unclips the heavily decorated necklace, exposing the column of her throat to his ravenous eyes. There is no doubt in his mind now that they are both sharing the same vivid, urgent thoughts of how they can each enjoy the other's body. Her slow gaze is hungry now, shifting over him as though she is wondering where to feast her mouth first. Her lips are pursed; plump and ripe.
There are a dozen reasons why they shouldn't give in to the sexual energy between them – their partnership, their friendship, ethics... he gives them all but a passing thought. Just for a short time, they can pretend they are just two raunchy circus-performers, sex mad and starved for each other. The reality isn't any different, not really. Aside from their professions, he's willing to give into his gambling addiction and bet that, even when he's dressed in his staid suits and she in her lab-coat, the desire still simmers beneath the surface, just the same. She cannot reasonably expect to dress in provocative lingerie, stand before him with her 'come-hither' gaze and expect him to be a gentleman about the situation.
She doesn't want a gentleman right now, anyway. She wants to be thoroughly manhandled. The look in her eyes is damned near feral, her breasts are heaving inside the corset as she tosses the necklace aside. It hits the laptop with the rattle and clatter of beads – when it falls unceremoniously to the floor she ignores it. To her right, two of the performance blades glint in the dim light and she turns her head to examine them. He knows what she's thinking – she's reliving the sexually charged adrenaline rush of having herself so helplessly at his mercy. It doesn't quite sit level with the practices of bondage or domination but close enough. She liked not being in control.
Her breathing his laboured when she steps towards him and takes his waistcoat in tight fists. She smells intoxicating, whether she is wearing perfume or it's simply pheromones he cannot be sure. Her eyes challenge him; do you dare me? they say. You think I won't fuck you right here? He smiles serenely because he doesn't doubt it. She's never made any secret of her sexual prowess.
She flattens her palms against his chest and pushes him. Even if he wanted to regain balance, the spaghetti-like composition of his legs would not have allowed it. He hits the lumpy mattress with a thud that makes the entire vehicle creak worryingly. Worryingly, if he had cared. He looks up at her and for a fleeting moment he wonders if she might devour him. She unties the silk bows that adorn her shoulders, he doesn't like sexual torture dished out in the form of 'waiting', he grabs her hips and she land on top of him, a breathless 'oomph' escaping her lips before her hot, wet mouth finds his. Her breasts are pressed against him, supple and creamy. He cups one, his thumb diving beneath the intricately woven lace to seek out her pebbled nipple. She winces, her hips instinctively grinding against his. Her hand moves between their bodies, smoothing over his rigid shaft, pleasuring herself in knowing that she is the sole cause.
She moves, shifts her weight just enough for him to remove her breast entirely from the confines of the corset and devour the rosy peak with his mouth. He suckles until she cries out, wiggling against him.
She clasps his jaw, detaching his mouth from her breast. Her skin shimmers from the moisture of his tongue, her cheeks are flushed and the sexual arousal is pungent in the air between them.
He flips her, sending her limbs flailing against the mattress as his large hands tear even more frantically at the stockings that, although sexy, hinder his ability to get to where he so desperately needs to be. Her thighs almost bare now, the fishnets are all but destroyed as he removes the black panties that complete the vixen-like outfit.
He doesn't want to undress her because he likes the dishevelled urgency of her appearance. She reaches for him, unsnaps his pants and releases his aching penis. Her fingers deftly unbutton his waistcoat, her palms splay across his chest and he knows his heart beats erratically. She has that devastating effect on him.
Her fingers tighten as she guides him to her opening, parting her thighs further to accommodate him. The weakened bed springs give another shuddering protest as he nudges the tip of his penis inside her, stretching the molten wet walls. Her white teeth gnaw on the plump flesh of her lower lip and she wraps her legs around him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, preparing to sheath himself entirely in her warm wetness. She's not prepared to wait; lifting her hips and pressing her heels against his back, she thrusts upwards and he is completely enveloped in the silky, soft wet flesh of her tunnel. He can feel the patent leather of her red ankle boots against his skin.
He moves, thrusting inside of her with the urgency of a steam-driven piston. He cannot get enough of her tightness, of the way she tenses her walls around him, squeezing him. His thighs stiffen with each plunge, her breasts shift, their tight red nipples calling to him, like tasty berries ripe for sucking. He drops his head, pulls one between his teeth and bites so hard that her fingers lace into his hair and grip the stands at his scalp. It hurts, but the pain is erotic, it's divine. He wants her to come around him, so he bites harder, times the fierce nibbles to coincide with the hard thrust of his hips. She moans and whimpers, their bodies slap together – harder and faster as the necessity of their pleasure increases. The pressure rises and he worries he might die if he doesn't find release soon. She reaches between their bodies and touches herself.
Her spine arches, he drives deep inside her body and freezes. She looks at him, tenses her inner walls tightly around his penis. He's going to come, she knows. Grinding herself against him, she feels the tremors trundle through her body. He groans, emptying himself inside her in two long, deep thrusts.
Exhausted, he falls against her. She cradles him against her breasts, his hot breath fanning against her bare chest. She trembles, stated and euphoric. Tomorrow their stint as an enigmatic knife-throwing act will be well and truly over. She cannot help but feel regret at having to return to their normal lives.
"I'd like to do this one more time before we leave tomorrow," she tells him. He kisses the tip of her nipple and smiles against her skin.
"Buck would be happy to oblige you, Wanda," he replies.
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