queen of analogue (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tellitslant) wrote2008-01-01 01:10 pm
tellitslant) wrote2008-01-01 01:10 pm
Entry tags:
[FIC] Days Like These (DCU, Renee, R)
Days Like These
by Kathryne
Fandom: DCU (Gotham Central)
Rating: R
Pairings: Renee/Daria
Disclaimer: DC's characters via the gospel of Greg Rucka.
Notes: A pinch-hit for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rysler in Yuletide 2007, which I had to pick up when I clicked through and saw her name. She wanted dark and violent, and I tried...
Summary: Renee's days - and nights - are just packed. Post-Gotham Central, pre-52.
In the mornings, Renee ran, her feet pounding out a metronome of motivation (Har-vey Two-Face Har-vey Two-Face) and the sweat streaming down her face until the rhythm changed (Cor-ri-gan) and she stumbled to a stop (Cor-ri-gan), her heart trip-hammering in counterpoint (Cor-ri-gan Cor-ri-gan Cris Cris Cris Criscriscriscriscris) even after her breathing had slowed. Her mornings were later and later now that there wasn't anything to get up for. She'd tried to tell herself that she was adapting to Dee's nocturnal schedule so they could have more time together, but the truth was that the pure early morning sunshine nauseated her and she deliberately waited until everyone she might run into would be on shift before she ventured out the door.
Sometimes, on mornings when the rhythm stayed unbroken, she would swing by the bodega partway through her run. They had entered into an uneasy truce, she and her parents. She didn't quite miss their nagging, just knew that it was unnatural the way they had fallen into a don’t-ask-don't-tell stalemate. She wondered, sometimes, if they were conspiring with Dee behind her back to find safe ground on which to hold stilted conversations, but abandoned the thought quickly as implausible.
Afternoons she usually stopped in at the gym, taking her frustrations out on punching bags and sparring partners until her ribs began to ache and she sat down heavily on the nearest bench. Dumbbell curls and triceps extensions and her hands and arms grew leaner and stronger, and at night she gripped Dee tight enough to hurt. Her fingers scissored between Dee's legs, tendons stretching, and her other hand pressed into Dee's mouth, feeling breath and life and stifling moans.
Dee smelled like lemon chiffon and icing sugar, tart and yet too sweet, as she moved against Renee, her strong chef's hands kneading away the aches in muscles Renee abused during the daylight hours. She was gentle with Renee, mostly, out of love, stroking and licking and sucking softly so that when Renee came in breathless waves, she truly did forget everything, at least for that moment. Dee had long been Renee's anchor; even now, when she reached out in the middle of sleepless nights, Dee was always there. Renee had turned in her piece along with her badge, so now there was only Dee left in the bed to hold on to.
Some nights the running and the lifting weren't enough, and Renee knew she had a choice between thinking or doing something more physical. Those were the nights she could end up in a fight at Molly's, savouring the feel of her fist against flesh as she threw the knockout punch. More often, though, she went home drunk and pushed Dee up against a wall.
She would make Dee come two or three times at least before even taking her own clothes off, some misguided sense of chivalry operating, but she was rough and left marks on both of them that took longer and longer to heal. Sometimes she would think quid pro quo and she would hear Desmond's mocking laughter, and humiliation and anguish would make her body heat faster under Dee's fingertips. She would never hurt her girl, she had told him, never never never, but she was ashamed now to know how far she had fallen.
They had been together, her and Dee, in the No Man's Land, their first time lit by candles out of necessity and not romance, fear of death and the need to conserve body heat keeping them twined together rather than a desire for nearness. Renee had shattered, nearly, during that year, had done things she'd never thought possible and fought to reconcile them. Dee had held her together while the city crumbled around them.
Everything had started then, her and Dee and her and Dent. Amazing that the city had come back almost like nothing had happened, but Renee was still stuck in survival mode. That was what you got being a cop in Gotham City: always a beat out of synch, always a bit out of step, cleaning up messes and never being able to prevent them. Turned out, not being a cop in Gotham City was worse: Renee couldn't even keep up with herself. Lost, she floundered, waiting to be alone, and she ran.
**
Further notes: Well,rysler guessed this one, which is no surprise. But again, I'm totally shocked no one else did. I continued my tradition of writing a Yuletide fic in a fandom that I've also written on academically; anyone who's read any of my BSG fics proobably recognises the style (unless it's more obvious to me); and I have been dorking out about Renee all over this journal for the past few months! *grins* Clearly I am just sneakier than I thought.
by Kathryne
Fandom: DCU (Gotham Central)
Rating: R
Pairings: Renee/Daria
Disclaimer: DC's characters via the gospel of Greg Rucka.
Notes: A pinch-hit for
rysler in Yuletide 2007, which I had to pick up when I clicked through and saw her name. She wanted dark and violent, and I tried...Summary: Renee's days - and nights - are just packed. Post-Gotham Central, pre-52.
In the mornings, Renee ran, her feet pounding out a metronome of motivation (Har-vey Two-Face Har-vey Two-Face) and the sweat streaming down her face until the rhythm changed (Cor-ri-gan) and she stumbled to a stop (Cor-ri-gan), her heart trip-hammering in counterpoint (Cor-ri-gan Cor-ri-gan Cris Cris Cris Criscriscriscriscris) even after her breathing had slowed. Her mornings were later and later now that there wasn't anything to get up for. She'd tried to tell herself that she was adapting to Dee's nocturnal schedule so they could have more time together, but the truth was that the pure early morning sunshine nauseated her and she deliberately waited until everyone she might run into would be on shift before she ventured out the door.
Sometimes, on mornings when the rhythm stayed unbroken, she would swing by the bodega partway through her run. They had entered into an uneasy truce, she and her parents. She didn't quite miss their nagging, just knew that it was unnatural the way they had fallen into a don’t-ask-don't-tell stalemate. She wondered, sometimes, if they were conspiring with Dee behind her back to find safe ground on which to hold stilted conversations, but abandoned the thought quickly as implausible.
Afternoons she usually stopped in at the gym, taking her frustrations out on punching bags and sparring partners until her ribs began to ache and she sat down heavily on the nearest bench. Dumbbell curls and triceps extensions and her hands and arms grew leaner and stronger, and at night she gripped Dee tight enough to hurt. Her fingers scissored between Dee's legs, tendons stretching, and her other hand pressed into Dee's mouth, feeling breath and life and stifling moans.
Dee smelled like lemon chiffon and icing sugar, tart and yet too sweet, as she moved against Renee, her strong chef's hands kneading away the aches in muscles Renee abused during the daylight hours. She was gentle with Renee, mostly, out of love, stroking and licking and sucking softly so that when Renee came in breathless waves, she truly did forget everything, at least for that moment. Dee had long been Renee's anchor; even now, when she reached out in the middle of sleepless nights, Dee was always there. Renee had turned in her piece along with her badge, so now there was only Dee left in the bed to hold on to.
Some nights the running and the lifting weren't enough, and Renee knew she had a choice between thinking or doing something more physical. Those were the nights she could end up in a fight at Molly's, savouring the feel of her fist against flesh as she threw the knockout punch. More often, though, she went home drunk and pushed Dee up against a wall.
She would make Dee come two or three times at least before even taking her own clothes off, some misguided sense of chivalry operating, but she was rough and left marks on both of them that took longer and longer to heal. Sometimes she would think quid pro quo and she would hear Desmond's mocking laughter, and humiliation and anguish would make her body heat faster under Dee's fingertips. She would never hurt her girl, she had told him, never never never, but she was ashamed now to know how far she had fallen.
They had been together, her and Dee, in the No Man's Land, their first time lit by candles out of necessity and not romance, fear of death and the need to conserve body heat keeping them twined together rather than a desire for nearness. Renee had shattered, nearly, during that year, had done things she'd never thought possible and fought to reconcile them. Dee had held her together while the city crumbled around them.
Everything had started then, her and Dee and her and Dent. Amazing that the city had come back almost like nothing had happened, but Renee was still stuck in survival mode. That was what you got being a cop in Gotham City: always a beat out of synch, always a bit out of step, cleaning up messes and never being able to prevent them. Turned out, not being a cop in Gotham City was worse: Renee couldn't even keep up with herself. Lost, she floundered, waiting to be alone, and she ran.
**
Further notes: Well,
rysler guessed this one, which is no surprise. But again, I'm totally shocked no one else did. I continued my tradition of writing a Yuletide fic in a fandom that I've also written on academically; anyone who's read any of my BSG fics proobably recognises the style (unless it's more obvious to me); and I have been dorking out about Renee all over this journal for the past few months! *grins* Clearly I am just sneakier than I thought.