fallon_ash: (w13)
posted by [personal profile] fallon_ash at 06:36pm on 16/12/2010 under ,
Title: Coping (more or less)
Author: [livejournal.com profile] fallon_ash
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: Pete/Myka
Rating: Strong R
Spoilers: No particulars, but set mid-Season 1 sometime.
Word Count: 1043
Disclaimer: Not mine. Syfy etc.
Challenge: [livejournal.com profile] thedimholt: ‘Under what circustances, if any, can you see Pete and Myka hooking up?’ (I’m an avid ‘best friends only!’ shipper.)
Summary: An angsty tag to a difficult case with PWP-type overtones.
Author’s Note: Thanks to [livejournal.com profile] sakuracorr for the beta! (How sad that the first fic I post in a year is het? I need to work on my femslash skilz.)


There is a wild look in Pete’s eyes that scares her. He is pacing back and forth, and the tension in the room makes her shiver. She wants to run and scream and rage, she wants to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over her head and maybe if she just stays there long enough it won’t feel like this, but she can’t take her eyes off Pete. They got the artifact, but the price was too high. Their training might have prepared them for having to die for their president, but not for five days without sleep while hallucinating their worst fears in brilliant technicolor. Over and over and over again.

Pete finally snaps, walking over to the hotel room’s minibar and pulling out the first bottle he finds.

“Pete, no...”

He doesn’t hear her, and there is a part of her that just wants to let him be. Maybe he will calm down, and then she can just close her eyes and pretend none of this is...

“NO! Pete.” She’s up off the bed in a heart-beat as he raises the bottle towards his mouth. She knocks it out of his hand, and it shatters against the dresser.

“Myka. What the hell?”

“Don’t Pete. It won’t... Hell. I don’t know. But don’t.” She doesn’t have the energy for this.

“I can’t say I really care right now, Myka.”

“I know. I know. I don’t either. But we will again tomorrow. Or maybe next week.” She sighs.

“I don’t much care about next week.”

She doesn’t really think about it, but when he reaches for the next bottle she grabs his hand and pulls him toward her. With her other hand she grabs the back of his head and kisses him. There is a moment of hesitation, but then he is pushing her toward the bed, frantically grabbing at her clothes.

She has to do most of the work. The buttons on his shirt, the buttons on her shirt. His belt, her belt. His pants, her pants. She makes him remove his own shoes as she unzips her boots and kicks them off.

He has condoms in his wallet that he somehow has the presence of mind to dig out (tomorrow she will consider what that says about how he might have used sex as escapism in the past, but not right now), and once he is kneeling between her spread legs he only has to stroke himself a few times before he can roll it on. She is breathing hard in anticipation.

They are both too wired for foreplay. He runs his hands along the insides of her thighs, across her stomach, her breasts. She scratches the back of his neck, trails down his back to squeeze his ass. She kisses him and rubs her clit to make sure she will be wet enough. She hasn’t been with anyone since Sam, and her body reacts quickly. Moments later he is pushing inside her.

Once he’s inside he stills, and there is a split second where they are looking at each other, and it occurs to her that maybe something should be occurring to her right now, but she wants this and she doesn’t want this, and what she really wants is Sam, so she moves against him, and he starts moving too, and then she can finally stop thinking.

It’s fast. She wraps her arms and legs around him, he snakes an arm between them to find her clit, and she arches against him at the added stimuli.  They find a rhythm, and as they finish together she burrows her face against the crook of his neck, closes her eyes tightly, and mouths “Sam” into his skin. She doesn’t know if Pete can hear her, doesn’t care, because it feels good and her head feels light, and it’s over much too soon.

He collapses next to her, and she curls into a fetal position against the warmth of his body, pulls the covers up over herself. He can stay or he can go, but she’s finally relaxed and now she just wants to sleep. As she drifts off she feels his fingers in her hair.


She wakes up the next morning sticky with sweat; the thermostat must be set way too high. The sheet is tangled around her legs, and the room smells of sex and whiskey. Pete is snoring next to her. Images from the past days come pouring back to her, but there is sunlight streaming through the blinds, and she feels in touch with reality in a way she hasn’t in what feels like a long time, and that keeps the darkness at bay.

She sits up, stretches, takes stock of her surroundings. Body: a few aches but nothing major. Clothes: wrinkled but no worse than they would have been if she had slept in them, which had been her original plan. Room: they should clean up some of the glass before they leave, but they will have to pay extra for them to take care of the spilled liquid, maybe the...

Pete stirs next to her. “Nice view,” he mumbles.

She turns toward him, fights the reflex to cover herself as he stares at her breasts. “Good morning, Pete.”

“Morning, Myka... Myka?” He is suddenly wide awake. “Oh wow. That happened.”

“Yes. We should really have some sort of contingency plan where it doesn’t happen again.”

He pouts. “You don’t want it to happen again?”

She stares at him, hard. “Do you?”

He squirms. “Yeah. I mean. Well. Not really... no. Damn, I never thought the day would come when I’d say that.”

“We’re partners, Pete. That isn’t to say I didn’t need what happened last night, but it can’t be our default when things go bad. How long do you think we’d be able to keep working together?”

He is silent for a while. “Thanks for not letting me drink.”


“Your breasts are really awesome.”


He kicks off the sheets, starts searching for his clothes, whistling an out-of-tune melody. She smirks at his back when she’s sure he won’t notice.


shrink me:: 'accomplished' accomplished


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