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Title: After Hours
Author: Fallon Ash
Fandoms: The West Wing, The L Word
Pairing: Ainsley/Bette
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Word Count: 510
Summary: Takes place during L Word - 3x04 - Light My Fire, right after Bette leaves Senator Grisham's apartment.
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sakuracorr who wanted Bette. Written for my own WTF27.
***
Bette leaves Senator Grisham's apartment, rushing blindly down the stairs; it's a miracle she doesn't trip and fall. Back on the street, drawing chilly night air into her lungs she looks around, almost surprised to find herself there. She firmly pushes down any disappointment at being back on the street, turns in a full circle before forcing her steps towards her hotel. The air is chilly, but her blood still runs heatedly through her veins, a heavy feeling pooling in the pit of her stomach. She hasn't been this aroused in a long time, longs for the familiar comforts of the hotel room, the safety of her own hand, but forces her mind from the thoughts, afraid it will bring the image of Senator Grisham's face.
Entering the hotel lobby she looks to the elevator, and then to the bar. A bored bartender sees her, beckons her over. She gives in easily, there's been enough temptation today. This one will only harm herself, and not until tomorrow.
She's on her third vodka when she hears a voice by her side. “Hiya Johnny, quiet evening?”
The bartender looks happy to see her, “You know it. I take it yours hasn't been?”
Bette studies her, surreptitiously at first, and then full on as she turns to include Bette in the apparently familiar conversation. “Good God. Why can't politicians do business during business hours, like everyone else? Work the floor, make connections, plant ideas, don't get drunk...” A young fresh face, and a sweet lilting voice. “My boss, he's not really my boss, but he acts like it, tells me I shouldn't be indulging myself, especially after these ridiculous social functions, but it's not often, and Johnny here makes the best Pink Squirrels in town.”
Bette notices the bartender straightening a little out of the corner of her eye. Then a horrendous pink thing arrives, and the woman takes a long sip. Sits back with a sigh, and eyes Bette appraisingly, though as from a distance. “I'm Ainsley, by the way. You're beautiful.” And then she reviews her words, and blushes a deep red. She eyes her drink accusingly, as Bette finds herself chuckling.
“I'm Bette,” and the knot in her stomach is whispering away to nothing, with an ease that seems impossible, at Ainsley's delicately moving lips, her blonde hair fluttering with her movements as she speaks.
“So, why are you here, and are you here alone?”
“I've had a somewhat similar evening to yours; skirting the edge between business and social call,” and Bette knows she shouldn't continue, but does so anyway. “And yes, I'm here alone.”
Something in Ainsley's eyes changes, and she leans forward ever so slightly. “And tell me, is there someone waiting for you at home?”
Bette opens her mouth, but no sound comes forth at first. She watches the expectant tilt of Ainsley's head, the flush of her cheeks, and then it is like something is breaking inside her brain (or is it her heart?), as she hears her own voice responding. “No. No there isn't.”
***
Author: Fallon Ash
Fandoms: The West Wing, The L Word
Pairing: Ainsley/Bette
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Word Count: 510
Summary: Takes place during L Word - 3x04 - Light My Fire, right after Bette leaves Senator Grisham's apartment.
A/N: For
sakuracorr who wanted Bette. Written for my own WTF27. ***
Bette leaves Senator Grisham's apartment, rushing blindly down the stairs; it's a miracle she doesn't trip and fall. Back on the street, drawing chilly night air into her lungs she looks around, almost surprised to find herself there. She firmly pushes down any disappointment at being back on the street, turns in a full circle before forcing her steps towards her hotel. The air is chilly, but her blood still runs heatedly through her veins, a heavy feeling pooling in the pit of her stomach. She hasn't been this aroused in a long time, longs for the familiar comforts of the hotel room, the safety of her own hand, but forces her mind from the thoughts, afraid it will bring the image of Senator Grisham's face.
Entering the hotel lobby she looks to the elevator, and then to the bar. A bored bartender sees her, beckons her over. She gives in easily, there's been enough temptation today. This one will only harm herself, and not until tomorrow.
She's on her third vodka when she hears a voice by her side. “Hiya Johnny, quiet evening?”
The bartender looks happy to see her, “You know it. I take it yours hasn't been?”
Bette studies her, surreptitiously at first, and then full on as she turns to include Bette in the apparently familiar conversation. “Good God. Why can't politicians do business during business hours, like everyone else? Work the floor, make connections, plant ideas, don't get drunk...” A young fresh face, and a sweet lilting voice. “My boss, he's not really my boss, but he acts like it, tells me I shouldn't be indulging myself, especially after these ridiculous social functions, but it's not often, and Johnny here makes the best Pink Squirrels in town.”
Bette notices the bartender straightening a little out of the corner of her eye. Then a horrendous pink thing arrives, and the woman takes a long sip. Sits back with a sigh, and eyes Bette appraisingly, though as from a distance. “I'm Ainsley, by the way. You're beautiful.” And then she reviews her words, and blushes a deep red. She eyes her drink accusingly, as Bette finds herself chuckling.
“I'm Bette,” and the knot in her stomach is whispering away to nothing, with an ease that seems impossible, at Ainsley's delicately moving lips, her blonde hair fluttering with her movements as she speaks.
“So, why are you here, and are you here alone?”
“I've had a somewhat similar evening to yours; skirting the edge between business and social call,” and Bette knows she shouldn't continue, but does so anyway. “And yes, I'm here alone.”
Something in Ainsley's eyes changes, and she leans forward ever so slightly. “And tell me, is there someone waiting for you at home?”
Bette opens her mouth, but no sound comes forth at first. She watches the expectant tilt of Ainsley's head, the flush of her cheeks, and then it is like something is breaking inside her brain (or is it her heart?), as she hears her own voice responding. “No. No there isn't.”
***
uncomfortable
nothing to see here
Um, that's about all I can think of.
Also, Jonathan Togo like Degrassi. This weirds me out.
nothing to see here
That said, man, I've really been writing fic lately that is profound and deserving of deep analysis... :P
However, *WHY* would you know what Jonathan Togo likes???
nothing to see here
I would give better feedback if I wasn't in a rush. Or if I knew the characters better. Maybe.
nothing to see here
And just post with icons of Emily and I won't care about the feedback...
nothing to see here
nothing to see here
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-v2zoG4wuBc&search=emily%20procter
nothing to see here
nothing to see here
nothing to see here
Emily Procter is the gorgeous lovely woman in all the icons in the previous comments, and she plays Ainsley Hayes, who's the spunkiest, most fast-talking, insanely lovely Republican working for Bartlet in a democratic White House. I love her more than words can tell.