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st_aurafinaTitle: If You Don't Eat Your Meat, You Can't Have Any Pudding
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: PG
Words: 630
Characters/Pairings: Root/Shaw
Warnings/Content: Graphic descriptions of meat, phallic smallgoods, and alcohol
Notes: Warning for exotic charcuterie including horse meat
Summary: Root doesn't fear much, but even she has her limits.
Also at the Archive
Shaw had helped Root sneak aboard the Russian cargo ship before it was cleared through customs. She'd kept watch while Root wrestled the inventory list from the ship's ancient computer, and she'd kicked open the door to the hold when the lock was too rusted for Root's neat fingers to pick. And it's not like Root wasn't grateful, or that Shaw expected excessive thanks, but now Root had been crouched inside an enormous crate for an hour, holding components up to her phone one by one for the Machine to scan, and Shaw was getting antsy.
Root's mission was important, Shaw understood that, and she knew she couldn't help with this part anyway. She was mostly mad at herself for being pissy about it, so she grabbed a crowbar and stomped deeper into the hold to see what else this Russian creep was smuggling.
Right at the back of the hold, far enough that she could barely see Root's headlamp moving, Shaw heard machinery humming. She followed the noise to the rear wall and found a refrigerated room. Intrigued, Shaw pried the padlock away, and unclasped the door. A hanging slab of meat fell against her face, and spluttering, she jumped back, handgun drawn. It was a butchered animal carcass, swinging gently on a metal hook. Shaw poked it back with the end of her crowbar and stepped inside the giant refrigerator. She looked all around her and grinned. Oh, yeah. Now this was worth waiting for.
When Root finally came looking for her, Shaw was sitting on a duffel bag stuffed with trays of meat. She held an obscenely shaped salami in one hand and carved chunks of it off with her knife, eating them directly from the blade.
Root took in Shaw's enthusiastic hacking at the enormous sausage. "Statement about the patriarchy? Or too long between meals?"
Still chewing, Shaw pointed with the tip of her knife at the carcasses. "That's dry-aged horse. I grabbed some sirloin for John. Lamb sausages for Bear. And there's a wheel of reblochon for Harold. It's this gooey French cheese made from raw milk, which he'd better not share with the dog because it smells bad enough already."
"I'll take your word for it," said Root, keeping distant from the cheese and rubbing her arms to stay warm. "Why does a Russian need to smuggle meat?"
Shaw grinned at her, and offered her a piece on the tip of her knife. "It's all contraband – doesn't pass FDA standards or whatever. Here, try this." Root leaned away from the chunk of meat, so Shaw shrugged and jammed it into her mouth. She grinned while she chewed. She'd never seen Root back away from a challenge before. "Mmm," she said, still chewing, with her mouth open. "Unpasteurised and delicious."
Root's expression was something to treasure. "Isn't it kind of risky to eat that?"
Shaw snorted. "Dangerous? As opposed to looting a Russian smuggler's ship for an ASI in a war with another ASI that wants to kill us?" Shaw stood up, put her hand on Root's waist, and walked her backwards until her head bumped the wall. She stood right on her tiptoes so that their mouths were equal height.
Root kept a careful eye on the salami. "This is exciting, but sorry to say, Shaw, I'm not going to kiss your unpasteurised mouth. Not until there's been a whole lot of mouthwash. The kind that sterilises."
Shaw grinned at her, and put the salami down on a shelf, swapping it for a thick glass bottle. "Illegal Ukrainian vodka," she said. "Think 190 proof ought to do it?" She unscrewed the lid with her thumb, still holding Root against the wall. Then she took a long pull, swallowed, and pressed her mouth to Root's.
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: PG
Words: 630
Characters/Pairings: Root/Shaw
Warnings/Content: Graphic descriptions of meat, phallic smallgoods, and alcohol
Notes: Warning for exotic charcuterie including horse meat
Summary: Root doesn't fear much, but even she has her limits.
Also at the Archive
Shaw had helped Root sneak aboard the Russian cargo ship before it was cleared through customs. She'd kept watch while Root wrestled the inventory list from the ship's ancient computer, and she'd kicked open the door to the hold when the lock was too rusted for Root's neat fingers to pick. And it's not like Root wasn't grateful, or that Shaw expected excessive thanks, but now Root had been crouched inside an enormous crate for an hour, holding components up to her phone one by one for the Machine to scan, and Shaw was getting antsy.
Root's mission was important, Shaw understood that, and she knew she couldn't help with this part anyway. She was mostly mad at herself for being pissy about it, so she grabbed a crowbar and stomped deeper into the hold to see what else this Russian creep was smuggling.
Right at the back of the hold, far enough that she could barely see Root's headlamp moving, Shaw heard machinery humming. She followed the noise to the rear wall and found a refrigerated room. Intrigued, Shaw pried the padlock away, and unclasped the door. A hanging slab of meat fell against her face, and spluttering, she jumped back, handgun drawn. It was a butchered animal carcass, swinging gently on a metal hook. Shaw poked it back with the end of her crowbar and stepped inside the giant refrigerator. She looked all around her and grinned. Oh, yeah. Now this was worth waiting for.
When Root finally came looking for her, Shaw was sitting on a duffel bag stuffed with trays of meat. She held an obscenely shaped salami in one hand and carved chunks of it off with her knife, eating them directly from the blade.
Root took in Shaw's enthusiastic hacking at the enormous sausage. "Statement about the patriarchy? Or too long between meals?"
Still chewing, Shaw pointed with the tip of her knife at the carcasses. "That's dry-aged horse. I grabbed some sirloin for John. Lamb sausages for Bear. And there's a wheel of reblochon for Harold. It's this gooey French cheese made from raw milk, which he'd better not share with the dog because it smells bad enough already."
"I'll take your word for it," said Root, keeping distant from the cheese and rubbing her arms to stay warm. "Why does a Russian need to smuggle meat?"
Shaw grinned at her, and offered her a piece on the tip of her knife. "It's all contraband – doesn't pass FDA standards or whatever. Here, try this." Root leaned away from the chunk of meat, so Shaw shrugged and jammed it into her mouth. She grinned while she chewed. She'd never seen Root back away from a challenge before. "Mmm," she said, still chewing, with her mouth open. "Unpasteurised and delicious."
Root's expression was something to treasure. "Isn't it kind of risky to eat that?"
Shaw snorted. "Dangerous? As opposed to looting a Russian smuggler's ship for an ASI in a war with another ASI that wants to kill us?" Shaw stood up, put her hand on Root's waist, and walked her backwards until her head bumped the wall. She stood right on her tiptoes so that their mouths were equal height.
Root kept a careful eye on the salami. "This is exciting, but sorry to say, Shaw, I'm not going to kiss your unpasteurised mouth. Not until there's been a whole lot of mouthwash. The kind that sterilises."
Shaw grinned at her, and put the salami down on a shelf, swapping it for a thick glass bottle. "Illegal Ukrainian vodka," she said. "Think 190 proof ought to do it?" She unscrewed the lid with her thumb, still holding Root against the wall. Then she took a long pull, swallowed, and pressed her mouth to Root's.