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st_aurafinaTitle: Half Past Nude
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Explicit
Words: 1556
Characters/Pairings: Root/Shaw
Warnings/Content: Rough Kissing, Oral Sex, Alcohol, Lingerie, Nail Polish
Notes: Written for Spicy Advent 2019. Title is from the OPI shade.
Summary: Root has a fresh manicure and new lingerie. All she needs now is Shaw.
Also at the Archive
It has been a day – a day and then some – and all Root can see before her eyes is code, spooling down and down endlessly on the inside of her eyelids. Fortunately the Machine has found her some down time. The first thing she does is get her nails done, the second thing she does is buy fancy, useless lingerie and the third is book a luxury suite in a hotel. Now she's in vacation mode, wearing a pastel pink babydoll and cheerfully blitzing rational thought out of her mind with sweet, sticky booze. She lines up the coloured shot glasses along the coffee table, fills them all with peach schnapps and drops a gummy bear in each. When the first shot and its little red bear has slipped down her throat, she lies back on the sofa with her legs straight above her, the better to admire her toenails, and gives Shaw a call.
"I'm busy," Shaw says, but Root can hear a game blaring above the murmur and clatter of glasses.
Root points her toes at the ceiling. "There is nothing like a fresh pedicure," she says. "And you're not busy; you're at a sports bar. Come over here and admire my beautiful toes."
Shaw sounds supremely unimpressed. "Why?" she says, though a mouthful of something crunchy.
"Because they're too pretty to waste on one person," said Root. "Did you know that there's an average of twenty-seven different people's urine in a bowl of bar peanuts?"
The crunching doesn't skip a beat. "And?" says Shaw.
Root pours herself another shot, and drops in a green gummy bear with a satisfying plonk. "I promise there's no urine in any of my snacks," she says, and lets the glass click against her teeth as she swallows it down.
"Whatever," says Shaw and hangs up.
Root kicks her legs in delight and goes to unlock the door.
When Shaw arrives, she takes one look at the bowl of gummy bears and the bottle of schnapps. "Are you kidding me with this sticky stuff?"
The room is swaying pleasantly by now. "There's vodka in the freezer," she says dreamily. "I know my girl runs on diesel."
Shaw grabs the bottle from the freezer, throws the lid somewhere in the room and takes a slug. "At least you spring for the good stuff," she says. "Shove over." She wraps her arm around Root's calves to hold them still and sits down with Root's feet in her lap.
Root wriggles her toes in delight and reaches for another gummy bear shot. This one is pink and he's been swimming in schnapps long enough that he's starting to dissolve. Root knows how he feels, and it's lovely: like parts of yourself are floating away in a beautiful peach-flavoured sea.
"Why do you drink that sugary garbage?" Shaw takes another pull from the vodka bottle. She's obviously mellowing because she is idly stroking Root's calf now. Nice and firm, like she would pet Bear.
Root holds still so as not to distract her. Shaw hates it when she gets caught being affectionate. "So I taste good when you kiss me, Sameen. Don't you know I do all of this for you?"
Shaw scoffs at that and raises the bottle again. In that moment of distraction, Root threads her legs around Shaw's hips and launches herself upright so she's sitting on Shaw's lap.
Shaw twigs to the attack very quickly, of course, but instead of shoving Root to the floor, she hold the bottle out of the way and hoists Root into a better position with her other hand on Root's backside. "Now what?" she says, face to face with Root. She hasn't moved her hand from Root's ass yet.
Root leans down to kiss her, lets her hair fall all around them both like a curtain. Shaw's mouth is cold from the chilled vodka. Root sighs and leans into the kiss, keeps their mouths together, moves her tongue over Shaw's, lets her lips brush Shaw's dangerous teeth.
She's already warm from the booze, but soon Root is glowing all over from the exertion of fencing with Shaw's mouth. Shaw is dangerous to kiss because she's not afraid to draw blood, and the more Root plays it cool, the harder Shaw works to make her squeal.
She's kneeling up over Shaw, and Shaw is arm-deep under Root's babydoll, fingers spread across her back. When Root is so breathless that she's starting to see stars, when she's fighting the urge to grind hard against Shaw's thighs, she slows down for a bit, sits back on Shaw's lap. She doesn't want this to be over too quickly. She wants to savour the floaty-sweet arousal.
Shaw leans back against the sofa, but leaves one hand resting comfortably on Root's ass. She watches Root putting herself back together: sweeping her hair back over her shoulder, straightening her clothes. Her lips quirk, and that's fascinating.
Root reaches out to touch the corner of Shaw's mouth, the corner of which has twisted up. "Are you smiling?" she says. "You must be drunker than me."
"Hah!" Shaw traps Root's fingertip with her teeth, gives it a little rough attention with her tongue.
Root squirms. "Careful," she says, though that's kind of the opposite of what she really wants. "That manicure is fresh."
Shaw's eyes narrow, and Root watches her teeth dig deeper into the varnish. There's something fascinating and terrifying about the way that Shaw destroys the pristine surface. Root leans down and offers her mouth instead, and suddenly she's lying on the sofa because Shaw has her pinned, hands above her head, while she savages Root's throat with teeth and tongue.
Each bite sends sharp flashes of arousal to Root's brain. She hears a whimper, realises it's her own voice, and listens entranced to her own breath rushing in and out. Shaw has the hem of the babydoll in her grip, rolling the hem between her fingertips. Root watches her fingers curl into the satin, feels the fabric brush against her nipples as Shaw gathers it in two fists then tears up the middle.
Root shrieks in actual outrage. As much as she loves being ravished by Shaw, she hoped she'd get to wear that more than once. The scraps of pink satin fall to the carpet but there's not much she can do with Shaw holding her down.
"Why do you bother with all this?" Shaw says, before she puts her mouth to a nipple, leaves it as glossy as Root's pink nails. "Fancy nails, sugary booze, luxe hotel…" she moves her mouth to the other side, and Root moans, tries to curl a leg around Shaw's leg, drag their hips together. "None of it means anything. None of it lasts."
Root heaves under Shaw's mouth. "We're still alive," she gasps. "Between the firefights and the bullet wounds, we're still alive, Shaw." When Shaw spreads her with two fingers, she plunges both hands into Shaw's beautiful hair, lets the silky strands slip between her fingers. She doesn't get to play with Shaw's hair, not unless Shaw is distracted. It's a luxury. Tonight is all about the luxury for Root, even if luxury is something Root defines a little differently than most.
Shaw is still angry – well, angrier than usual – and she's not gentle with Root, she's rough with her lips, she's impatient, she gets her tongue pressed flat to Root's clit, works fingers into her with brusque practicality.
Root has to bite down on her hand to stop from screaming out, because if Shaw knows how much she's enjoying this, she'll stop or get weird about Root overreacting. Root can't keep quiet because it's so good. Shaw's anger is a kind of luxury too, generous and hot and all-encompassing. Shaw pauses to take another swig from the vodka bottle before getting back to Root's cunt, and her mouth is cold, the surface of her tongue seems rougher somehow. There's volatility in every breath Root feels against her clit, and just for a moment she thinks she's bursting into flames of blue and purple.
Shaw holds her down while she's coming, one hand spread across Root's belly, and one still at her cunt, fingers pressing upwards, keeping the orgasm going as long as possible. She knows Root's body so well. Root stares up at her while her own limbs are still tingling with pleasure, and she sighs. Shaw grins, pleased with herself, and scoops Root up and into her lap again, with the vodka bottle in one hand, and the other stabilising Root who is still all wobbly arms and legs.
Root collapses against Shaw's chest and curls up her legs. "Mmm," she says, watching vodka disappear down Shaw's throat. She'll move in a minute, she tells herself, she'll move and she'll make Shaw feel this good too.
Shaw proffers the open bottle and Root shakes her head.
"Don't make me touch those gummy bears," Shaw says, but grabs one anyway: one slug of schnapps, one blue bear falling to a beautiful death in peach liqueur. "It'll rot your teeth and then you'll be sorry."
Root holds the shot glass, watches the bear float and bob on the golden, slightly viscous liquid. She downs it in one swallow, and swings her head around to kiss Shaw. Her turn, now.
Fandom: Person of Interest
Rating: Explicit
Words: 1556
Characters/Pairings: Root/Shaw
Warnings/Content: Rough Kissing, Oral Sex, Alcohol, Lingerie, Nail Polish
Notes: Written for Spicy Advent 2019. Title is from the OPI shade.
Summary: Root has a fresh manicure and new lingerie. All she needs now is Shaw.
Also at the Archive
It has been a day – a day and then some – and all Root can see before her eyes is code, spooling down and down endlessly on the inside of her eyelids. Fortunately the Machine has found her some down time. The first thing she does is get her nails done, the second thing she does is buy fancy, useless lingerie and the third is book a luxury suite in a hotel. Now she's in vacation mode, wearing a pastel pink babydoll and cheerfully blitzing rational thought out of her mind with sweet, sticky booze. She lines up the coloured shot glasses along the coffee table, fills them all with peach schnapps and drops a gummy bear in each. When the first shot and its little red bear has slipped down her throat, she lies back on the sofa with her legs straight above her, the better to admire her toenails, and gives Shaw a call.
"I'm busy," Shaw says, but Root can hear a game blaring above the murmur and clatter of glasses.
Root points her toes at the ceiling. "There is nothing like a fresh pedicure," she says. "And you're not busy; you're at a sports bar. Come over here and admire my beautiful toes."
Shaw sounds supremely unimpressed. "Why?" she says, though a mouthful of something crunchy.
"Because they're too pretty to waste on one person," said Root. "Did you know that there's an average of twenty-seven different people's urine in a bowl of bar peanuts?"
The crunching doesn't skip a beat. "And?" says Shaw.
Root pours herself another shot, and drops in a green gummy bear with a satisfying plonk. "I promise there's no urine in any of my snacks," she says, and lets the glass click against her teeth as she swallows it down.
"Whatever," says Shaw and hangs up.
Root kicks her legs in delight and goes to unlock the door.
When Shaw arrives, she takes one look at the bowl of gummy bears and the bottle of schnapps. "Are you kidding me with this sticky stuff?"
The room is swaying pleasantly by now. "There's vodka in the freezer," she says dreamily. "I know my girl runs on diesel."
Shaw grabs the bottle from the freezer, throws the lid somewhere in the room and takes a slug. "At least you spring for the good stuff," she says. "Shove over." She wraps her arm around Root's calves to hold them still and sits down with Root's feet in her lap.
Root wriggles her toes in delight and reaches for another gummy bear shot. This one is pink and he's been swimming in schnapps long enough that he's starting to dissolve. Root knows how he feels, and it's lovely: like parts of yourself are floating away in a beautiful peach-flavoured sea.
"Why do you drink that sugary garbage?" Shaw takes another pull from the vodka bottle. She's obviously mellowing because she is idly stroking Root's calf now. Nice and firm, like she would pet Bear.
Root holds still so as not to distract her. Shaw hates it when she gets caught being affectionate. "So I taste good when you kiss me, Sameen. Don't you know I do all of this for you?"
Shaw scoffs at that and raises the bottle again. In that moment of distraction, Root threads her legs around Shaw's hips and launches herself upright so she's sitting on Shaw's lap.
Shaw twigs to the attack very quickly, of course, but instead of shoving Root to the floor, she hold the bottle out of the way and hoists Root into a better position with her other hand on Root's backside. "Now what?" she says, face to face with Root. She hasn't moved her hand from Root's ass yet.
Root leans down to kiss her, lets her hair fall all around them both like a curtain. Shaw's mouth is cold from the chilled vodka. Root sighs and leans into the kiss, keeps their mouths together, moves her tongue over Shaw's, lets her lips brush Shaw's dangerous teeth.
She's already warm from the booze, but soon Root is glowing all over from the exertion of fencing with Shaw's mouth. Shaw is dangerous to kiss because she's not afraid to draw blood, and the more Root plays it cool, the harder Shaw works to make her squeal.
She's kneeling up over Shaw, and Shaw is arm-deep under Root's babydoll, fingers spread across her back. When Root is so breathless that she's starting to see stars, when she's fighting the urge to grind hard against Shaw's thighs, she slows down for a bit, sits back on Shaw's lap. She doesn't want this to be over too quickly. She wants to savour the floaty-sweet arousal.
Shaw leans back against the sofa, but leaves one hand resting comfortably on Root's ass. She watches Root putting herself back together: sweeping her hair back over her shoulder, straightening her clothes. Her lips quirk, and that's fascinating.
Root reaches out to touch the corner of Shaw's mouth, the corner of which has twisted up. "Are you smiling?" she says. "You must be drunker than me."
"Hah!" Shaw traps Root's fingertip with her teeth, gives it a little rough attention with her tongue.
Root squirms. "Careful," she says, though that's kind of the opposite of what she really wants. "That manicure is fresh."
Shaw's eyes narrow, and Root watches her teeth dig deeper into the varnish. There's something fascinating and terrifying about the way that Shaw destroys the pristine surface. Root leans down and offers her mouth instead, and suddenly she's lying on the sofa because Shaw has her pinned, hands above her head, while she savages Root's throat with teeth and tongue.
Each bite sends sharp flashes of arousal to Root's brain. She hears a whimper, realises it's her own voice, and listens entranced to her own breath rushing in and out. Shaw has the hem of the babydoll in her grip, rolling the hem between her fingertips. Root watches her fingers curl into the satin, feels the fabric brush against her nipples as Shaw gathers it in two fists then tears up the middle.
Root shrieks in actual outrage. As much as she loves being ravished by Shaw, she hoped she'd get to wear that more than once. The scraps of pink satin fall to the carpet but there's not much she can do with Shaw holding her down.
"Why do you bother with all this?" Shaw says, before she puts her mouth to a nipple, leaves it as glossy as Root's pink nails. "Fancy nails, sugary booze, luxe hotel…" she moves her mouth to the other side, and Root moans, tries to curl a leg around Shaw's leg, drag their hips together. "None of it means anything. None of it lasts."
Root heaves under Shaw's mouth. "We're still alive," she gasps. "Between the firefights and the bullet wounds, we're still alive, Shaw." When Shaw spreads her with two fingers, she plunges both hands into Shaw's beautiful hair, lets the silky strands slip between her fingers. She doesn't get to play with Shaw's hair, not unless Shaw is distracted. It's a luxury. Tonight is all about the luxury for Root, even if luxury is something Root defines a little differently than most.
Shaw is still angry – well, angrier than usual – and she's not gentle with Root, she's rough with her lips, she's impatient, she gets her tongue pressed flat to Root's clit, works fingers into her with brusque practicality.
Root has to bite down on her hand to stop from screaming out, because if Shaw knows how much she's enjoying this, she'll stop or get weird about Root overreacting. Root can't keep quiet because it's so good. Shaw's anger is a kind of luxury too, generous and hot and all-encompassing. Shaw pauses to take another swig from the vodka bottle before getting back to Root's cunt, and her mouth is cold, the surface of her tongue seems rougher somehow. There's volatility in every breath Root feels against her clit, and just for a moment she thinks she's bursting into flames of blue and purple.
Shaw holds her down while she's coming, one hand spread across Root's belly, and one still at her cunt, fingers pressing upwards, keeping the orgasm going as long as possible. She knows Root's body so well. Root stares up at her while her own limbs are still tingling with pleasure, and she sighs. Shaw grins, pleased with herself, and scoops Root up and into her lap again, with the vodka bottle in one hand, and the other stabilising Root who is still all wobbly arms and legs.
Root collapses against Shaw's chest and curls up her legs. "Mmm," she says, watching vodka disappear down Shaw's throat. She'll move in a minute, she tells herself, she'll move and she'll make Shaw feel this good too.
Shaw proffers the open bottle and Root shakes her head.
"Don't make me touch those gummy bears," Shaw says, but grabs one anyway: one slug of schnapps, one blue bear falling to a beautiful death in peach liqueur. "It'll rot your teeth and then you'll be sorry."
Root holds the shot glass, watches the bear float and bob on the golden, slightly viscous liquid. She downs it in one swallow, and swings her head around to kiss Shaw. Her turn, now.