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crack_van2009-06-23 09:28 pm
sonatine.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2009-06-23 09:28 pm
Entry tags:
No Sleepers Must Sleep, by mercurial_wit (PG-13)
Fandom: DOCTOR WHO
Pairing: Master/Lucy
Length: 3500
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mercurial_wit
Author Website: Doctor Who tag
Why this must be read: Words have meanings, and motifs insinuate themselves everywhere, waiting to be teased out. This is a story about Lucy Saxon (a character we never got to see enough of, IMO), the forces that act upon her, and the choices she makes. Also, it contains the word "ostinato," and that's win enough.
But something in Lucy remembers how to dance, and it flares up as a savage phoenix of exultation the first time she sets foot inside a nightclub. That night, and all through all the other nights just like it that come to define her unique teenage rebellion, she dances and dances until her neck is slick with sweat and her perfectly smoothed sheets and perfectly plumped pillows are very far away. This is the rebellion: the acknowledgement that she cannot stand appearances for their own sake, and that sometimes she just wants to corrupt everything that her parents and her society hold incorruptible. Including herself.
Lucy corrupts her hair with gel and her skin with coloured powders and loses herself in music that is hardly music at all, just a beat, and one night not long after she has turned eighteen she finds herself accidentally-on-purpose losing her virginity in a club toilet: just like the worst kind of cliché but what the hell, she thinks, let's see if they notice this taint, the kind that can't be reversed and can't be scrubbed away.
It's not nearly as bad as she was bracing herself for; the man has no rhythm of his own but it's all right because the music is so loud that the beat merges with the dirty white porcelain and fills her whole body. God, she thinks, trying to find friction in the cold-warm slide of her bare shoulders against the tiles, god, all right, imagining the body filth of hundreds of people mingling with sweat on her skin, imagining going home and wiping it all over those sheets, yes, and she clutches at his arms and finally the thrilling fire spiraling upwards from her stomach overtakes the discomfort in the muscles of her back and then her legs tighten and she is molten, pulsing, filthy, glorious.
"We're not going to talk about this," she says decisively, pulling fabric back into place, and she doesn't even know if he can hear her over the noise but he doesn't look like he wants to talk either, so they draw apart with no effort, easy as an oiled zipper.
With the last remnants of the pleasurable heat fade Lucy's fantasies and all of her courage; in this, she takes after her father. Her rebellions can never quite be followed through all the way. She is hoping that her parents will notice that she is tainted because she will not have the guts to tell them herself.
So Lucy Cole goes home and takes a shower and slides into a clean silky nightie and falls asleep between her clean silky bedclothes with the beat still pounding in her head, slamming itself dully against one corner of her skull and then the other.
No Sleepers Must Sleep
Pairing: Master/Lucy
Length: 3500
Author on LJ:
mercurial_witAuthor Website: Doctor Who tag
Why this must be read: Words have meanings, and motifs insinuate themselves everywhere, waiting to be teased out. This is a story about Lucy Saxon (a character we never got to see enough of, IMO), the forces that act upon her, and the choices she makes. Also, it contains the word "ostinato," and that's win enough.
But something in Lucy remembers how to dance, and it flares up as a savage phoenix of exultation the first time she sets foot inside a nightclub. That night, and all through all the other nights just like it that come to define her unique teenage rebellion, she dances and dances until her neck is slick with sweat and her perfectly smoothed sheets and perfectly plumped pillows are very far away. This is the rebellion: the acknowledgement that she cannot stand appearances for their own sake, and that sometimes she just wants to corrupt everything that her parents and her society hold incorruptible. Including herself.
Lucy corrupts her hair with gel and her skin with coloured powders and loses herself in music that is hardly music at all, just a beat, and one night not long after she has turned eighteen she finds herself accidentally-on-purpose losing her virginity in a club toilet: just like the worst kind of cliché but what the hell, she thinks, let's see if they notice this taint, the kind that can't be reversed and can't be scrubbed away.
It's not nearly as bad as she was bracing herself for; the man has no rhythm of his own but it's all right because the music is so loud that the beat merges with the dirty white porcelain and fills her whole body. God, she thinks, trying to find friction in the cold-warm slide of her bare shoulders against the tiles, god, all right, imagining the body filth of hundreds of people mingling with sweat on her skin, imagining going home and wiping it all over those sheets, yes, and she clutches at his arms and finally the thrilling fire spiraling upwards from her stomach overtakes the discomfort in the muscles of her back and then her legs tighten and she is molten, pulsing, filthy, glorious.
"We're not going to talk about this," she says decisively, pulling fabric back into place, and she doesn't even know if he can hear her over the noise but he doesn't look like he wants to talk either, so they draw apart with no effort, easy as an oiled zipper.
With the last remnants of the pleasurable heat fade Lucy's fantasies and all of her courage; in this, she takes after her father. Her rebellions can never quite be followed through all the way. She is hoping that her parents will notice that she is tainted because she will not have the guts to tell them herself.
So Lucy Cole goes home and takes a shower and slides into a clean silky nightie and falls asleep between her clean silky bedclothes with the beat still pounding in her head, slamming itself dully against one corner of her skull and then the other.
No Sleepers Must Sleep
no subject
(Anonymous) 2009-06-24 04:20 pm (UTC)(link)http://mercurial-wit.livejournal.com/47569.html#cutid1