Title: Backseat
Author: Michelle K. (dalurve@gmail.com)
Site: http://glimmershine.tripod.com
Category: x-over (The L Word/The West Wing); slash (Shane/Donna)
Challenge: thelfiction writing exercise #3: x-overs
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Getting picked up.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't sue.

Backseat by Michelle K.


You're getting picked up. But why else would you come to a bar in a city that's not your own? The woman -- Shane, as she told you in a voice that made you immediately think of sex with her, thereby narrowing your search -- gives you all the regular lines.

You say, "I bet you say that to all the girls."

A brunette a few seats down says, "You got that right." A blonde shushes her. Shane just doesn't seem to give a shit.

You whisper to her, "Let's get out of here."

She gives you a look like she's going to fuck you right there before she does lead you outside.

"Where are we going?" you ask against the cool night air.

"Your place. Mine's a little crowded."

"Um..." You think about Josh catching you sneaking a girl into your hotel room. "No... It's complicated. You... you want to have sex in my rental car?"

"No." She pulls you into a kiss. "I want to fuck you senseless."

"But you're okay with the rental car?"

She smiles.


Making out with someone in the backseat of a car reminds you of high school, but with a few key differences. Like: you're actually good at this *and* want to do it. Though: you're still afraid of a man who loves you finding out.

You pull at the hem of her shirt but she's the one to pull it off -- so quick that it almost makes you dizzy. You lower your mouth to her breasts. Kiss, lick, suck and you bring your lips back to hers.

She slides a hand up your thigh, fingers teasing at the edge of your panties before pushing inside. You gasp at the intrusion and the quick retreat that leaves you wanting more. She brings her fingers to her lips and tastes you.

"I hope you like it," you say. "Because, you know. There's not much I can do if you don't."

You pull up your skirt and straddle her hips, kissing her again. Her palms press against your neck as she deepens the kiss, sucking on your tongue until you're breathless.

You move your hands to her waist, undoing her pants and sliding your hand inside. It's not the most comfortable fit and it only gets worse when you find her clit, hips bucking against you.

"Can I take these off?" you say, and she answers by pushing them down herself.

You push your fingers in deeper as you move your body against her. The whole time, you're thinking about what it'll be like for her to get you off -- it's probably selfish, but it's a good motivator to listen to her whispered instructions at just the right way to play with her. As soon as she comes, you move off her and pull down your panties. Just as quickly, she's pulling her pants up and kissing you again.

You lean back on the door and spread your legs. You may be too presumptuous, but you might as well get the sex you want. She doesn't seem to mind, crouching down between your thighs in the cramped space. She palms your ass, tongue sliding over your slit. You rest your foot on the headrest and push up against her mouth. She nibbles lightly on your clit as she slips a finger inside you. Exploring, stroking, as she starts to lick you. You have been with more women than you care to count and, for a while, this feels like nothing exceptional. But somewhere around the third finger curving inside you, you realize that your toes are literally curling as you keep rocking against her mouth and, when she finally takes you over the edge, you really are going to be fucked senseless. Then you're coming, crashing. You can't move.

You don't want to.


You discover that disposing of a stranger you fucked in a car is a lot easier than getting rid of someone you brought back to your place. You suppose it's because some of the pretense is gone -- if you couldn't go to the trouble of finding a bed to fuck them in, it's fairly easy to acknowledge that you're not going to call.

"Thanks," you say. It sounds strange after you say it. "I mean, that was good."

"Right," she says.

"I should get going."

"I know."

She's cool and calm and nonchalant, and she makes you feel that way, too. You wish you could always feel this way after sex. But you suppose once is better than never.

She gives you one last kiss before she slips out of your car. Your mind wanders as you watch her retreat. Josh is probably wondering where you are. You inhale. Exhale. He'll never know.

And you'll keep doing it.


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