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Power Play

by Deslea R. Judd

     Subject: [glass_onion] NEW: Power Play NC17 Deslea R. Judd
     Date: Sunday, September 08, 2002 2:21 AM

     NEW Power Play 1/1
     Deslea R. Judd
     Copyright 2002

     DISCLAIMER: Characters not mine. Interpretation mine.
     ARCHIVE: Sure, just keep my name and headers.
     RATING: NC17 for sex.
     SPOILERS/TIMEFRAME: Piper Maru pre-ep. If you know what
     happens then, you'll be fine.
     CATEGORY/KEYWORDS: Femmeslash. Marita/Jeraldine Kallenchuck.
     Allusions to Krycek/Marita and Krycek/Jeraldine. Not quite
     PWP, but let's say the sex dominates.
     SUMMARY: Two formidable women. One powerful man. But who,
     exactly, is running the show? Written for the Harem
     femmeslash 500 challenge, although it turned out to be
     closer to 2000. Eh. More value for your smut-reading dollar.
     DEDICATION: For Fiona, who would have laughed uproariously
     about this one. Rest easy, gorgeous. You're missed.
     MORE FIC: http://fiction.deslea.com
     FEEDBACK: Love the stuff. deslea@deslea.com.  I take a while
     to reply, but it's cherished.

There is something about red nail polish on Marita Covarrubias that makes Jeraldine Kallenchuck feel predatory and hungry.

The fact that Marita is aware of her penchant for said polish probably accounts for much of Marita's behaviour. She thinks it accounts for the way she runs her fingertip around the lip of her wine glass. She's sure it accounts for the way she traces one blood-red nail across her lip. She's speaking to Senator Matheson, but she's looking Jeraldine dead in the eye.

Jeraldine finds it hard to breathe.

She'll have her sooner or later. There's no question of that. The promise is there in every look and every casual touch at every cocktail party they attend. They're two of a kind, she and Marita, and she means to have her. Marita would prefer it to be the other way around, of course, but screw that. Jeraldine belongs to no-one.

Marita raises her eyebrow, as though reading her thoughts. Jeraldine suddenly feels transparent. She licks her lips in anticipation. Marita pushes away from a bewildered Matheson, who clearly was mid-sentence, and she crosses the room to meet her.

"Hello, Marita," she says. Low. Husky.

"Hello, Jeri," Marita responds. She traces one red fingernail along Jeraldine's hand, and Jeraldine feels arousal fall around her like a shroud. She closes her eyes for a long moment.

When she opens them, Marita has a self-satisfied smile on her face. She thinks she's going to direct this, Jeraldine supposes. Well, two can play at that game.

"Outside," she says. "Now."

Jeraldine may be many things, but she is never, ever coy.

Marita licks her lips, takes Jeraldine's hand, and leads her away.

~x~

The balcony is suitably appointed for an old and stately home. Marble. Sandstone. An elegant daybed and coffee table to one side. It's too, too perfect.

"You set me up," Jeraldine says, turning to face Marita. "It's your house."

Marita smiles, a small, feral smile. "Yes," she says. "Do you object?"

"No. But I'll match you, and see you higher. You can count on that."

Marita moves in to kiss her, and Jeraldine parts her lips, waiting, but Marita pulls back at the very last moment. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Jeraldine kisses her. Hard.

Marita gasps out a sigh into her mouth, betraying just a little of her need, and Jeri takes the advantage and runs with it. She kisses her ferociously, eliciting tiny cries from her. Marita plunges her hands into Jeri's hair, urging her on. She feels hot and giddy, like her mind is shrouded in gauze. She tastes her, ravishes her. Marita's so soft, so fucking warm. And she's hers. All hers.

She doesn't give Marita a chance to get the upper hand.

She edges Marita down onto the daybed. Marita falls back, baring her throat, flushed and waiting. She offers no resistance, only lies there, eyes bright with desire. Jeri makes herself hold back, just for a moment, but God, it takes all the resistance she has, seeing her laid out there before her. She wants to engulf her. Possess her completely.

Marita holds out her hand. "Jeri," she blurts out, "oh, Jesus, don't just stand there. I want-" and that's all Jeri can bear, she's on top of her, kissing her throat, hands roaming over Marita's body, finding her breasts through navy silk. Marita is stretched out, straining upward into Jeri - her breast into her hand, her throat into her mouth. "God," she cries out, "God."

Her hands are trembling. She eases Marita's dress down her shoulder, just a little, just enough to expose one pale nipple to her gaze. She licks it, then breathes gently on it, and Marita nearly sobs in protest, cupping her breast with her hand, lifting it to Jeri's mouth.

Jeri relents. Takes Marita deep into her mouth. Relishes the softness, the creamy white warmth. "God, Marita, you're so-" and then the thought is lost. She sinks down deeper between Marita's thighs, sliding her hands beneath blue silk and finding wet lace and warmth. She feels Marita fumbling blindly for her skirt, dragging it up from behind, and when she feels cool air on her ass, she arches a little with a sigh. She cups Marita, grinding the heel of her palm hard against Marita's clit through the lace. Marita makes little cries of need, higher and higher until she comes, and Jeri shudders with her, not quite to the point of orgasm but pushed very close to it just from the sound Marita's cries alone.

She leans up over Marita. The ache between her legs is pounding and fierce, but something about the other woman moves her. She kisses her, tenderly, and Marita kisses back with something very much like adoration. "Oh, Jeri," she whispers, drawing her down on top of her, "oh, Jeri." There is surprise and wonder in her eyes.

Jeraldine doesn't protest when Marita eases her over onto her back. Marita teases her. Slow. Languid. No dominance. Total supplication. Runs those blood-red fingertips down her body, down her thighs. Yes, yes. Like that. Jeraldine has never felt so adored, so utterly revered in all her life.

~x~

"Jeri," Marita whispers when Jeri is relaxed to the point of sleep. Her hand closes over Jeri's breast. "Jeri."

"Mmm-hmm?" Jeri says, lazily opening her eyes. Marita is poised over her. Delightfully rumpled. Her lipstick is all but gone, and her hair is a mess. Her dress covers her again, more or less, but the swell of her breasts are tantalisingly close and inviting. She finds one with her palm, and presses her, gently. Waiting for Marita to succumb to desire and need.

But Marita only looks at her. There's arousal in her eyes, definitely, but there's something amused and predatory as well. It occurs to Jeraldine that the game isn't over yet. That her possession of the delectable Marita might not be a foregone conclusion after all.

Jeri swallows hard.

"You were visited by a man named Krycek," Marita says idly, teasing her fingertips over Jeri's jaw. Jeri shivers lightly and tries to catch that finger between her lips, but Marita eludes her. She is suddenly aware of her whole body. Alive. Waiting. The ache between her thighs is stronger than ever. Somehow, Marita has done this, so slowly, so luxuriously that it crept up on her unawares.

"Yes," she says. Bites back a cry of longing when Marita's hand finds her breast once more. Fails at holding back a high, blurted sigh when Marita allows her soft body to press along Jeri's, rocking with her so slowly, so gently.

"What happened?" Marita asks, teasing her palm up the outside of Jeri's thigh, and Jeri shifts, trying to get Marita where she wants her. Her hand moves, then cups her, maddeningly. She doesn't pull her panties aside, or press, or rub, or rock. Just stays there, full of promise. "What happened, Jeri?"

Jeri moans. "He wanted - me - to sell -information. I said - I said no. Oh, Jesus, Marita, please-"

Marita sidles down Jeraldine's body, and she places her delicate mouth where Jeri wants it. She tugs aside her wispy panties and sucks, long and slow. Her practiced lips only heighten Jeri's ache, stroking it and fanning the flames. "God, Marita, just fuck me."

"Did Krycek fuck you, Jeri?" she wonders, teasing one finger over her clit. Jeri rocks against it, overwhelmed. Barely coherent. She feels Marita's fingertips just nudging her opening with every stroke. "Did he fuck you, too?"

"Yes," she gasps, and is rewarded with four long slender fingers inside her, moving fast.

"Did he fuck you like this, Jeri?" Jeri's mouth falls open to say yes, but then Marita's hand slows. Becomes rhythmic. Relentless. Jeri didn't think she could want it any more than she already did, but she feels herself spasm around Marita, craving more, more.

"Like that," she blurts out. "Slow. Like that." Marita keeps moving until the waves of orgasm begin to crash over her, but then she stops, her hand still buried inside her.

"You lied to me, Jeri," Marita whispers. "He fucked you hard, and you liked it. Didn't you?" Jeri whimpers, arrested on the brink, and nods. Marita rewards her, pressing her thumb against her clit and rotating it, oh, so slowly. She begins to move her hand once more. "Don't ever lie to me again, Jeri."

Jeri sinks down, hard against Marita's fingers, and shakes her head.

She begins again. Slow. Brings Jeri back up at a leisurely pace. Moves with her, so softly, and kisses her. "You know, Jeri, there's something you should know."

"What's that?" Jeri sighs, letting arousal wash over her once more.

Marita twines her legs with Jeri's. "Krycek is my husband."

Too exhausted, too overwhelmed to be surprised. "Huh. I'm guessing 'forsaking all others' isn't high on your list of top ten hints for married life."

"That's true," Marita says reflectively. "But we work out all right, just the same."

"I'll bet," Jeri says, shivering lightly as Marita's strokes grow longer and deeper. "Does he know you're here?"

"Oh, yes," she says. "You see, Jeraldine, there's one thing he and I do take seriously about married life."

"What's that?" she forces out through gritted teeth. She's on the brink. Right on the brink. Oh, please, this time-

"What's mine is his. And what's his is mine."

She sees where this is going. Tries to pretend she doesn't. "I'm not his."

"No. But you're mine, aren't you, Jeri?"

Jeri's lips draw back from her teeth into a small, feral smile. "No," she whispers. Marita keeps thrusting, but she slows her rotating thumb almost to a standstill. It's like dragging something hot over her, she's that excruciatingly sensitive, and she bites her lip to hold back sobs of desperation. She pushes hard against Marita, rocking against her, but it's an exercise in futility, she needs Marita to do it, she needs her so bad.

"Yes," she gasps finally. "Yes, yours, yours, I'm yours," and then Marita moves just a little and it's all over, the shudders rush through her, and she clenches hard around Marita's hand, and Marita kisses her tenderly when her trembling subsides.

"Good, Jeri," she soothes. "That's good."

No, it isn't. It isn't good at all. But then, there's always the next round. This thought cheers Jeri considerably.

Marita takes Jeraldine's hand and kisses her fingertips. "Good," she says again. "Now. Let's make a deal."

END


AUTHOR'S NOTES: Femmeslash is a rare indulgence for me. I love the stuff, but there are comparatively few opportunities to explore it in the XF universe.

I've wondered for quite a while now just how Krycek managed to make contact with Jeraldine. I couldn't see the connection. But then it occurred to me that an international salvage broker would necessarily have diplomatic connections (which was, of course, how she managed to sell the secrets) and that she may have met Marita through her connections. That gave me the idea of these two, gutsy, ballsy women in the one room, and oh my God, can you say steam?

Thanks MJ as always for the Harem femmeslash challenge, and Malograntum Vitiorum for her Harem Jeraldine commentary, without which this fic probably would never have happened.


If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Deslea R. Judd

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