sv ficpost:Ripley ficlet part four
6/19/08 11:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Ripley ficlet that seems to be growing....
Pairing: Lex/Clark, Rip/Greg/Irving
Rating: R
"Hey, Dad said you'd be here. Can I…can I come in? "
"I knew it would be you," he smiled, "of course, you can come in." He stopped, grinned and bobbed from the waist, stepped aside with a sweep of his arm, indicating the room behind him, and she fixed him with a look.
"I *swear*, if you say enter freely…"
"Not even one little "Of your own free will?"
He smiled, and she snorted, shifted and craned her neck to look into the room."Oh, nice, the Berkley suite. I always loved that art deco look…" She was still a little hesitant about coming in, and Irving swore he couldn't remember a time that Rip had ever been hesitant. She looked around and in a gesture so reminiscent of her dads--her poppa, to be precise--stroked a slim hand over her head. She blew out a thin gust of air. "I'm sorry."
"For what, Lexie? You didn't do anything wrong." Irving started to move away and she grabbed his sleeve.
"That's it. I didn't do *anything*. I let things wind down until they almost imploded, and then…and then I panicked and blew things up. Look—I come of a people famous for making stupid decisions, for flying in the face of logic. But I can't let this go on…Irving…please."
Irving turned to her, and saw her eyes full of tears and how rumpled she looked—for him? He smiled. Sure…sure it was for him.
"The talk about. About babies. I guess I was pushing it—but you must have known some day, we'd want a baby, Irving. "
"I agree, some day, when we're ready for it. Right now, I don't think we're fit to raise hamsters. plus it was so sudden. It was all you talked about, like it was all you wanted and. You seemed to think it would make everything better."
She sighed. I know, I know. I guess I went a little nuts. And Greg was fine with it so I thought…" she rubbed her face, and peeked over the tops of her fingers at him. "You know." She mumbled, the words muffled by her hands.
"You thought. And just curious here--did you ask Greg, or tell him? Greg will do anything you want to make you happy. You know I love you but…I'm not Greg. I won’t give up everything for you."
She looked shocked. "He does not! Does he? Oh God…does he do that?"
"Does he do that." Irving snorted. "He's kind of like your dad, only with no brakes. Clark at least will rein Lex back but Greg…" He shrugged and looked at her pointedly.
Ripley stared, her expression of shock changing almost comically to horror. Wide eyed and pale, she asked him, "Why didn't you stop me?"
Irving indicated the room, spread his arms wide and said, "Duh."
She sighed and dropped her head. "It worked. So. You've been feeling pushed into the box. Well, I've been feeling pushed out of it—both of us feel like you're pushing us away, Irving. And sometimes it occurs to me that…maybe you don't love me like I love you…"
He took her hand and shook his head. "It's not like that. We might not have fallen for each other, but we did fall for someone else *together*, didn’t we? And as for not loving you…I always felt I was kind of…the cereal you had to eat around to get to the shiny prize. Fuck. That sounds so pathetic, and I don't mean it to…"
"Oh sweetheart!" She touched his cheek, and he leaned into the warmth of her hand. She was always so warm…"That's ridiculous. You're…you're Irving! You're our glue! You keep us together; keep us on track—where would we be without you?"
"Having a normal life. Do you know what it felt like standing at that altar, being the 'best man'? Knowing that this—this thing won't ever be recognized? I mean, look at your dads—they're fucking normal compared to us. They can get married if they want to, they can hold their heads up and declare 'we’re family'. Me and you and…and…we can't ever. You're Alexandra Dorn, not Luthor-Dorn-Rosen."
Ripley threw herself on the sitting room couch. "Oh bullshit. Are you telling me after all these years, you really care about that? That's not what's bugging you, and the fear of babies didn't make you run, you’re only afraid of one thing on the planet."
Irving looked at her out of the corner of his eye—fuck. Did she know? About that drunken kiss slash maybe suicide attempt by hot older man? But no, she seemed to mean it the way she always did—Lex Luthor was scary. And she loved it.
Ripley rolled to her side on the couch and fixed Irving with one of her x-ray stares. "It's him. Irving…it's always him standing in the corners of our relationship. We love each other but we're not—together."
Irving sighed. He poured them both drinks from the tiny suite bar, and sat in the space Rip left on the couch. "Here." She took the drink with a murmur of thanks—he lifted her legs over his lap, took a sip of his drink and sighed. "Look, I tell myself that we are together, that this is something we need. But I think—what this really is, is this. You love me, and I love you and together we love Greg, who loves you…and I love him." He took a deep breath and let it out.
Ripley was staring at him, open mouthed. "What? Am I supposed to make sense out of that, 'cause it was kind of like a 'when you give a mouse a cookie' kind of thing." She continued to stare, and he burst into laughter, and held up his hands when she bristled.
"No, no, not you, it's…it's the situation. I mean, the situation isn't funny, it's just…I've thought about it a lot, and it's kind of…well. I fell in love with Greg first. And then I realized if I wanted to keep being able to be close to him, that I'd have to work you in. And it did work. A lot. I love you Lexie, I love you a lot, and I *know* you love me. But."
"But you love Greg a little more? It's all right to say so, it's impossible to be totally even. Not even parents manage that little trick, no matter what they say. And Greg…he loves you Irving, he loves you as much as I do."
"Oh Lexie—he loves me only because he loves you. He sees me as your…pet or something."
She looked shocked—horrified. "No he doesn't! He loves you for you! He always has, Irving." She was up now, pacing the room and every once in a while forgetting to keep her feet on the floor. "What, is it because he doesn't express it physically, the way you want, that you don’t believe it?"
"Um, you're floating honey," he murmured into the rim of his glass.
"Hunh? Shit." She dropped the inch or two to the carpet with a soft thunk. "See? I'm so upset…" she grabbed double handfuls of bright red hair—and yanked. "Irving!"
"Come here." He put his glass down and opened his arms and she jumped into them, settled over his lap and curled into his chest. "Rip…honey. Please don't worry, and please don’t cry."
"I'm not—and I will if I want to." She chuckled wetly into his chest, and he rubbed her back…slowly changing from rubbing to stroking to…she shifted on his lap, and made a small sound of relief and comfort and said, "Sex doesn’t fix anything, you know."
"I know," he murmured, and stroked lower.
"It does feel good though."
"Um-hum, it does," he said, and moved his hands from stroking her back to stroking her thighs and moaned quietly when she rocked on his lap.
"It is sort of communication, right," and she wiggled and they both gasped.
"Communication, right, I'm all about communicating," he gulped.
"Yesss, say, can we move this off the couch? I happen to know these suites have big giant beds," she murmured into his ear, and sucked on his earlobe until he was squirming and hard against her.
"Okay." He lifted her up, so easily that he knew she'd given herself a boost upwards, and set her lightly on her feet. He took her hand and started off towards the bedroom.
"Wait," she said, and reached down into her bag, came up with something small, square, and shiny in her hand. She tossed it to him.
He smiled. "Is this a message?"
"No Irving, it's a condom. See? Lubricated, even—" he was pulling her towards the room and unbuttoning her shirt as they went, and she unbuttoned his.
"Not the most graceful passage but I like it," he said, and lifted her skirt over her hips, tucked fingers into her panties and pulled.
"Wait, you'll make us fall," she groused, but all the while she unsnapped, unzipped his pants, grabbed the waist band of the boxer-briefs he wore and yanked down. She came to an abrupt stop, and Irving had to stop too. She stared down. "God. I'm not even going to contemplate for one minute why you are wearing purple boxers," she groaned. "I'd have to rinse my brain in bleach."
He pinked up. "He left a pair at the house one time and…I thought they looked pretty cool. And comfortable. So I bought some too, sue me."
"Strike me dead, that I'm about to say this," she said, hopping from one foot to the other and letting her panties lay where they fell on the floor," but Poppa only wears black or gray silk boxers, Dad's the one who wears boxer briefs…and a lot of the time they're purple. You know why?" She put a hand in the middle of Irving's chest and sent him flying to land on the bed with a surprised whuff. "Because that's how he lets Poppa know he belongs to him." She stopped and screwed up her face. "Are we really talking about them before having sex? Worlds of ew…now stop ogling my parent's underwear and. Give. It. Up."
Irving gave a little sigh and dropped his hands to the bed. He knew Ripley was kidding, mostly but…he was surprised by how seriously he took it. "Oh baby, I know, I know…it was just one more…childhood hurdle I had to jump. Your poppa is safe from me," he sighed.
She stopped, and held his face. "Oh Irving…you mean seriously? Oh god, I thought it was just kind of a running joke…oh shit. I mean we kidded about it for years."
Irving felt a dash of relief that neither of her dads had mentioned The Incident. She leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose. "No." He ran his hands up her bare back, and twisted them into the curls hanging over her shoulders. "No, it was a distraction."
She leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. "He loves you, he does. I'm just in the way. You let me be in the way. Find out for yourself…for years, you've been dancing around it."
He pulled her flat on top of him and she hummed at the feel of his dick pressing into her. "He wants you to touch him; he loves touching you, doesn't he? His hands are always on you when we make love, he fucks me harder when you're there, when you're behind me, in me…" they both groaned, and his dick slid easier against her stomach. She slid and moved until his dick was pulsing against her, moved until he was pressed against her heat. "Irving…"
He shivered; she held the head of his dick against her and slowly slid down on him. He was surrounded by tight wet heat, so good it made him cry out…he flexed as she tightened down on him and groaned.
"Irving…ah…" slow upward thrusts into her teased him as much as it teased her. "The way you look at him when he's fucking me, makes me so hot, and when you touch me, my breasts, my ass…"
Irving shuddered all over, growled, "Fuck Rip, move, move." She began lifting and dropping on him, and he held her legs, closed his eyes and let the waves roll over him. "I love fucking you, I love it, but I want to fuck him…shit. I want him to fuck me." She gulped and groaned when he flexed inside her, over and over, making her grind down into him.
"God, yeah, yeah, you should you will, fuck him fuck me harder oh shii—iit…"
Irving worked his fingers between them, feeling himself moving into her, slick and sticky and so hot--rubbed her clit and reached around with his free hand to cup and squeeze her ass, hard.
His thumb worked faster and faster over her clit, she rocked on him, squeezed him with her thighs and grinned down into his face, a little wild—a lot hot.
He moaned and arched, holding her in place and she tightened her thighs around him. "Fuck, babe—'sgonna bruise…" He grunted and bucked up into her, moaning non-stop now. He froze, teetering almost painfully on the edge of a hell of an orgasm—she tightened around him, drew back on his dick, dropped again and moaned his name like it was the only word she knew and that was all it took. With a gasp, he was pumping inside her, feeling her flutter around him. She threw her head back with a shout, her hands briefly squeezed around each of his wrists as she worked through her own orgasm. The feel of being held like that--it made him jerk, and try to come again. He knew he'd have twin bracelets of bruising around his wrists…he grinned and laughed weakly. Sweet of her to remember his little kinks….
"Laughing? Bastard, you made me come so hard I almost died. I missed you so much. When are you going to come home?"
"Me too. I just need…I need to think what's next for me, okay? Without pressure Lexie, okay?" He rolled her over to her side, and kissed her, long, sweet, and perfect…he'd missed that too. He rolled off the bed and walked into the bathroom to clean up and she called after him.
"Listen; I did bring you something, with permission. I'd love for you to listen to it. Just so you know me a little better, and so you know just what you mean to me." The voice came from the doorway, he turned and she stepped in, touched his cheek. "Irving, you're not someone who came with Greg. You're part of my life. I need you like I need my...my…"
"Squeedlyspootch?"
"I was gonna say my heart, but okay, that works…"
"I love you alien girl."
"I love you too."
Pairing: Lex/Clark, Rip/Greg/Irving
Rating: R
"Hey, Dad said you'd be here. Can I…can I come in? "
"I knew it would be you," he smiled, "of course, you can come in." He stopped, grinned and bobbed from the waist, stepped aside with a sweep of his arm, indicating the room behind him, and she fixed him with a look.
"I *swear*, if you say enter freely…"
"Not even one little "Of your own free will?"
He smiled, and she snorted, shifted and craned her neck to look into the room."Oh, nice, the Berkley suite. I always loved that art deco look…" She was still a little hesitant about coming in, and Irving swore he couldn't remember a time that Rip had ever been hesitant. She looked around and in a gesture so reminiscent of her dads--her poppa, to be precise--stroked a slim hand over her head. She blew out a thin gust of air. "I'm sorry."
"For what, Lexie? You didn't do anything wrong." Irving started to move away and she grabbed his sleeve.
"That's it. I didn't do *anything*. I let things wind down until they almost imploded, and then…and then I panicked and blew things up. Look—I come of a people famous for making stupid decisions, for flying in the face of logic. But I can't let this go on…Irving…please."
Irving turned to her, and saw her eyes full of tears and how rumpled she looked—for him? He smiled. Sure…sure it was for him.
"The talk about. About babies. I guess I was pushing it—but you must have known some day, we'd want a baby, Irving. "
"I agree, some day, when we're ready for it. Right now, I don't think we're fit to raise hamsters. plus it was so sudden. It was all you talked about, like it was all you wanted and. You seemed to think it would make everything better."
She sighed. I know, I know. I guess I went a little nuts. And Greg was fine with it so I thought…" she rubbed her face, and peeked over the tops of her fingers at him. "You know." She mumbled, the words muffled by her hands.
"You thought. And just curious here--did you ask Greg, or tell him? Greg will do anything you want to make you happy. You know I love you but…I'm not Greg. I won’t give up everything for you."
She looked shocked. "He does not! Does he? Oh God…does he do that?"
"Does he do that." Irving snorted. "He's kind of like your dad, only with no brakes. Clark at least will rein Lex back but Greg…" He shrugged and looked at her pointedly.
Ripley stared, her expression of shock changing almost comically to horror. Wide eyed and pale, she asked him, "Why didn't you stop me?"
Irving indicated the room, spread his arms wide and said, "Duh."
She sighed and dropped her head. "It worked. So. You've been feeling pushed into the box. Well, I've been feeling pushed out of it—both of us feel like you're pushing us away, Irving. And sometimes it occurs to me that…maybe you don't love me like I love you…"
He took her hand and shook his head. "It's not like that. We might not have fallen for each other, but we did fall for someone else *together*, didn’t we? And as for not loving you…I always felt I was kind of…the cereal you had to eat around to get to the shiny prize. Fuck. That sounds so pathetic, and I don't mean it to…"
"Oh sweetheart!" She touched his cheek, and he leaned into the warmth of her hand. She was always so warm…"That's ridiculous. You're…you're Irving! You're our glue! You keep us together; keep us on track—where would we be without you?"
"Having a normal life. Do you know what it felt like standing at that altar, being the 'best man'? Knowing that this—this thing won't ever be recognized? I mean, look at your dads—they're fucking normal compared to us. They can get married if they want to, they can hold their heads up and declare 'we’re family'. Me and you and…and…we can't ever. You're Alexandra Dorn, not Luthor-Dorn-Rosen."
Ripley threw herself on the sitting room couch. "Oh bullshit. Are you telling me after all these years, you really care about that? That's not what's bugging you, and the fear of babies didn't make you run, you’re only afraid of one thing on the planet."
Irving looked at her out of the corner of his eye—fuck. Did she know? About that drunken kiss slash maybe suicide attempt by hot older man? But no, she seemed to mean it the way she always did—Lex Luthor was scary. And she loved it.
Ripley rolled to her side on the couch and fixed Irving with one of her x-ray stares. "It's him. Irving…it's always him standing in the corners of our relationship. We love each other but we're not—together."
Irving sighed. He poured them both drinks from the tiny suite bar, and sat in the space Rip left on the couch. "Here." She took the drink with a murmur of thanks—he lifted her legs over his lap, took a sip of his drink and sighed. "Look, I tell myself that we are together, that this is something we need. But I think—what this really is, is this. You love me, and I love you and together we love Greg, who loves you…and I love him." He took a deep breath and let it out.
Ripley was staring at him, open mouthed. "What? Am I supposed to make sense out of that, 'cause it was kind of like a 'when you give a mouse a cookie' kind of thing." She continued to stare, and he burst into laughter, and held up his hands when she bristled.
"No, no, not you, it's…it's the situation. I mean, the situation isn't funny, it's just…I've thought about it a lot, and it's kind of…well. I fell in love with Greg first. And then I realized if I wanted to keep being able to be close to him, that I'd have to work you in. And it did work. A lot. I love you Lexie, I love you a lot, and I *know* you love me. But."
"But you love Greg a little more? It's all right to say so, it's impossible to be totally even. Not even parents manage that little trick, no matter what they say. And Greg…he loves you Irving, he loves you as much as I do."
"Oh Lexie—he loves me only because he loves you. He sees me as your…pet or something."
She looked shocked—horrified. "No he doesn't! He loves you for you! He always has, Irving." She was up now, pacing the room and every once in a while forgetting to keep her feet on the floor. "What, is it because he doesn't express it physically, the way you want, that you don’t believe it?"
"Um, you're floating honey," he murmured into the rim of his glass.
"Hunh? Shit." She dropped the inch or two to the carpet with a soft thunk. "See? I'm so upset…" she grabbed double handfuls of bright red hair—and yanked. "Irving!"
"Come here." He put his glass down and opened his arms and she jumped into them, settled over his lap and curled into his chest. "Rip…honey. Please don't worry, and please don’t cry."
"I'm not—and I will if I want to." She chuckled wetly into his chest, and he rubbed her back…slowly changing from rubbing to stroking to…she shifted on his lap, and made a small sound of relief and comfort and said, "Sex doesn’t fix anything, you know."
"I know," he murmured, and stroked lower.
"It does feel good though."
"Um-hum, it does," he said, and moved his hands from stroking her back to stroking her thighs and moaned quietly when she rocked on his lap.
"It is sort of communication, right," and she wiggled and they both gasped.
"Communication, right, I'm all about communicating," he gulped.
"Yesss, say, can we move this off the couch? I happen to know these suites have big giant beds," she murmured into his ear, and sucked on his earlobe until he was squirming and hard against her.
"Okay." He lifted her up, so easily that he knew she'd given herself a boost upwards, and set her lightly on her feet. He took her hand and started off towards the bedroom.
"Wait," she said, and reached down into her bag, came up with something small, square, and shiny in her hand. She tossed it to him.
He smiled. "Is this a message?"
"No Irving, it's a condom. See? Lubricated, even—" he was pulling her towards the room and unbuttoning her shirt as they went, and she unbuttoned his.
"Not the most graceful passage but I like it," he said, and lifted her skirt over her hips, tucked fingers into her panties and pulled.
"Wait, you'll make us fall," she groused, but all the while she unsnapped, unzipped his pants, grabbed the waist band of the boxer-briefs he wore and yanked down. She came to an abrupt stop, and Irving had to stop too. She stared down. "God. I'm not even going to contemplate for one minute why you are wearing purple boxers," she groaned. "I'd have to rinse my brain in bleach."
He pinked up. "He left a pair at the house one time and…I thought they looked pretty cool. And comfortable. So I bought some too, sue me."
"Strike me dead, that I'm about to say this," she said, hopping from one foot to the other and letting her panties lay where they fell on the floor," but Poppa only wears black or gray silk boxers, Dad's the one who wears boxer briefs…and a lot of the time they're purple. You know why?" She put a hand in the middle of Irving's chest and sent him flying to land on the bed with a surprised whuff. "Because that's how he lets Poppa know he belongs to him." She stopped and screwed up her face. "Are we really talking about them before having sex? Worlds of ew…now stop ogling my parent's underwear and. Give. It. Up."
Irving gave a little sigh and dropped his hands to the bed. He knew Ripley was kidding, mostly but…he was surprised by how seriously he took it. "Oh baby, I know, I know…it was just one more…childhood hurdle I had to jump. Your poppa is safe from me," he sighed.
She stopped, and held his face. "Oh Irving…you mean seriously? Oh god, I thought it was just kind of a running joke…oh shit. I mean we kidded about it for years."
Irving felt a dash of relief that neither of her dads had mentioned The Incident. She leaned down and kissed the tip of his nose. "No." He ran his hands up her bare back, and twisted them into the curls hanging over her shoulders. "No, it was a distraction."
She leaned in closer and whispered in his ear. "He loves you, he does. I'm just in the way. You let me be in the way. Find out for yourself…for years, you've been dancing around it."
He pulled her flat on top of him and she hummed at the feel of his dick pressing into her. "He wants you to touch him; he loves touching you, doesn't he? His hands are always on you when we make love, he fucks me harder when you're there, when you're behind me, in me…" they both groaned, and his dick slid easier against her stomach. She slid and moved until his dick was pulsing against her, moved until he was pressed against her heat. "Irving…"
He shivered; she held the head of his dick against her and slowly slid down on him. He was surrounded by tight wet heat, so good it made him cry out…he flexed as she tightened down on him and groaned.
"Irving…ah…" slow upward thrusts into her teased him as much as it teased her. "The way you look at him when he's fucking me, makes me so hot, and when you touch me, my breasts, my ass…"
Irving shuddered all over, growled, "Fuck Rip, move, move." She began lifting and dropping on him, and he held her legs, closed his eyes and let the waves roll over him. "I love fucking you, I love it, but I want to fuck him…shit. I want him to fuck me." She gulped and groaned when he flexed inside her, over and over, making her grind down into him.
"God, yeah, yeah, you should you will, fuck him fuck me harder oh shii—iit…"
Irving worked his fingers between them, feeling himself moving into her, slick and sticky and so hot--rubbed her clit and reached around with his free hand to cup and squeeze her ass, hard.
His thumb worked faster and faster over her clit, she rocked on him, squeezed him with her thighs and grinned down into his face, a little wild—a lot hot.
He moaned and arched, holding her in place and she tightened her thighs around him. "Fuck, babe—'sgonna bruise…" He grunted and bucked up into her, moaning non-stop now. He froze, teetering almost painfully on the edge of a hell of an orgasm—she tightened around him, drew back on his dick, dropped again and moaned his name like it was the only word she knew and that was all it took. With a gasp, he was pumping inside her, feeling her flutter around him. She threw her head back with a shout, her hands briefly squeezed around each of his wrists as she worked through her own orgasm. The feel of being held like that--it made him jerk, and try to come again. He knew he'd have twin bracelets of bruising around his wrists…he grinned and laughed weakly. Sweet of her to remember his little kinks….
"Laughing? Bastard, you made me come so hard I almost died. I missed you so much. When are you going to come home?"
"Me too. I just need…I need to think what's next for me, okay? Without pressure Lexie, okay?" He rolled her over to her side, and kissed her, long, sweet, and perfect…he'd missed that too. He rolled off the bed and walked into the bathroom to clean up and she called after him.
"Listen; I did bring you something, with permission. I'd love for you to listen to it. Just so you know me a little better, and so you know just what you mean to me." The voice came from the doorway, he turned and she stepped in, touched his cheek. "Irving, you're not someone who came with Greg. You're part of my life. I need you like I need my...my…"
"Squeedlyspootch?"
"I was gonna say my heart, but okay, that works…"
"I love you alien girl."
"I love you too."
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