Branches: Thairn/Mickey

[skylarkrogers]

Episode 11 (The Birds and the Grasshoppers) has Thairn and Mickey consummating their attraction to one another.

As I've mentioned in a previous Branches post, their romance arc went a bittttt differently in the rough draft.

So for today's Branches, have the original version of their first time together.

Content Notes:
- Sexual situation that inherently renders consent iffy, though the characters are enthusiastically consenting
- Sex (non-explicit)

 

"I'll help you, and you'll help me. I think that can be a deal." Keep it vague enough, and it didn't breach Thairn's promise to Greta, because as far as Greta was concerned, stopping Mickey was helping him. His proposals, they were tempting, but she didn't have more than an hour of conversation about soap operas to determine how seriously he meant them. And she'd no intention of risking Illa.

"Wonderful," he said. "I accept."

"Then I suppose I'll see myself out?" She began to slide her gloves back on, covering up the glamour. They deactivated it when they were over her hands, at least until someone else touched them. Anything to keep the glamour from burning into her skin and leaving her with permanent scars.

"If you want," he said. "But I didn't bring you here under entirely false pretenses – oh, no, wait, I did, I said the thing with the alcohol. Well. Then I'll be honest, now. My true, second motive in bringing you here is that you are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen outside a mirror and I would absolutely love to get to know you better." He caught himself, tutted. "Euphemisms and pretense again. Let me correct that: I would like to have hot, entirely deviant sex with you, if that's something you'd like to do."

Time to decide: Was she still playing the angry, hurt woman? Alanna likely wouldn't accept a damned thing from him by this point. Or was she to play the caught-out agent, eager for any new advantage?

Or was she to play herself, who was alone in a warded bedroom with a confident, attractive, and somewhat clever man who knew exactly what she was and wanted her? Heavens, she could still remember the feel of his hands, that smooth surety. Gain a potential advantage, get him to trust her further, and have fun? Almost too easy. Was it a trap? But if it was, would she even be able to leave this room? Might as well take the pleasant route.

She leaned back in the bed, let the lie of anger drop and lit playfulness in her eyes. "How deviant are we talking about?"

As it turned out, sex with Mickey Morley was more instructive than those hours of conversation or that week of reading his file. For one, "Appears sexually attracted to women, men" failed to encompass the sheer joy he seemed to find in exploring every part and aspect of her, because she was neither a woman nor a man and, at the same time, quite enjoyed being both. He discovered things about her she hadn't even consciously realized, like how touching her in different places brought out different pitches, based on what cover she was used to having for this or that act.

But about Mickey, yes, she learned a lot. Unless he was terribly good at playacting, he'd clearly never been with a faerie. ("Neither have I, mostly, if that's any reassurance," she'd told him.) He hadn't been lying about being new to his glamour-piercing power, if the wonder and curiosity as he explored its limits with her was any indication. And he certainly didn't feel any of the way the rest of his family did about faeries, if she was to judge by his fascination and attraction and affection.

Mickey lay strewn out, catching his breath. "Is it rude to say I'm glad you're a bit smaller?" he asked. "It fits better."

Snort. "You wouldn't be the first to say that."

"Oh, you must have the most torrid romantic stories. I bet you live a telenovela."

"Oh, I do, but I don't think you'd like them."

"Why is that?"

Those damned corpses, that damned nightmare, floated to the surface of her mind. "They always end tragically." Hopefully not all of them. Hopefully not Illa.

"Well, we're off to a terrible start already," he said, kindly distracting. "My Capones already hate your Montagues."

"And my Capulets hate your Morleys." She laughed, because otherwise she'd have to think. "Romeo and Juliet? I barely know you."

"They barely knew each other. It's perfect. But don't worry, I'm not interested in suicide."

"Me, neither." She rolled over, and kissed him, and tried not to think about Illa. He could take care of himself. He'd be fine.