Title: Six Geese A-Laying
Author: Shatterpath
Feedback address: shatterpath@shatterstorm.net?
Date in Calendar: 19 December 2007
Fandom: ER, X-Files, Xena: Warrior Princess
Pairing: Elizabeth/Maggie, Monica/Dana, Mel/Jane
Word Count: 2598
Summary: On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, six geese a-laying.
Advertisement: Part of the FSAC:DW07


Beta: mrswoman

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, six geese a-laying.

++ Elizabeth ++


Giggling breathlessly, I allow myself to be manhandled into the spacious room, those active lips still determined not to lose contact with mine. Growling, I wrap a leg around Maggie's hip, not allowing her to even close the door for long moments, while I yank off her warm coat and shove both hands beneath her sweater and shirt.

"God Liz," she hisses, jumping when I rake my nails over the hollows at the small of her back. "Wild thing."

This woman, once my enemy, is my equal in all ways. She is smart, successful, stubborn, loud-mouthed and has a sex-drive that is completely unintimidated by my needs. I love so much about her and adore showing her that wherever I can.

"Bed," Maggie growls and I giggle coquettishly and untangle from her to do as ordered. Our roles with one another are fluid and malleable, needs and wants flowing back and forth. Since she's dressed in those sexy leather chaps and I know exactly what's stashed behind the loose-fit button fly jeans, I'm happy to let her lead for now.

Perhaps my seeming obsession with the physicality of our relationship might be off-putting to some, but both Maggie and I are both very physical people. We are in a line of work that is bloody and visceral and walks the edge of life and death every day. We are hard-drinking, hard-playing, foul-mouthed and rough-housing. She is my friend and my playmate and utterly unfazed by my extremes. Over the last year, I have felt freer than I have in many years.

"Come here, you tease," I encourage; struggling with my clothes as Maggie slams the door shut and begins to strip. "No, leave the pants on."

Grinning wildly, my girl does as ordered, only a few buttons loose below the smooth plains of her bare torso. "Gettin' randy?"

"Getting?" I growl. "I've been waiting for you for weeks. Ever since that bastard Romano made us push back our anniversary holiday, I've been wanting you like a bitch in heat."

"It was only eleven days ago," Maggie teases fondly, striding over to the bed where I can pull open the last few buttons on her fly and get at my gift. While this woman of mine lacks for nothing as a lover, I do love it when she's packing. It's one of many, many facets of our lovemaking.

++ Maggie ++

I'm already breathing hard, completely turned on as always by this minx I've somehow hooked. There is a wild, untamed spirit to Elizabeth that had nearly been snuffed out by the difficulties of her life. I take great pride in being a part of bringing that wildness back to her. Outside, the winter rages around the isolated B&B I booked for us to do no more than fuck and eat and sleep for four days.

Voracious, Liz yanks me into a kiss that nearly bowls me over into the bed, ravaging my mouth before working her way down my torso to the open 'v' of my pants. Feeling a bit like a succubus has done me in, I stroke and tug at her riot of curls and mumble/moan encouragement. The strap-on had been her idea, even though the long drive made the damn thing uncomfortable as hell. I like the toy on a fairly regular basis because watching Elizabeth Corday's face as she fucks is a pleasure that makes me her willing love slave!

Growling fiercely, she sucks the toy avidly for a moment, getting it wet, gripping my ass cheeks in her hands.

"C'mon, baby," I mumble throatily. "Let me fuck you like you need it."

Yeah, it might be a lame line, but it really was a long drive with full knowledge of what awaited us here and we're both horny as hell. So we wriggle around, giggling, on the big bed and soon she's on her back, comfy and waiting for me to get in and do my damn job!

"Quit fucking around," Liz growls and grabs the phallus as I get into position between her luscious, strong legs. So, with her driving my aim, I get to work my hips, fisting her long hair in my hands. Groaning long and low at the visceral penetration, Liz pins me between her thighs and kisses me roughly and thoroughly. "Do it."

No, it's never just about the sex between us. The sex is a manifestation of the bond we've built together and having this loving way of showing it. We have pillow fights and laugh until we're weak. We have screaming arguments that scare the neighbors and try to get outdoors to watch the sun set or rise at least once a week. Right now, I ride the lovely, full figure of my lover, making her kick and curse and groan, tugging almost violently at the straps that connect the chaps to the belt part, half-controlling the thrust of my toy in the clutch of her fantastic pussy.

No, it's never just about the sex between us, but it is a very real and healthy part of who we are.

Merry freakin' Christmas to us!

++ Monica ++

This task has been endlessly frustrating and fascinating, tracking the progress of the Sentinels and those involved with them. Just rereading my information for the First Lady and looking over Alexis' amazing drawings makes me nostalgic. It also reinforces my sense of separation from all of these wonderful people.

The Ranch is quieter than it has been since I visited it for approval back in February. All of the crews are gone for the holidays and only the new family recently in from San Francisco inhabits the buildings. Dace and the others left a few hours ago, driving off into the darkness on their way to New York for the holidays. Alex and Rachel and Kat are tired from the move and I doubt we'll see much of them for a few days; so for all intents and purposes, it's just Alexis, me and Dana.

The thought of my enigmatic partner makes me smile. After nearly a year of being practically attached at the hip to Dana Scully, I still feel as though I barely know her. We hit it right off, finding a certain comfort and safety in one another's similarities and differences. Honestly, I know I take the woman for granted. She keeps me grounded when my imagination would go too far to try and explain what is going on around me and I keep her from taking herself too seriously.

As though conjured from my mental wanderings, there is a rustle of sound in the sprawling apartment that I share with Dana.

"Mon?" Her melodic voice carries to me. "You hungry?"

A long moment passes while I turn in my chair and contemplate the petite red-head. We're sort of lovers, and sort of friends with benefits. I adore her, but I'm not certain that I'm wildly in love with her either. Both of us are such very separate people... and yet I know that I need her in very real ways. She's cute and sexy in blue scrubs, obviously having just come in from a long day helping out Al Robbins in the Las Vegas crime lab and then tending to Alexis. Two plastic bags of take-out food hang from her hands and she regards me quizzically.

The goofy grin that warms my face is not at all feigned.

++ Dana ++

How different my life has turned out. A brief assignment that took me from my coveted position teaching at Quantico has turned into a complete lifestyle change and this strange project in the desert. Yet, I'm happier here than I have been in what just might be my entire life. As I'm never certain of my own feelings exactly, much less Monica's, I try not to dwell, but just exist day to day. As busy and banal as my mind can be, this state of being has been very therapeutic.

But, as always, I'm moved by the warm regard of those loving, dark eyes. While everything may be secondary to the obsessive research, Monica still manages to make me feel special on a regular basis.

"Come here," she murmurs softly and I shiver at the tone. Carelessly plunking the bags atop her books and papers, I obey her hands on my hips, straddling her lap. "Welcome home, Dana."

The kiss is sweet and slow, her hands gentle but firm in my hair, pulling loose the ponytail. It's a mystery how she reads me so accurately, knowing just when to leave me to my natural solitude and when to invade my space. "Thank you, Monica."

We have always had a minimum of words between us, once again proving how Monica adapts herself to me, yet alters me in subtle ways. I like it.

It doesn't hurt that she's a fantastic kisser and a damn good lover when we feel the urge. The way I'm feeling hot and bothered right now, I think I just might keep her up for the rest of the night. "Do you think that I might be able to persuade you to eat dinner in bed?" I can't help but tease, knowing that she likes my rare playful moods. "Then we can just stay there."

"Sounds good to me."

Characteristically unselfconscious of her own body, Monica strips naked while closing down her computer and turning off the desk lamp. I take a moment to appreciate her and screw up enough courage to look beyond my rigid Catholic and military brat history before pulling off my own clothes and following her into the bed.

It's a relaxing night, where we chat and eat, the interactions going carnal when I drop fried rice all over her belly and decide that delicately chasing the soft grains with my mouth is as good a way as any to seduce her.

Turns out that I'm right.

++ Mel ++

"Hey baby," I call softly, her grin just as soft an answer. The glass house on the roof of the Amazon's building is a favored spot of my soulmate, the green growing things appealing to her bard nature. Years ago, even as the superstructure was going up, Jane had the additional support and the heavy eyebolts installed above the plants. That's where the hammock can be strung, near the peak of the glass roof. In summer, it's too miserably hot, but in winter, it's perfect. "I'll be up in a minute."

Taking a moment, I scamper to the door, where I tie one of the white rags around the door handle. That should buy us some privacy. Then I head up to the wood and cinderblock tiers that the plants reside on and make a convenient staircase to the hammock.

Basking in the sultry heat trapped at the peak of the roof slope, I kneel and prop my arms and chin on the edge of the hammock. The green eyes take a long moment to leave the city-stained sky to regard me with the ancient weight that I know all too well. The smile is sincere, loving and only for me, but it is tinged with tiredness of a thousand lifetimes.

"It'll be Winter Solstice in a couple days," she muses quietly, returning those striking eyes to the sky. The subtle language of her body reassures me to come close and I lever my tall body into the swaying hammock to cuddle her petite frame.

"Shall we celebrate?" I pick up Jane's earlier train of thought, stroking her pale head where she nestles up beneath my chin. "It's been awhile since we've done something wildly pagan like dance naked under the moon."

The attempt at humor works, making Jane huff with amusement and her body to relax. There are some advantages to our particular brand of destiny. From the moment our eyes met, all those years ago, we have known one another intimately. After all, the ancient lineage we share in has been going on since the dawn of time.

When Jane levers herself onto her elbow to look at me, I'm grateful to see her winning smile. "Dance naked beneath the moon, hmmm?" The kiss is sweet and slow and I revel in her touch. "I think I've been a bad influence on you."

Now it's my turn to chuckle.

++ Jane ++

It always gratifies me to earn laughter from my more stoic half. The clear, summer blue eyes crinkle sweetly and her whole serious countenance relaxes.

Every time I see Mel, I am reminded of our ancestors meeting and how they were drawn to one another, reflected all these millennia later in us.

We are carbon copies of our grandmothers. Well, on the outside at least. My Mel could hardly be any different from the delicate hothouse flower of a southern belle that was Granny Melinda. How she gave birth that bastard of a man that fathered my Mel is beyond me. Having never met the man, he ran off years before my entrance to the world, the stories were enough.

My folks are unknowns to me, killed in a car accident only weeks after my birth. Gran Janice always explained it to me with that grave look in her eye, saying, "That's how it works in our family, Munchkin. Someday you'll understand."

I wanted for nothing with my Gran and Granny. Opposite to the point of being a bit ridiculous, they were nonetheless devoted to one another and me.

At fourteen years old, I lost Gran. It came suddenly in her sleep, leaving her with a faintly disgruntled expression on her lined face. Death had trouble with that one. Devastated but calm, Granny kissed the fair head a last time and led me away. Southern accent thick, she explained to me that is was time for me to be on my own. I knew with no explanation that they could not survive apart. So I kissed the woman goodbye, staring hard into the clear, summer-blue eyes and walked away with a heavy heart.

After two days of depressed wandering, a sensation hit me like a thunderbolt, dragging me north as though a string were tied to my brain and heart. Only many years later did I understand that the pull was Granny's passing and Xena's ancient soul moving on to the next generation. Deep inside my own soul, someone stirred, pulling me to her other half.

Lost to the annals of time, the gods envied the ability of mortals to love. Jealous, they split every soul in half and we mortals have been searching for our other halves ever since. I've always known that story, long before I ever heard Gabrielle tell it through me. But I am part of something so much more amazing and unique.

Twenty years ago, I walked the streets of Chicago, drawn there by a force I did not understand. Utterly confused but completely certain of my path, everything I owned in an oversized backpack, I strode into a building and met my destiny. In her was and is Granny Mel's face and eyes, as exact a match as my face and eyes to my Gran Janice and all the generation that came before we four.

My love and I share a destiny no one understands. They simply can't. Not for lack of trying, but simply that we are so completely unique.

The beloved, clear, summer-blue eyes hold my own with complete understanding, reminding me once again that we are never, ever alone.