ds_flashfiction | For the Fuck or Die challenge, by Mireille

Title: On the Whole, You're Better Than Death
Author: Mireille
Pairing: Welsh/Francesca (no. seriously. I'm not joking.)
Rating: explicit
Notes: I either want to thank

msdori for convincing me of this pairing, or poke her with a sharp stick. I haven't decided. This sort of follows my story A Breath of Highly Perfumed Air, but you don't need to read that to read this. Also, I am aware that the situation is on crack. Really, I am.

Way, way over 1000 words.

"There's a hidden camera in that mirror," Francesca said, gesturing with one hand while the other remained firmly planted on her hip, "and any minute now, Huey and Dewey are going to bust in here laughing themselves sick."

"The camera's over there," Welsh corrected her, pointing it out; "it's not hidden, and this is not a joke."

"Of course it's a joke. No crook is so demented that he'd kidnap us and tell us that he's going to kill us if we don't--" She shook her head. "That's not psycho. That's just dumb."

"There are dumb criminals out there." He glanced at his watch. They'd been given an hour, and Francesca had already used up five minutes of it arguing.

"I know. I've seen the cup shots, remember? None of them look like the sharpest crayon in the box, and that's even if you compare them to my brother-in-law."

"Mug shots."

"Cup. Mug. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that some freak chloroformed me and now I have to have sex with you or he's going to blow my brains out." She went over to stand beneath the small, high window in their basement prison. "Hello? Can anyone hear me? Help! Help us!"

"No one's going to hear you," he said, leaning against a stack of boxes. It really was a pretty normal basement, not the sort of dungeon lair he'd have expected from someone who'd cook up a scheme like this--apart from the mattress on the floor (at least the sheets looked clean, he thought) and the video camera mounted on the wall.

"So what do you expect me to do?"

Another glance at his watch: seven minutes gone. "Argue until Deegan comes downstairs and shoots us both in the head."

"Ray will--"

"Ray and the Mountie are escorting a prisoner down to Marion," he said. He'd wanted to get Kowalski out of his hair for a day. Obviously, he'd picked the wrong day. "And you think he wouldn't be ready for them anyway? This is about Ray."

"What do you mean, it's about Ray? I don't see Ray down here being told to get naked or else."

"Your brother," he said with what he thought was admirable patience, "put Deegan away for fifteen years. This is his attempt to get back at him. Either his sister is killed, or...." He shrugged. "I'm going to make a guess that there's going to be a tape."

"A tape. That creep is going to send Ray a tape of me--of us--?" She frowned. "My brother would go nuts. Ray will go nuts," she repeated, and Welsh knew she'd been talking about both of them. She was probably right, too; Kowalski could be nearly as protective as Vecchio when the situation warranted it.

"He's not going to be any happier if you die."

"So you're saying you think we ought to have sex?" Francesca crossed her arms, and Welsh tried not to notice that the action caused her shirt to hitch up just a little, baring olive skin. Maybe he ought to be noticing, since he didn't have "get shot in the head" on his desk calendar for today, but it didn't seem right. Lusting after Ray Vecchio's sister never seemed right, but just now, it seemed even less right than usual.

He sighed. "I'm saying that we can't get out of here, we don't have time to wait for someone to rescue us, and I'm more than reasonably certain that Jimmy Deegan is crazy enough to carry out his threat of shooting us both. If the choice is you or death..." Not that he had to have a gun to his head to want Francesca. It just took a gun to make him willing to ignore the fact that sleeping with her would be a very bad idea--among other reasons, because she seemed to have to think about which alternative would be worse.

"Oh, that's nice," she said, rolling her eyes. "Anyone ever tell you you just how to make a girl feel good about herself? 'On the whole, Francesca, you're better than death.'" She started to pace the room, her heels clacking on the tiled floor. He found it even more difficult than normal to make himself stop watching the sway of her hips.

He shook his head. "Do you want me to be in favor of being forced to have sex with you?"

She scowled at him. "I just don't want you to make it sound like the only possible thing that could be more disgusting is if Deegan had locked you down here with Fraser's wolf," she muttered.

"Women," he grumbled. "No, Francesca, I don't think you're disgusting. I just don't happen to think that being forced to do this is a good thing."

Her eyes narrowed. "And if we weren't being forced?"

"You're an attractive woman. Don't tell me you don't know that."

She preened a little, vanity satisfied, before reality intervened. "He said we had an hour." When Welsh nodded, she went on, "How long do we have left?"

He checked his watch again. "Forty-seven minutes."

"And Ray and Fraser are really not going to get back in time to stop this?"

He sighed. "No."

"Do you think he'll let us go if we do?"

That, Welsh wasn't terribly sure about, but he thought there was a reasonable chance that Deegan would release them, so he nodded.

She took a deep breath. "All right, then." She stepped forward, putting her arms around his neck in an awkward embrace. "And when we get out, we'll just... forget about this," she said. "No acting weird at work, no... we'll just ignore it."

He nodded, slipping his arms around Francesca's waist and wishing this were any other set of circumstances. "It's a deal," he said, and kissed her, very lightly.

Francesca kissed back, but reluctantly at first; he could feel her trembling a little, and who could blame her for being scared in their situation? She felt smaller than he'd expected her to be; she wasn't bird-like or fragile, but Francesca's personality was about three sizes bigger than the rest of her. He found himself rubbing her back a little, trying to reassure her. There was no way this was going to be one of her happier memories, but he could promise her that he'd do whatever he could to make it as pleasant as possible.

Only he couldn't, because he wasn't the kind of guy who said stuff like that, or who sounded anything but inarticulate when he tried, so he was left reaching up to stroke the side of her face with one finger until she relaxed, parting her lips slightly. He traced the curve of her lower lip with his tongue, despite the slightly waxy taste of her lipstick, and then slipped past her lips, letting his tongue slick against hers, sliding gently against her palate, until the moment when he felt a quiet sigh escape her and her arms tighten around his neck, tugging into a deeper kiss.

And hell, he wished this was anywhere else, any other reason, because he'd wanted to do this for months now. He couldn't imagine any guy not wanting to, except maybe the Mountie, and he was either crazy or sleeping with Kowalski. Or possibly both. Probably both, and Welsh didn't care. He tried not to think about the blinking red light on the wall-mounted camera, tried not to think about Deegan upstairs, tried not to think about anything except the fact that Francesca was in his arms, obviously determined to make sure Deegan had no reason to complain about their performance.

And once it was all over, he promised himself, he'd pretend that he'd only done it to save their lives, for Francesca's sake. But for now, he kissed his way down her neck, inhaling the scent of perfume and of her skin, and then, hesitantly, cupped her breasts in his hands, skimming his thumbs lightly over her nipples through the thin nylon fabric of her uniform blouse.

She gasped, and he stopped, looking at her apologetically. He'd been trying to do this properly, and maybe she'd rather that he just... that they just got it over with. But then Francesca shook her had, saying, softly, "No. It's okay, I just didn't expect--" She gave him a weak smile. "Go ahead."

Instead, he slid his hands under the hem of her shirt, gently stroking the smooth skin of her sides. Francesca smiled, though it was still faint and uncertain, and reached up to loosen his tie and start unbuttoning his shirt. Welsh almost stopped her, then decided that if Kowalski might possibly have been tempted to sneak a peek at Francesca in the video--though he probably wouldn't--the sight of Welsh with his clothes off would make him change his mind.

He pulled away, undoing the rest of his buttons and taking his shirt off, then pulling his undershirt over his head. Francesca had slipped out of her own blouse, but stood with her hands on the clasp of her bra, hesitating.

"You can leave it on," he offered, but she shook her head.

"I don't want Deegan to say we didn't--I don't want him to have any excuse to not let us go," she said, bitterness lacing her voice, and he nodded. "All right."

She left her bra on for the moment, choosing instead to remove her shoes and her uniform trousers--not that they were official uniform trousers, not the way they clung to her hips, but he wasn't going to argue with her about it now--until she was standing before him dressed only in bits of white lacy fabric that contrasted with the smooth expanse of olive skin.

"What?" she said, crossing her arms in front of her defensively, and he looked away.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It was just--no one as annoying as you are has any right to be that beautiful," he added, and could have kicked himself. Even if that hadn't been the most backhanded compliment ever, it wasn't what she needed to hear right now, and maybe his ex-wife had a point about how he should just not even bother trying to be romantic.

He thought, for a second, that he'd made her cry, but looked up in time to realize that she was laughing. It sounded a little hysterical, and with her hand pressed over her mouth, but she was laughing. "I bet..." she began, and had to stop to giggle again. "I bet you say that to all the girls you're forced at gunpoint to sleep with."

"Just you," he said, and apparently that was the right thing, because Francesca took another deep breath, and then, a moment later, all the white lacy bits--not that there'd been that much to them to begin with--were on the floor.

Welsh finished undressing as well, though a bit reluctantly--Francesca was beautiful, but he was... well, there were guys his age in worse shape, but that wasn't saying a lot.

But when Francesca Vecchio made up her mind to do something, she didn't let anything stop her; she sat down on the mattress, patting the spot next to her and waiting for him to join her.

He kissed her again, and this time when he slid his hand along her side, he let it trail along the curve of her hip and the smooth muscle of her thigh. Still touching her gently, still doing his best to let her know that he didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to be doing this, to see her humiliated in this way.

She was braver than he'd have given her credit for, he had to admit, which did nothing to lessen the attraction he was really going to have to do something about after today. She was the one who deepened the kisses this time, who moved his hand from her thigh to her breast.

And then her hand dropped to his lap, and he felt slim fingers wrapping around his cock. "Francesca, you don't have to--"

"Time limit, remember? We'd better just.... get it over with."

Her words weren't terribly encouraging, but then she began to move his hand, and he gritted his teeth to keep from groaning. He wasn't sure whether it was a good or a bad thing that Francesca's hand on him was having an immediate effect; on one hand, they could get this over with, but on the other, he'd have liked his body to show at least a little reluctance, under the circumstances.

He didn't know why he should expect it to, though, when he was kissing Francesca, and his finger was tracing slow circles around one stiff nipple--and it would be going too far to lower his head and touch his tongue to it, not now, not like this--and Francesca was at least doing her best not to mind.

"Do you have--I'm not going to risk getting pregnant from this," she said, after a few minutes, and he nodded.

"Deegan's a thoughtful guy," he said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm. "There's a box on your side of the bed."

Francesca turned away from him, picking up the box of condoms from the floor and handing it to him without a word. He opened it, taking one out and tearing open the packet. Francesca lay back on the bed while he rolled the condom onto himself, looking up at him.

"Is this... are you ready?" he asked, quietly, and she nodded. He positioned himself carefully, pushing into her slowly and gently, firmly reminding himself that he wasn't going to lose himself in this, the hot slick perfect feeling of Francesca around him. One look at her face should stop him, he told himself, but when he looked at her, he wasn't quite certain. She nodded a little, encouraging him to push deeper inside her, and then, when he slid a hand between their bodies, letting his thumb press against her clit, both her eyes and mouth went round in surprise.

"As good as I can make it," he promised her, still quietly, and then he did lose himself in it, in trying to coordinate the movement of his hand and his hips, in Francesca, against all his expectations, arching off the mattress to meet his slow, deep thrusts, in the sound of her breath coming in quick pants.

God, she was gorgeous, even more so now, and he wouldn't hate himself for this later, wouldn't allow himself to, because this was keeping Jimmy Deegan from blowing their brains out, and this was the better choice.

He wouldn't let himself think about this, either, about the feeling of coming while he was deep inside her, about Francesca writhing and whimpering under his hand, her hair tousled and slightly damp from sweat. About any of this, at all.

And then it was all over, and they were moving away from one another, not quite looking at each other, both of them freezing and then turning toward the door in dread at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

***

He insisted on walking her home; he hadn't been able to protect her this afternoon, but tonight he was going to make certain she got home safely. Deegan hadn't been the one to let them out; he wasn't stupid enough to be there when the door opened, but they'd get him, and Welsh was going to make sure he stayed in prison, this time. When he reassured Francesca about that, she'd just nodded, and he wasn't sure she'd really been listening to him.

They were silent for a few blocks, and then, not looking at her, he said, "I'll arrange for you to see a counselor, if you want. Or transfer you to another precinct. Or both, if you--"

"Don't," she said. "I'm okay." She looked up at him. "It was better than dying, and it wasn't like you wanted to do it any more than I did."

Not like that, at least, so he nodded. "If you change your mind--"

"Yeah," she said. Then she said--and he wasn't quite certain if it was laughter or tears that he heard in her voice; possibly both--"You ought to feel lucky. I usually make a guy at least buy me dinner first."

The right thing to do would be to walk her home and leave this be. Set up an appointment with her with one of the shrinks, offer again to transfer her somewhere else with a glowing--probably better than she deserved, to be honest--recommendation, and never say anything about this to her, ever again.

But she was a hell of a lot braver than he'd ever given her credit for, and she was beautiful, and she could joke about this, even if it was only to keep from crying. She was the most annoying woman on earth, and he was at least halfway to loving her, and he knew that if he didn't say something now, tonight, they'd never be comfortable enough with one another again. There'd be no second chance.

"You could let me buy you dinner afterwards, instead," he said. "Just dinner," he added quickly, "and then I'll take you home."

She didn't answer for what felt like an incredibly long time, but then she nodded. "Okay," she said, and her arm slipped through his.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

lalejandra.livejournal.com

I love love love Frannie/Welsh, possibly more than F/K, and I really enjoyed reading this. I especially liked that it didn't turn into some sort of contrived falling-in-love, and I also especially liked Welsh's insecurity about his body and his attempts to make the experience better for Frannie -- he's just as protective as Ray and Ray (and, probably, Fraser). All in all, well done.

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For the Fuck or Die challenge, by Mireille

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