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augment-techs · 2 years

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Sky/Z, SPD, + “i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know.”

"I'm not wearing any underwear. Thought you'd like to know." And the sigh of relief that poured out of Z like it was the last breath she'd ever take as a living organism--

Swallowing the last vestiges of her coffee, grounds following after the coal black liquid like sand in an hourglass, Z slammed her coffee cup down, looking Sky straight onwards, not blinking, not showing fear or backing down. This was the kind of thing that turned them both on once they realized each other's dynamic, the reason for their butting heads and uncompromising way of doing things. Z didn't generally like Alphas, would actually run them out of her and Jack's territory when they were on the streets and they got too riled up and bossy with throwing their weight around. She'd had to start actually taking her stupid suppressants when she started working SPD because of the sheer number of Alphas that worked in the ranks and pissed her off; because they took one single whiff of her scent--never a good thing--and automatically thought she was a pushover. Sky was no exception, at least in the beginning. But then came the consistent working together, the situations when they were in close quarters, sometimes passing each other on their way to their respective locker rooms after a mission... The time he pushed a little too hard, used his stupid Alpha voice, and she almost knocked him the fuck out before running for her room because she was in rut-heat (exceedingly different from an average Omega heat, or Alpha rut; she was pissed off and horny, rather than submissive and wanting to take a dick). Jack--being the best Gamma in the goddamn world--had a long talk with their team after shoving a napkin in Sky's face to help with his bleeding nose. Bridge and Syd, respectful and considerate Betas that they were, understood the implications immediately: the exhaustion the both of them probably went through on the street and the different kind of disputes they had to go through in the SPD ranks. How Z rally was doing the best she could while tamping down on using her powers to beat the shit out of every Alpha that hit on her, or gave her a look, or thought she'd listen to them just because her pheromones lied to their senses. Sky, on the other hand, took the more hands on approach, spending an hour knocking outside Z's door before she finally gave up on shouting expletives and yanked him inside. The blue SPD Ranger hadn't expected her to get right down to the business, no-nonsense question, "So do you wanna fuck or what?" when he'd simply come to apologize. And maybe give her a hug. But she smelled so good. And she wasn't wearing anything--which he only really took in when he found her kissing him and pulling his own clothes off and butting him over to her nest. He'd never been bitten, ever, in the rare instances that he took up with anyone; but once he found himself kissing her back and his fingers found her clit had already engorged to a good six inches, he was more than happy to find he liked her teeth at his neck, and her tongue at his glands. They kept coming back together, be it Sky in rut, or Z going through either of her monthlies. And after a time... Well, Sky asked, more shy and reserved than he usually was during the day and not being taken over by need and hormones. Z had just looked at him, unsure if it was a joke or honesty until he actually looked at her and asked again. She'd called him, "Dummy," and then given him the sweetest kiss on her tiptoes before licking his throat once and giving him a Claim Mark; the biting and sucking required had his eyes rolling and she had to half hold him up when his knees started to give. Sky had done his best to return the favor, but Z just hummed and held onto his hips as he canted them without meaning to. Six months and even with the constant need to have Z replenish her Claim on Sky (a Sigma problem that Sky didn't really think was that much of one at all if it meant he got to experience bliss each time), they were happy, and the Team was happy for them. Even if they did do things like this: Sky trying to assert some form of dominance before Z's heat-rut in making it easier to get him naked, or bringing her fatty foods after a

mission, or trying to help her make the nest more comfortable (something they were both terrible at, but no way was Jack going to help when it always smelled like their sex). And Z never once letting him forget who was on top. Sky was really glad they got their own apartment, instead of staying in the barracks. It made it easier to let Z basically tear off his shirt after shoving her tongue down his throat, her hands only yanking his pants down enough to get at his stiff cock and already prepped hole. She always gave him some pleasure with her mouth, gliding tongue along his foreskin in wonderful circles, or bringing him into her throat with bobs and suction that forced him to hold onto the kitchen sink. But she always preferred to be inside of him when she had the chance, and this was no exception as she turned him around (her teeth leaving a trail wherever she could reach), slicked herself up with a couple pumps, and then spread him wide to slide in. The moans she got out of him echoed in their kitchen, and her coffee cup edged around the counter with each thrust. This could go on forever really; her asking, "Like this?" and his answering, "Please, yes, yes, so good." They were perfect.

#ask fill #power rangers spd #boom! comics power rangers #elizabeth z delgado #sky tate #sky tate x z delgado #sigma/alpha #non traditional alpha/beta/omega dynamics

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whiskeykneat · 5 years

Text

One More Saturday Night [2]

CHAPTER TWO

Smoke curls upwards from the cigarette dangling out of Joanna's mouth as she looks Gale up and down. It's near ten o'clock, long after the street lamps have clicked on, and the air outside the carhop smells of oil and grease. Gale has just gotten off his shift at the mine, he's scrubbed and scrubbed at the coal dust in the seams of his hands, but with back to back twelve hour shifts, they'll never be clean.

The letter that came this morning from the capital is burning a hole in his pocket.

He'd taken one look at it sitting forlornly on the kitchen table next to his warm dinner, and when his mother's step had creaked on the bottom stair, Gale didn't have to look past the washtub curtain to know that she'd been crying, he could hear it in her voice.

[[MORE]]

I'm going out, Ma, he'd said, but hadn't stopped her when she'd drawn him tight to her thin body for a fierce hug.

You tell Katniss, Gale. Tell her tonight, Hazelle had whispered, wiping her eyes. And give her my love.

"Katniss?" Joanna purses her red lips, sucking on the cigarette so hard he can imagine what those sinful red lips would look like wrapped around his cock, and Gale gives her a once-over of his own. "She's working. Took my shift." She brushes past him, letting him feel every inch of her pointy brassiere pressing up to his chest. "You're gonna have a hard time prying her from that dump up to Lookout Point tonight." Joanna rolls her eyes, nodding towards the parking lot, full of every warm-blooded teenager in town, as if there's nothing better to do on a Saturday night in 1964, in every house in town a television, on every radio the sound of the devil's music.

For the times they are a-changin’...

"You could come up to Lookout Point with me." Joanna's red nails lightly trail down his forearm, and goosebumps pimple along Gale's skin. She looks up at him from under her lashes, biting down on the tip of her thumb. And he considers it for a moment, he really does, but he's been down that road before: sinking down into her warm wet softness, hearing her mewl as she claws his back, begging him to empty himself inside of her, anything to fill the gaping hole inside them both.

Joanna purrs as she runs a finger up his chest, playing with his collar. "It ain't as pretty, but we can go down to the Slag Heap if you've a mind to get ham-hocked." There's no reason he should refuse her. Thom will be there, after all, and every other man on the crew. Right now, nothing sounds better than drinking so hard he can't see straight, anything except thinking about the letter in his pocket.

Gale looks down at Joanna for a moment, and he hears what she's saying to him, offering him a way out tonight, a way to forget that in two days, he’ll be on a train to his army training, where they'll put a gun in his hands and send him off to the jungle, and there will be no more Saturday nights like this one, where all he has to worry about is which pretty girl he’ll be taking home.

(All of them. None of them. Any of them except the only one he wants, the only one he's ever wanted, the one he can never have at all.)

He fingers the ribbon wrapped around his wrist, threadbare now, but once as sky blue as the bottles that hang from the chinaberry tree outside his mother’s front door -- as if it is what is keeping him tethered to this town, like a candle burning against the darkness. "Nah, not tonight."

"Well, if you want something to take the edge off, you know where to find me." Joanna pouts dramatically, one hand on her hip. She winks, then, and leaves him, a cloud of Chanel in her wake.

As if his body has a mind of its own, Gale finds himself hopping back in the truck, and bringing it around to the parking lot. The carhop is jumping tonight, hormones and energy pumping out of every sleek car, on beat with the music.

Stay… just a little bit longer…

Gale parks in the back, near the tree line, and cuts the engine. The place is full of Townies, all dressed to the nines, the boys with shaggy Beatles hair and the girls in mini skirts and beehives. In his work denim and his button down plaid shirt, Gale feels suddenly old beyond his years and out of place, as though he's peeped into a pinhole camera of an era gone by, one he never belonged to, was never a part of. These boys have never spent twelve hours down in a mining shaft, working every muscle as they lay waste to the mountain. They've never left school to become breaker boys, separating the impurities from the coal. They do not know what it's like to descend down into the darkness, day after day after day, until it is like you have never known the light.

“What would you like?” The voice, a car over, arrests him in his tracks, and Gale feels his whole body shiver with recognition.

It's the voice that's haunted his dreams since the summer of 1961, sleepy afternoons and strawberry kisses. It's the haunting melody of the piano drifting through the dusty air as he makes his way to the mine in the dawnlight, pricking memories long buried: of her in his arms, twirling around in that big, empty gazebo. That slate-tiled gazebo, with the big cupola, with lots of shady corners for stealing kisses. It was where Madge Undersee had her debutante ball, as Gale watched from the shade of the sycamore tree in his ill-fitting suit, and knew he could never be a part of her world.

He'd taken employment in the mine the very next day, and the day he'd turned eighteen he'd gone down in the pit for the first time, the memory of the girl he could never have seared forever on his heart.

•••

Gale hasn't seen Madge Undersee since the morning after the debutante ball, when he'd met her under the sycamore tree just past the edge of the sprawling gardens, where once he'd carved their initials together: M+G.

She'd been wearing white, he recalls: a frothy camisole, so fine he could see the outline of her breasts and feel the answering swell in his denim jeans, and pine green silk pajama pants that hugged her delicate curves. Gale knew that if he touched her, the silk would whisper over her skin, that she'd make a little moan in her throat, and that her lips would be velvety and plush, tasting of clouds and cream as he parted them with the tip of his tongue.

If he kissed her, he'd be unable to finish what he came to do, and that's the one thing that killed him, to take the only thing good and fine in his world, and make what lay between them something cheap.

He thought about her father, and the suitcase of money, money that could have fed his whole family for a year, and bought a new house besides, were he the kind of man who didn't have his pride, the kind of man who didn't know right from wrong. He was seventeen, but he's been a man since he was twelve, the night his father died and mantle of responsibility, of family, came to lay on his shoulders.

Madge smiled up at him, handing him a tiny teacup filled with black coffee, his big, rough working man's hand nearly engulfing her own. For a moment, he let his hand linger on hers, until her cheeks turned pink, and then he took a step back, the space between them thick with words unspoken. There was an eyelash on her cheek, he wanted to blow it off, he wanted to make a wish. But the time had passed for such foolish fancies.

My daughter is not for you, Gale Hawthorne, Mayor Undersee had said gently, the suitcase lying on the table between them like Pandora's Box, the sounds of the party drifting up from below. There was a line of coal smudged along the cuff of Gale's suit jacket, and he tugged at his sleeve, feeling the poorly constructed seams give out just a touch.

The tux belonged to Thom's pa, who was as of a mind as Gale's in that a suit was only for marrying and burying. Not fucking around at a party to impress some high class piece of tail. Gale had never wanted to deck the elderly man more in his entire life.

I wanna hold your hand, crooned Paul McCartney on the record player.

Under the ancient sycamore tree, Madge's eyes were as deep and blue as the Delft china plates in the display case at the five and dime, and the little gold flecks danced like specks of sunlight as she gazed up at him. When he spoke, tears sprung to her eyes, and her teacup fell to the roots of the tree, shattering and spilling like the sound a heart makes when it breaks beyond hope or repair.

High in the tree, a pair of mated bluebirds sang, to usher in the morning.

•••

There she is, Miss Prim and Proper, the Debutante herself: Madge Undersee. And she looks better than ever, if that's possible: golden and slender, with legs that go on forever. Gale can't help but drink every bit of her in, as if he hasn't been able to stop thinking of her since the day they parted, as if he’s never thought about walking up to the front door of her house and asking if she's home. But he heard from Katniss that Madge went up to university in Charlottesville, and he’d thought that after that, she'd never return.

He's heard a rumor that Madge got engaged, that she's marrying Seneca Crane, the son of a senator, the china already picked and the invitations sent out.

If that's the truth, why is Madge working at the carhop? She should be making her wedding trousseau. She should be shopping all over Paris with her Daddy's money, and buying French lingerie for that stuck up rich man, to lie in his big bed with the hundred count sheets, and let him taste her sweetness.

Like clouds and cream. Like strawberries.

"Fuck!" Gale presses his forehead to his hands, which are clenched on the steering wheel.

He should drive out of here right now. He should go home and get a good sleep in his own bed. He should… But he won't. And, catching himself rubbing the satin ribbon around his wrist again, he knows why.

Madge Undersee.

He's halfway out of the car already when he hears her voice again, and this time nothing can stop Gale Hawthorne from getting what he's come back for, from the one person he can't leave behind without saying goodbye.

•••

“Please, please don't.” Madge vainly bats at the hands groping her ass, and for a moment she's back in the frat house, trying to push Seneca off of her as his tongue goes down her throat and his knee forces her legs apart.

You're so frigid, Margreta. Don't be such a goddamned prude.

“You heard the lady. She said no.”

It's like she's imagining things. Gale Hawthorne. Standing between her and Cato Curlew, steel in his tone. His voice ripples with command, and Madge feels a trickle of warmth low in her belly, though she's still angry with him, after all these cold years apart.

Why is he here now, when he's stayed away for so long? Doesn't he know that she no longer needs him, that she stopped waiting for him long ago? “I don't need your help,” Madge informs Gale’s broad shoulders. “Go away.”

She can hear the sneer in Cato’s voice. “That ain't no lady.” He spits a stream of tobacco on the asphalt. “Everyone with half a brain knows that she's been spreading her legs for any Seam bastard who asks since she was sixteen.”

Gale grabs Cato by the shirt, and blood sprays against the mirror on the door. Cato comes out swinging, shaking his head like a bull before he charges at Gale. Madge screams, and they all come running, the boys laying bets, the girls huddled to the side and watching through their fingers, titillated and horrified all at once.

The two men square off on the blacktop, Cato big and square and stocky, Gale tall and broad-shouldered but with a latent strength honed from years swinging a pickaxe. Cato is bleeding from the nose, and his fists are up as he and Gale circle one another. Madge has heard the stories, Cato killed the last man he fought in a brawl, down in Wheeler.

“Don't! Stop!” She tries to dart between them, but Wheatley Mellark grabs her arm, hauling her back.

“You'll just make it worse,” he murmurs in her ear.

“Get him, Cato!” Cato’s friend Marvel cups his hands and lets out a wild yell, and Cato surges forward like he's been shot from a cannon. “Show that Seam bastard what we do to coal miners who think they can touch Town women!”

Madge is pale, she is shaking. “Stop them,” she begs Wheatley and Delly, who has appeared at her other side, a serious look on her face.

Gale and Cato circle one another on the gray, cracked asphalt, dust rising in the air.

“That's right,” Gale taunts, his voice deep and carrying. “These dirty, coal-stained hands have touched Town women… While you're at your office with your secretary, I've been plowing your girlfriends… Your wives… And your momma, Curlew.”

Cato roars, and charges Gale. Gale dodges Cato, turning and socking his fist into Cato’s jaw. Cato spits out blood, lunging for Gale, and then both men are on the asphalt, rolling over and over with the smell of heat and blood in the air.

“Stop it! Gale Hawthorne, stop it right now!” Katniss comes gliding across the pavement, but Peeta Mellark, near the edge of the crowd, catches her arm, his mouth moving in words that Madge cannot make out, even if she wanted to.

She can hear nothing except the thud of flesh on flesh, and then Gale is on top of Cato, punching and punching him, and suddenly the wail of police sirens can be heard coming down the avenue, and Madge snaps out of her coma.

“We have to go!” Madge yanks on Gale’s arm, hard, and he resists her for only a moment before snapping back into focus, his dark gray eyes gone soft as he looks at her. She doesn't want to think about what that means, not right now, not when this could all be taken away in an instant. Cato is Town, and his daddy is a rich man besides. Gale is Seam. A night in jail would be the lightest of sentences Gale could pray for.

So instead, Madge leans forward, cupping Gale’s jaw, and whispers in his ear, “Now,” and Gale, stumbling like a drunk in the dark, doesn't question her when she jumps into the truck beside him and grinds the gears, and they speed off into the night.

•••

“You're an idiot.” Madge presses the damp napkin a little too hard to Gale’s jaw, and he winces, trying to pull away. “You know that?” Her voice is low and furious, and he thinks he's never been more intrigued by her than at this very moment, all her ladylike poise gone, the air between them crackling like lightning about to strike.

“Maybe if you had stayed where you were supposed to be --” Gale growls, turning his jaw from her ministrations. “On your side of town -- Then I wouldn't have had to step in in the first place!”

“I don't see how it's any of your business where I spend my time, or who I spend it with!” Madge pushes on Gale’s chest, and he laughs darkly. “What's your problem?”

“You are! If you had just stayed in your place -- the princess in her tower -- instead of slumming it --” He’d kill any man who touched her without her permission, she has to know that.

Tears spring to the corners of her eyes, and for an instant Gale feels like a monster for wounding her, but -- You deserve this, he reminds himself. She can't know that all he wants to do is to take her in his arms and kiss her tears away. He's already made his choice.

“I…” Madge turns her face away for a moment, composing herself. He wonders if she still sings to herself in her head. He wonders why he can feel the space between their bodies so keenly, why he still wants to pull her close, to open the door they locked so long ago. “I think you should take me home.”

Gale swallows, turning his face to hers. In the moonlight, her profile would look at home stamped on an antique bronze coin, too beautiful to be anything but legendary. Wars have been fought over women like Madge Undersee, in times of old. She's everything that's wrong and right for him, and even though his heart says it's right, his mind whispers that it's wrong, wrong, wrong.

Gale leans toward Madge, who tenses, and as he wraps a finger around single golden curl, she turns her face up to him with a question in her eyes, that indent on her lower lip enchanting him as it did when he was a boy, begging to be explored by his tongue. His hand comes up, and he caresses the line of her jaw, feeling her tremble uncontrollably at his touch. “What are you so afraid of?” Gale whispers huskily, even though he knows the answer.

What he isn't expecting are the next words out of her mouth.

“I don't want Daddy to hear about…” she waves a hand to encompass their surroundings, or maybe the events that have taken place. “...this.”

“I didn't ask for his damned approval.” His laugh is rusty, as though it's been a long time since he's had anything to laugh about. “I bet Daddy approves if he's got cash in his pockets instead of coal.”

Madge reels back, as if she's been slapped. “Fuck you.” Before Gale can process what's happening, the car door slams behind her, and she runs barefoot across the dark parking lot, and straight into the Slag Heap.

“Fuck!” Gale slams his hands on the dashboard, wincing. He leaves the door swinging, and runs after her.

She's standing at the bar when Gale catches up to her, her shoulders heaving, downing a shot of something amber, the heady scent of it already purring on her skin. “What do you want?” She slams the shot glass on the bar with a hiss, and Gale grabs her by the shoulders, unsure of what he intends to do right up until this moment.

“Another shot,” the bartender drawls, and Gale slams it down, and then he's kissing Madge Undersee, his hands cupping that little heart shaped face, his thumbs stroking her jawline, the taste of her as raw and real as though it's been home all along, as if he's never known it until she's back in his arms, pliant and soft, nipping at her bottom lip, his tongue meeting hers, tasting of amber and cream and the mist that rises off the mountains in the morning.

Madge pulls back, and slaps him, hard. “You bastard.” There's a round of shocked applause, led by Joanna, who blows Gale a sultry kiss and a wink, leaning against her pool cue before lining up her shot.

But Gale isn't here for Joanna tonight. “Madge!” Gale bellows, past caring what anyone thinks. His long strides overtake her in the parking lot, and he finds her leaning against the cab of his truck, her shoulders shaking.

“Get me out of here, Gale,” Madge whispers, her voice raw.

He touches her gently, as though she is a wild doe that might startle or frighten, and she surprises him by turning around and falling into his arms, her face pressed to his chest, her heart matching the beat of his own. He lifts her tear streaked face with one finger, and then she stands on tip-toe, and they are kissing again, slow and soft and sure, as if all the time they've spent apart has been leading up to this moment.

#gadge #gale x madge #the hunger games #gale hawthorne #madge undersee

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