Summary: In which Jenny has a bit of a loyalty!kink and Vastra likes to oblige her. A missing scene from The Snowmen, after Vastra and Jenny encounter Clara for the first time.
(I tried to write a funny little character piece, and it degenerated to porn REALLY quickly. Oh well).
Jenny scrambles into bed next to her wife after putting out the last candle.
“Feet, Jenny!” Vastra flinches – the girl’s soles are ice-cold.
“Sorry!” Jenny hastily disentangles her legs from Vastra’s, “I wasn’t thinking.”
“That much is clear,” Vastra’s face is drawn into a frown visible even in the dark, prodding testily at her pillows.
“Are you alright?” Jenny asks, “are you warm enough?”
“Do you want another blanket?”
“I’m fine, Jenny!”
Vastra’s tone is a little much, at this time of night. Jenny huffs and turns onto her side, putting her back to the Silurian. “I was only trying to be nice.”
There is a long, gloomy pause. The shadows in the corners of their room seem very dark tonight, which Vastra knows to be a fallacy – shadows do not get darker of their own accord, at least, not on this planet – but it feels true enough. Her mood is dower, and she seems to have adopted the human habit of projecting her psyche onto her surroundings. It’s not an especially healthy tendency; she should really learn to guard against it.
“I’m sorry, Jenny,” she speaks, gently. “I’m a little out of sorts, I’m afraid.”
Jenny glances begrudgingly back at her, though Vastra knows that the human cannot really see her in the dark. “You’re telling me.”
“Come here, my darling,” Vastra reaches for her, “I’m sorry – I’m sorry.”
Jenny acquiesces, forgiving as quickly as she took offence (a blessed character trait if ever there was one), and nestling warmly against Vastra’s shoulder as Vastra kisses her to seal the apology closed.
“You worried about the Doctor?” Jenny asks, absently fingering the scales along Vastra’s jaw bone.
“And about this girl.”
“She’ll go investigating herself if the Doctor doesn’t,” Vastra sighs, “and whatever Dr Simeon is doing, I doubt he’ll let anyone away with discovering it without serious repercussions. And she’s so young…”
“I hadn’t noticed.”
That last is said with enough knowingness to the tone that Jenny has to smile. She kisses Vastra’s cheek.
“Still so territorial, my dear mammal?” Vastra smooths Jenny’s hair.
“Well, she is pretty.”
“Not so much as you.”
“Do you really mean that?” Jenny raises her eyebrows – it’s not that she doesn’t believe Vastra, really. And she knows it’s vein. But she likes to hear Vastra call her pretty, because she is the first and only person who has ever really said so (at least the first and only whom Jenny has wanted to find her so).
“Of course. You’re very lovely. For an ape.”
“Thank you, my dear.” Jenny laughs, shortly, and they exchange another kiss – a little deeper, this one, a firmer intent behind it, as Vastra pulls Jenny close against her and feels for the hem of her night dress.
For all it’s a little bit of a joke now, in the secure confines of their marriage and the seven years of their cohabitation, there is a small, hard pebble of truth to Jenny’s jealousy, her insecurity. She is afraid, perhaps justifiably so, that Vastra will one day leave her for any number of reasons, foremost amongst them access to her own people again, and then where will Jenny be?
She grips Vastra’s shoulders a little tighter than normal during their lovemaking, digging her fingernails into the scales, as if to anchor herself against the ghostly possibility of abandonment. It is a yowling child’s fear, the long-held nightmare of a middle sister of many siblings, horribly aware of there never quite being enough bread or time or love. As Vastra thumbs the swiftly slickening folds between her wife’s legs, Jenny shivers, lifting her hips a little.
“Don’t tease me too much tonight, dear…”
“No?” Vastra sounds amused – she likes when Jenny is needy with desire (it’s so very human).
“No,” Jenny clenches her teeth, “don’t make me beg, it’s not lady-like.”
“We couldn’t possibly have that, then, could we?” Vastra laughs and kisses her, finding the hard little bundle of nerves and flesh she knows brings the girl most pleasure and pressing the heal of her palm against it as Jenny arches, her body taught with pleasure. “Better?”
Vastra pulls Jenny’s night gown up high enough that she can close her mouth over one of the human’s nipples and hears Jenny keen, softly, indolent with sweet, yearning pleasure, her fingers bruising the flesh beneath the scales on her shoulders. “Oh, my darling…”
Vastra makes no reply, but sinks first one and then two fingers deep into Jenny’s core, and she gasps and shudders and thrusts against them, trying to be absorbed into the white hot pleasure of it and forget anything but that she has someone who loves her, and covets her.
“Say you love me,” she gasps, against Vastra’s neck, “please – ”
“I love you,” Vastra promises, “I love you, Jenny Flint, and I will never leave you.”
“Promise – ”
“I promise you, my darling, darling girl.”
“Oh,” Jenny shudders again, “oh – ”
When they are finished, Jenny peels off her nightgown, sodden with sweat, and presses herself bodily to her wife, knowing that the heat of her bare skin against Vastra’s scales is one of the Silurian’s greatest pleasures.
Vastra holds her close, flicking her tongue over the girl’s neck and breasts, where the sweat has pooled. Jenny isn’t sure whether she is being tasted or groomed when Vastra licks her (she suspects a little of both), for the Silurian almost always does this in the aftermath of their copulating. It was a shock, the first time, but now she finds it an oddly pleasurable sensation, and it’s not wet or disgusting the way being licked might be from a man or a dog. Vastra’s tongue is quite dry, as long as she is not excreting the toxin that Silurians may use to paralyse their pray, and it darts and flickers, like a snake’s, tickling and soft. It’s darkly sensuous, as is the warm, predatory look in Vastra’s eyes as she does it, adoring and carnal all at once.
That Vastra could paralyse and literally eat her if she wanted, at any moment, is not a fact that is lost on either of them. Of course she never would, but there is a certain excitement for both of them, knowing how comparatively vulnerable Jenny is to her lover, how trusting she must be to permit such intimacy between them, and it solidifies the history upon which their relationship rests – all that Vastra has done to earn such a trust.
“How do you always know what to say to me?” Jenny asks, lazily drawing her fingers over the bony ridges protruding from Vastra’s skull.
“Because I know what you like hearing from me,” Vastra replies, “and it’s simple enough to confirm what we both already know.”
“Truth is singular.”
“Truth is singular.” Vastra nips at the skin beneath her jaw, “and I will never leave you, Jenny Flint. Besides, it’s rather charming, that an affirmation of loyalty is all that is required to inspire you to climax, rather than anything more… physical.”
Jenny snorts, “well, there has to be a bit of the physical involved too, you know.”