FIC: Hold No Mystery
Jun. 14th, 2010 05:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Hold No Mystery
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: Adult
Pairing: the Losers, teamfic, sexswitch: Jensen has always been a girl
A/N: Written for a prompt in which girl!Jensen is not amused about this dress thing.
"You're kidding me," Jensen says to Clay.
Clay just looks at her, and holds out the pretty dress still on the hanger of whatever boutique they stole it from. It's not pink, at least, but that's about the nicest thing Jensen can say about it.
"Clay," she says, whining a little. "Dude. Dude! Can't you make Aisha--"
"She's not my tech," Clay says, at the same time Aisha growls. "You can talk your way past security. I need you to do this."
Jensen glares at the dress, lip curled up over her teeth. "My tits will be squished. Like permanently deformed. And it'll be on your head."
"Think I'll live," Clay drawls, and gives her the dress.
Aisha says, poison-sweet, "What tits?"
Jensen throws the hanger at her, pulling her shirt up over her head. Her glasses almost tilt off her face. Clay politely turns her head when she peels the sports bra off, too; she can see that Pooch is trying to pretend he doesn't have a rear view to look in. She freaking hates reminding them that she's a girl. She hefts her own weight, she's gauze-wrapped her boobs to her chest and gone in drag through most of the Middle East, and yet whenever Clay needs schmuck bait... bam. Jensen, you put on the dress and try to look like you don't want to rip their heads off.
She's at least wearing men's briefs, one small connection to real-her.
"Here," Aisha says finally, lifting her own shirt to pull off her back-sheath. "You give this back as soon as you're done."
"Thanks," Jensen mutters, her face burning. Then she pulls her own knife and starts to shave the winter's growth off her legs. That'll be angry as a bitch later, but she'll have an excuse not to get shoved in skirts for a while.
There's no real makeup in the car, though Pooch has lip gloss ("I get windburn!") and Aisha has charcoal in her bag. She smudges Jensen's eyes and offers, too pleasantly, to slap her face to bring a little color.
"You'll do," Clay says, and reaches out to rumple her hair. She twists his wrist back, and he lets her, which is his version of an apology.
On her way out of the car, teetering in these stupid heels, Cougar cranes his head back to murmur, "Hey."
Jensen brakes unsteadily. Snaps, "What?"
He makes the symbol for 'eyes on', 'I'll be watching you like a creeper', and to Jensen's disgust she relaxes inside. Then Cougar says, "You look nice."
She tells him to fuck himself and closes the car door, smiling.
Author:
nilchanceRating: Adult
Pairing: the Losers, teamfic, sexswitch: Jensen has always been a girl
A/N: Written for a prompt in which girl!Jensen is not amused about this dress thing.
"You're kidding me," Jensen says to Clay.
Clay just looks at her, and holds out the pretty dress still on the hanger of whatever boutique they stole it from. It's not pink, at least, but that's about the nicest thing Jensen can say about it.
"Clay," she says, whining a little. "Dude. Dude! Can't you make Aisha--"
"She's not my tech," Clay says, at the same time Aisha growls. "You can talk your way past security. I need you to do this."
Jensen glares at the dress, lip curled up over her teeth. "My tits will be squished. Like permanently deformed. And it'll be on your head."
"Think I'll live," Clay drawls, and gives her the dress.
Aisha says, poison-sweet, "What tits?"
Jensen throws the hanger at her, pulling her shirt up over her head. Her glasses almost tilt off her face. Clay politely turns her head when she peels the sports bra off, too; she can see that Pooch is trying to pretend he doesn't have a rear view to look in. She freaking hates reminding them that she's a girl. She hefts her own weight, she's gauze-wrapped her boobs to her chest and gone in drag through most of the Middle East, and yet whenever Clay needs schmuck bait... bam. Jensen, you put on the dress and try to look like you don't want to rip their heads off.
She's at least wearing men's briefs, one small connection to real-her.
"Here," Aisha says finally, lifting her own shirt to pull off her back-sheath. "You give this back as soon as you're done."
"Thanks," Jensen mutters, her face burning. Then she pulls her own knife and starts to shave the winter's growth off her legs. That'll be angry as a bitch later, but she'll have an excuse not to get shoved in skirts for a while.
There's no real makeup in the car, though Pooch has lip gloss ("I get windburn!") and Aisha has charcoal in her bag. She smudges Jensen's eyes and offers, too pleasantly, to slap her face to bring a little color.
"You'll do," Clay says, and reaches out to rumple her hair. She twists his wrist back, and he lets her, which is his version of an apology.
On her way out of the car, teetering in these stupid heels, Cougar cranes his head back to murmur, "Hey."
Jensen brakes unsteadily. Snaps, "What?"
He makes the symbol for 'eyes on', 'I'll be watching you like a creeper', and to Jensen's disgust she relaxes inside. Then Cougar says, "You look nice."
She tells him to fuck himself and closes the car door, smiling.