LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

Over the Line

foiblesfables

Title: Over the Line

Characters/Pairings: Cara/Kahlan

Rating: NC–17

Word Count: 3,416

Summary: Kahlan can’t sleep, and Cara knows why. She also knows how to fix it. For Kahlan, this is either totally violating or totally awesome. Or, most likely, a mixture.

Notes: Works best between “Torn” and “Hunger.” Written for Porn Battle X, prompt “education.”

Over the Line

foiblesfables

Cara always takes the first watch.

It’s a point of pride, a subtle demonstration in strength and stamina. When the others are tuckered out, bellies content and full of dinner, staring into the fire with deep sighs and drooping eyelids, Cara is still wide awake. When the others are ready for sleep, Cara’s ready for combat. She has more to give – careful vigilance and adrenaline – when the others are finished.

Nearing the end of her watch, still perfectly alert and responsive, she’s crouched a stone’s throw away from the dying fire, giving her the ability to keep one eye on the camp and one eye on the inky blackness weaved between the trees. Sudden soft footfalls from behind don’t surprise her; they merely disgruntle her because they’re coming too early. Leather–gloved fingers drum around the hilt of an Agiel, drawing a quick burst of pain with each tap. She isn’t finished just yet.

“It isn’t your watch yet,” she says matter–of–factly, rising to full height and looking over her shoulder. Sure enough, Kahlan is standing just behind her, arms crossed over her chest. “Go back to sleep. I promise to wake you when it’s time.”

“No, you get some rest.” At Kahlan’s argument, she completes her turn, feeling the beginnings of anger slice through her. Hands on hips, eyes narrowing in cool defiance, she hopes it’s painfully obvious to the Mother Confessor that she’s not going to budge. Kahlan just gives a little shrug and keeps talking. “I’ll start early. I’m…” A pause. “I’m awake.”

There’s just enough quiet hesitance in her voice, and she glances away and clasps her lower lip between her teeth in a way that makes Cara stop her retort half a breath in. This is it, one of the signals that she’s supposed to ask what’s wrong, even though she’s not programmed to inquire about emotions and, much less, feelings. The fact that she actually wants to, of her own accord and not just with Richard’s intervention, is the source of gnawing discomfort. She asks anyway.

“What’s wrong?”

She tries not to make it sound like she really wants to know.

Kahlan furrows her brow above wide, almost guilty–looking blue eyes, feigning confusion. “Nothing. What makes you think something is wrong?”

Wholly unconvinced, Cara purses her lips and shifts her hips to the side. She runs an appraising gaze up and down Kahlan’s body. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin,” she states, blunt, deadpan. An outstretched hand underlines the accusation. It’s true: she looks, simply put, unraveled.

“I can’t sleep,” Kahlan sighs, knotting her fingers in front of her, gaze tied there as well. Cara nearly balks; she expected more resistance. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking.”

There’s the urge to sigh, but she somehow manages to repress it. “About?”

“About…” Kahlan’s voice, usually full of conviction, dwindles to nothing as she folds her hands behind her back, for want of something to do. Cara leans in, raising her eyebrows, silently urging her to go on. The sooner Kahlan talks, the sooner Cara can be done with this sickening lapse in calculated indifference. Even with her eyes on the ground, she gets the message. “Well, about Richard.”

Her eyes meet Cara’s nervously, fleetingly, her porcelain cheeks tinge visibly in the moonlight, and the unspoken part of her dilemma is more than apparent to Cara.

“Oh,” she smirks, “I see.” It’s hard to imagine the Mother Confessor all hot and bothered, so reality makes it all the better. The smirk widens to an uncontrollable grin, she really can’t help it, and Kahlan glares but it melts as she elaborates.

“There’s all that he remembers, but I don’t,” she explains softly, looking everywhere but at Cara’s, as if making eye contact would turn her to stone. “And I try not to think about it, but I can’t help but fill in the gaps until I’m unable to fall asleep.”

When she’s finished, Cara nods. It’s a valid issue, and some part of her is sympathetic. She settles on a gesture of goodwill. “Understandable.” She can’t be expected not to have urges, particularly after that night. Cara still remembers the goofy grin on Richard’s face after returning from that false pretense of a walk. She sighs and sinks to the ground, leather creaking. Drawing her knees in, gently resting her elbows on top, and closing her eyes, her voice is unaffected, nonchalant. “Go ahead and do what you must.”

There’s a lingering silence, and Cara looks back out of the corner of her eye to see confusion (genuine this time) written all over Kahlan’s face. “To relieve yourself,” she clarifies, mouth twisting and eyebrows knitting in slight annoyance. “So you can sleep?” It ends with upward inflection, a question, because Kahlan’s finally catching onto what Cara means; her face transforms from confusion to the flustered look with which she approached.

Once again, Cara is reminded of how very different their educations had been. She doubts any of this was taught in Aydindril.

Still, smirking wickedly, she’s going to broach the subject. There’s a line here, dark and distinct, but she’s just going to strut right over it. Because that’s what she does best: tests their limits. That’s what makes her still feel like herself in the face of all the things she feels shifting and rearranging inside of herself. It’s how she remains sane in the face of their influence.

“You mean to say that the Mother Confessor has never…self–served?”

Her tongue caresses the curve of each s as she indulges in a bit of imagination: Kahlan, head thrown back and face contorted in pleasure, her fingers deep inside of herself, using her other hand to rub her clit. It’s not at all unpleasant.

And Kahlan’s glancing back at the campsite, wondering if she could just sneak back to her bedroll and forget this conversation ever happened. But Cara’s expectant look, impatiently waiting for an answer, tells her that’s impossible. She opens her mouth once, closes it, opens again, but nothing comes out. Color floods her cheeks, conspiring with her vocal cords to make her look like an idiot. Finally, she sits and runs a hand through her hair (a nervous quirk), resigned to the fate of having to talk about this.

“I…I have. In the past.” The second part is a quick addendum, an afterthought. It comes out inelegantly, and Cara never would have imagined that the Mother Confessor could stammer. “But not often, and never with any sort of regularity.” She pauses, cringing as Cara’s eyes blaze into her, making heat prickle at her ears and the back of her neck. But there’s something under the shy embarrassment, dangerous curiosity, something that forces her to speak though she didn’t grant any permission. “Do you…?” She catches herself and it trails off abruptly. Clenching her jaw, she covers her face with her hands. “Dear spirits, I don’t even know what I’m asking.” Her voice, muffled behind her palms, is designed mostly to chide herself.

Cara makes a face. It’s like Kahlan expects her not to answer when she positively will.

“At the temples, a Mord’Sith has other, more fulfilling outlets for that sort of tension,” she describes with a mischievous smile, lowering her voice, using eyebrow movement as accent. “But the answer is certainly yes…especially now that I’m with you instead.”

She almost laughs at Kahlan’s reaction to the conclusion – she visibly swallows as her eyes dart away, tightening her fists. A shiver wracks her body, and Cara can tell the cool night air isn’t the cause. She can’t help but wonder if Kahlan’s dealing with a mental image similar to her own from a few moments ago.

“So, as I said, do what you must,” Cara repeats to fill the silence. “Without it, you’ll be tired, distracted, and inefficient. No good at all.”

Kahlan just looks at her, speechless in the face of Cara’s calculated logic. Cara gives her a pointed look, and she shrinks back. “Perhaps you’re right,” she admits in a half–sigh, half–whisper. Even quieter: “Just don’t…mention this again.” With a glimpse towards the trees in the distance, she makes a move to stand. Cara’s stern voice cuts it at a crouch – she nearly topples over.

“What are you doing?” the Mord’Sith demands with a sea–green glare.

“What you said,” Kahlan answers, suddenly staggered by the mixed signals. Cara’s frown deepens, and blue eyes go wide as she realizes what Cara was implying. “You mean you want me to…here? In front of you?” Her voice, incredulous and scandalized, shakes. Why didn’t she slip off, back to her bedroll, when she had the chance? Each passing second makes her regret it more.

“Under no circumstance would Richard approve of me letting you go off into the woods on your own, especially at night. And I personally would disapprove of you spending your watch the least bit distracted, no matter how…pleasantly,” Cara states. It only makes sense. “That leaves you with three options: go back to camp, attempt it, and risk being discovered by Richard or the wizard. Go back to camp and do nothing but stare into the darkness, frustrated and restless. Finally, you could stay here, find relief, and possibly get some rest later. The choice is yours, but I would suggest the third.”

Kahlan lets out a humorless sigh of a laugh, in disbelief of what she’s hearing. “Cara, I–”

“If modesty is your concern, I promise not to watch.” She nearly rolls her eyes, compelled to add, “Though it’s not something I’ve never witnessed before.”

With a shuddering breath, Kahlan squeezes her eyes shut. The whiplash of different emotions and sensations, arousal and frustration, embarrassment and curiosity, mix and coil around each other until coherent thought, along with all reason and resistance, are gone. Cara’s words dig deep, like fingers prying into a raw wound, exacerbating everything that’s unbearable about it. There’s only the need for release, the need to give her exhausted, harrowed mind a chance at sleep. With a whimper, she finally gives in, control lost as she lies back, hikes her slip up around her waist, and pulls her underthings aside.

And even though Cara promised not to watch, she does anyway. Any beautiful woman naked from the waist down is something she is not willing to miss. Even the Mother Confessor is no exception. Besides, Kahlan is beyond noticing at this point.

Kahlan’s arousal is strong; Cara can see it glistening on her in the pale moonlight. The scent of it, too, reaches her senses, and tendrils of desire curl at her own stomach. With a shudder of pleasure and want, it’s clear that this very well might put her in need of some relief too.

But the excitement rapidly diminishes as Kahlan begins to touch herself. Within seconds, it’s obvious that she was not exaggerating her inexperience. Maybe it’s residual stage fright. Either way, her fingertips are fumbling and clumsy as they make awkward motions against her clit, too quick and not applying enough pressure at all. Curling her upper lip in disdain, Cara has to wonder if it feels as unsatisfying as it looks. A second thought strikes immediately; she wonders if Kahlan even knows the difference.

She can only take another several irritated seconds before she reaches over, swats Kahlan’s hand away, and replaces her fingers on her clit with her own gloved ones. Another line crossed (and, really, stomped and then spat upon), for good reason. Cara’s prepared to take education into her own hands. It’s the least she can do; she wants to help with this as well, and this is certainly more to her expertise than discussing squishy feelings. The thought of helping Kahlan in this way is almost gratifying.

Kahlan gives a violent, surprised jerk at the unfamiliar feeling of leather slipping over her in smooth, tiny circles. “Cara!” she exclaims involuntarily, propping herself up on her elbows and planning escape, only to discover that her legs have completely ceased to function.

“Shh,” Cara hisses, glancing warily at the campsite before concentrating once again on the matter at hand. Kahlan’s frozen there, mortified, mouth agape, staring with numb shock as Cara kneels beside her and strokes her clit.

It’s not long, though, until the sensation catches up with her. Tingling ripples make their way through her entire body, starting from under Cara’s fingers and reaching out in every direction. Her need begins to throb and she feels herself becoming wetter. Her mind reels, conflicted between the want and the reality, but her body reacts unabashed. Breathing deepens and slows; vision hazes and eyes droop; she rests her head on the ground once more. The pad of Cara’s middle finger rolls directly over the hypersensitive spot, more pressure right where Kahlan needs it, before swirling in the other direction. Finally, Kahlan lets out a tiny groan.

“That feels good,” she admits in a breathy whisper, unable to stop her hips from moving in tandem with Cara’s skillful touches, seeking even more slippery friction with the supple leather. She whimpers and lifts them completely off the ground when Cara interrupts her rhythm to press harder. Her heart leaps into her throat. Biting her lip is all she can do to stop herself from groaning again.

Strangely enough, what do you know, Richard is far from her thoughts right now.

Smirking silently, Cara watches Kahlan buck and twitch. Her jaw is clenched and she grunts through bared teeth. She takes the inarticulate bursts as permission to go on. With agonizing slowness, she strokes her index finger down Kahlan’s soaking slit before sliding it completely inside of her. She’s very tight, and the snug heat radiates through Cara’s glove, making her heartbeat quicken as well. Kahlan inhales sharply at the penetration and goes rigid for a split second as she adjusts around Cara’s finger. When Cara adds a second, the middle finger, Kahlan’s back arches and she lets out a clipped moan of discomfort. It melts into one of pleasure, though, when Cara begins to pump her fingers, still teasing Kahlan’s clit with her thumb. Her other hand kneads the inside of her thigh as Kahlan’s entire body trembles beneath her.

Cara’s fingers inside of her are what’s been missing.

Months ago, if someone had told Cara she would be knuckles–deep inside the Mother Confessor, they would have met a solid backhand and an enraged Agiel. In that order. Now, the irony threatens to make Cara laugh. She doesn’t – too much of her focus is centered on the way Kahlan is groaning softly and suddenly cupping her breasts over her corset, either innately or by practice. Equally alluring either way, and quite so. Cara swallows hard at the heaviness in the pit of her stomach.

Kahlan gradually draws her knees in and apart, giving Cara more access to her core, quietly begging for more of the wild sensation overtaking her. And Cara gives her just that: she finds the angle to press deeper inside. Kahlan writhes, eyes rolling back, mouth opening and chest swelling in a heavy gasp. Her pulse hammers in her ears. Rushes of warmth escape her, coating Cara’s glove. The Mord’Sith leans in close, relentless in her motions, blonde hair tickling Kahlan’s face. The feathery contact of the hair on her flushed cheeks makes her squirm. Kahlan’s nerves are so sensitive they might as well be bare.

“Mother Confessor,” she whispers, hot breath dangerously close to her ear, enough to raise gooseflesh, “you’re ruining my leather.”

Her voice is thick, seductive, and she punctuates it with a particularly nice movement; Kahlan lets out a helpless whine.

The truth is, though, that Kahlan is not the only one responsible for the damage; the show she’s putting on has Cara doing some harm of her own. There’s ample stickiness accumulating between her legs, even to her thighs, wet heat filling the almost nonexistent space between her skin and her leathers. She’s not sure how much longer she can ignore it; soon she’ll be downright desperate to come as well.

For now, she concentrates on Kahlan. Her fingers dance and slip inside, met each time by an unbound thrust. Kahlan is primal, bare–boned, and Cara must truly be distracted because she feels almost proud to see her so unhinged. Her eyes are half–lidded and so glazed over that her blue irises seem to have darkened a shade. Full, parted lips make room for panting breaths to escape, and her tongue rests just inside of the bottom one, poking out in the subtlest way possible. For an instant, Cara considers claiming it with her own mouth.

But there are some lines even she is not willing to cross.

“Cara.” Kahlan’s urgent moan effectively tears her from that fantasy. Speech is reduced to monosyllabic bursts. “Stop. Now. Please. I’m really…” She loses vocal capacity altogether and her eyes flutter closed as Cara pushes the heel of her palm against Kahlan’s clit.

Then, grinning wickedly, she crooks her fingers. “Close?”

Kahlan’s eyes snap open at the torrent of almost violent pleasure.

“Yes!” she replies in a strangled yelp.

There’s a second of deliberation. Cara stops moving, quickly weighing the pros and cons of bringing Kahlan to orgasm against suffering an excruciating death.

Even in the mutual lust of this moment, it’s all too clear what must be done.

Scowling in defeat, she removes her fingers. Kahlan whimpers as well.

But there’s always a way around these things. It forms in Cara’s mind instantly.

Quickly, ferociously, she uses her teeth to pull her glove off, indulging in the brief taste of Kahlan that remains slick on the leather. She then slides it onto Kahlan’s hand and looks her straight in the eye, gaze both wild and deadly serious.

“Pretend it’s me,” she commands, and Kahlan moans, reacting automatically, pushing three gloved fingers inside of herself and picking up Cara’s rhythm. Cara scrambles back a pace or so before sitting back on her haunches, eyes intent on Kahlan as she rubs between her thighs with an open palm, chest heaving, the cinch in her leathers providing powerful contact in exactly the right spot. Heat surges over and through her body. At this point, she’s aware that she won’t last long. She doesn’t need to.

After a few more seconds, Kahlan’s body tenses and then jerks, arching sharply. She’s liquid fire and a racing pulse, form and shape blurring under the haze of heavy pleasure she’s denied herself. Completion, fulfillment, careening over the edge and beyond care. Her eyes screw shut as a sigh, and, then, an intense low moan hum from her throat. There’s a change in the air, and Cara knows it’s her power being released as she finishes. The knowledge that Kahlan has lost control, through her influence, does unspeakable things to her; she snarls and rubs harder. A pulse of invigoration, magic, vibrates outwards, tingling Cara’s skin; wide–eyed, her own orgasm surprises her. She shudders and groans through the sudden contractions, curling in on herself, hissing through her teeth.

When she lets herself collapse, Kahlan extends her arm without looking, gently touching the back of Cara’s bare hand with the back of her own. They react to it in different ways: Kahlan basks in the comfort of skin–to–skin contact, and something unfamiliar combers in Cara’s chest. The gentle, intimate contact is nice. She grits her teeth – this wasn’t a part of the plan. Quickly squirming away, she clambers to her feet, not willing to let this compromise this part of her as well. They push, she pulls. This is on her terms. This won’t get under her skin.

Still dazed, Kahlan gets herself to a sitting position, head falling as she looks at Cara sideways. Very soon, when the post–orgasmic fog dissipates, the realization of what’s happened will settle in her mind. Cara doesn’t want to be there when it does.

“It’s time for your watch,” she murmurs, pulling her glove from Kahlan’s delicate hand, not making eye contact. “I suggest you look alive.”

She then starts for the campsite, where her bedroll waits, finally ready for sleep.

There’s no telling how complicated things will be in the morning, or what it will come to mean. Kahlan will treat it in the context of her upbringing – worlds different than Cara.

There is one thing to be sure of, though. Cara’s almost positive she won’t be plagued with thoughts of Richard for a long time to come.

~ ~ ~