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| Part Of Me; Cross-over between Bad Girls and Monarch of the Glen | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 15 2013, 07:47 PM (3,612 Views) | |
| CrashxBurn | Jun 7 2013, 05:29 AM Post #16 |
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G2 landing
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Kiera: This woman perfectly captures my mental image of Kiera. Perfect hair color, facial structure, and build. I'm going to have Kiera get a tan and grow out her bangs so she can look like this. LOL ![]() ![]() ![]() Isobel: ![]() ![]()
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"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"
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| CrashxBurn | Jun 7 2013, 05:30 AM Post #17 |
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G2 landing
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A/N: The above two posts are spoilers for the underwear included in the following chapters. Enjoy! Chapter Twenty-Two Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Wednesday, May 15, 2002 Kiera awoke alone in bed, as she often did on the mornings when Isobel had farm work to attend to. She dressed quickly, foregoing a shower until she’d had some caffeine, and then wandered outside to find her lover. She slipped on a pair of spare wellies discarded on the porch and rounded the house to begin her search. Isobel was kneeling in the vegetable patch wearing full coveralls and black wellies, a soil fork in hand and a metal bucket beside her. The writer walked through the rows carefully, ensuring she didn’t step on any of the growing vegetables, and then she knelt to join the Scot. “Morning.” Isobel glanced at her sideways and smiled. “Morning. I’m surprised to see you up already.” The honey blonde was busily working through a square foot of soil with the fork, readying it to be planted with carrots. The bucket was full of filtered compost to be spread atop the seeds once they were sewn. The bag of seeds lay beside the bucket and all around were rows of carrots, potatoes, cabbages, and turnips in varying stages of growth. “Ha-ha,” the brunette responded drily. “What can I do to help?” Isobel considered this for a moment then suggested, “Those carrots on the far side, just there,” she indicated with her hand, “are ready for harvesting. Could you get that started?” Kiera smiled and dropped a kiss on the Scot’s cheek as she rose to her feet. “Sure. No problem.” Having helped Isobel with nearly every task there was to be done on the farm, Kiera was familiar with the process of harvesting the orange vegetables. She grabbed a spade and an empty burlap sack then made her way to the specified row. She began by loosening the soil around the roots by digging straight down half a foot in front of each cluster. She made her way down the line before dropping the spade and picking them out of the ground by hand. She deposited each bunch in the sack until the row was finished. Task complete, she scooped the sack into her arms and carried her loot into the house. She went straight to the kitchen and began breaking off the leafy green tops before gently washing the carrots. She laid them in a single layer on towel-lined baking sheets to let them dry, and then she retrieved plastic bags to store them in. After all were dry and allocated to bags, she gathered the lot and descended to the root cellar via the basement. She spread the bagged carrots out across a wooden shelf then checked the thermometer and hygrometer to make sure the temperature was holding at 0°C and that the humidity level was between 90-95%. Everything checked out correctly and she left to warm up with a nice cup of strong coffee. Having been raised in a desert climate in the States, she was still unused to the cold temperatures here in Scotland. She spent fifteen minutes warming herself with a piping mug before venturing back outdoors to see what other tasks she could undertake. The morning stretched long as the sun rose above the hardworking pair. They managed to harvest only a third of the mature vegetables in the massive patch before the sun reached its highest point, bringing the temperature up to only 12.22°C (54°F). Sweaty and dirty from their labours, the couple retired indoors for a shower and change of clothes. Kiera was first in the shower and not expecting company. The last two days Isobel had been affectionate but slightly withdrawn. The brunette couldn’t help wondering what was plaguing her girlfriend’s mind, but she figured that would be shared when Isobel was ready to talk. For now she enjoyed whatever she could get from the honey blonde, hoping that it would suffice until her partner was ready to open up fully. The writer suspected that her girlfriend’s recent mood had something to do with the frequent letters from the bank and the upcoming visit from her twin. Isobel had endured these things in near silence but the American knew they must be eating away at her. She had seemed unusually restless these last few nights after they’d made love, and the writer began to wonder if something about their new relationship was bothering the Scot. Her gloomy trail of thought was interrupted by a blast of cool air as the shower door opened. Isobel stepped into the cubicle and pressed up against her lover under the stream of steaming water, surprising her with an equally heated kiss. Kiera found her thighs being parted and was immediately taken by a possessive hand, fingers curling inside her without hesitation. Her gasp broke the contact of their lips and Isobel compensated by closing her mouth over one of the brunette’s breasts. Unsure where this bout of lust had come from, Kiera chose not to question it and instead revelled in the sensations that were quickly wreaking havoc on her nervous system. She climaxed in record time as the Scot’s hands and mouth feverishly worshipped her body, and then she leaned back against the tiled wall and panted quietly as she came down from her natural high. As soon as she caught her breath and the tremors subsided, she returned the favour vigourously, dropping to her knees under the showerhead and using her tongue to drive her lover over the brink. Once they were washed, dried, and dressed, the pair descended to the kitchen and set about preparing sustenance. Isobel pulled thawed chicken breasts from the fridge and sealed them in a large plastic bag to tenderise them with a mallet, then set them to soak in a salty brine. That accomplished, she went outside to fire up the charcoal grill, first ensuring that the grate was clean and oiled to discourage the meat from burning. Meanwhile, Kiera set about chopping tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers, onions, and black olives. She made a tasty salad dressing from balsamic vinegar, extra virgin olive oil, honey, dijon mustard, and crushed garlic. She added the ingredients to a salad bowl and tossed them together with romaine lettuce. The garden salad was prepared just in time to enjoy as a starter while the chicken cooked. The pair sat outside on a wooden bench and enjoyed their salads, warmed through by the heat emanating from the grill. Isobel sprinkled crushed black pepper and fresh lemon juice on the chicken breasts and turned them routinely, using a meat thermometer to ensure they cooked all the way through. When the chicken was ready Kiera took their bowls inside and deposited them in the sink, grabbing two bottles of Deuchars IPA from the fridge. Isobel appeared with the plate of steaming chicken and promptly brushed each breast with mango habanero barbecue sauce. Packets of instant miso soup accompanied their meal and they tucked in with delight. Kiera’s first bite of the chicken was perfectly moist and the flavor exploded on her taste buds. “Oh my god… this is amazing. You should be given some kind of award.” Isobel brushed her off with a chuckle and the wave of a hand, claiming modestly, “Och. It’s nothing. But your salad was incredible. Thank you, by the way, for helping me this morning.” Kiera pointed her fork at Isobel and said pointedly, “No, thank you. I’ll never think about a shower the same way.” Even after nearly two weeks of being together, Isobel still managed to blush at the reference. She took a swallow of her beer and changed the subject. “So what are you going to do for the rest of the day?” The writer frowned thoughtfully and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Haven’t decided yet. My writing muse has taken a leave of absence. I hope it’s only temporary.” She spooned some miso soup into her mouth and swallowed before continuing, “I might just sit around and watch Xena, if it’s all the same to you. Something about Lucy Lawless in all that leather seems to inspire me.” A naughty gleam entered her eyes as she considered this. “Hmm,” Isobel hummed, her lips pursed in mild displeasure. Kiera caught the fleeting look of jealousy and sat back in her chair with open disbelief. “You cannot seriously be jealous of a woman on the television?” The Scot waved her hand once more and scoffed, “Of course I’m not. You’ve just got an unnatural obsession. Nothing to do with me.” The brunette crossed her arms and couldn’t resist the urge to smirk. “By the gods,” she quoted ironically, “you are. You’re jealous!” “I am not,” Isobel insisted, setting her fork and knife down to glare at her lover. The origin of the chosen phrase was completely lost on her. Kiera echoed the Scot’s earlier sentiment, “Hmm,” but said nothing more on the matter. They finished their food in companionable silence and did the dishes side by side, Isobel washing and Kiera drying. The writer knew she still had to tell Isobel about paying her rent, but they were having such a good day so far and she was loathe to ruin it with an argument. She knew with unfailing certainty that the proud Scot would not be initially pleased with her gesture. She couldn’t find the will to regret her actions, however, because she knew that ultimately she’d done the right thing by helping her girlfriend. As they separated for their individual afternoon pursuits – Isobel to feed the cows and pigs, Kiera to watch a few episodes of her favourite show – the writer couldn’t help feeling overwhelmed by the burden of her secret. Her guilt at not immediately coming clean was growing harder to bear with each passing hour. She resolved to tell the Scot as soon as she came inside. Isobel, alternately, was having a lovely afternoon and it seemed nothing could detract from her good mood. She felt on top of the world and had finally managed to push all of her worries aside for the time being, leaving them in a box marked Open Later. Therefore, it came as a monumental jolt when Paul pulled into her drive in an estate Jeep to shatter her euphoria. To begin, she offered him a pleasant smile in greeting and continued about her chores, him only a step behind her looking decidedly puzzled. “I thought I’d find you in a bad mood today,” he opened cryptically. She glanced at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised, and asked, “Why?” Paul shuffled his feet, kicking at a bare patch of dirt and stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets. The mannerism instantly set her on edge and she repeated slowly, “Why did you think you’d find me in a bad mood?” Clearly he knew something she didn’t, and that made her nervous. “She hasn’t told you then?” He appeared jittery, almost shy, a look that made him seem much younger than his thirty-six years. Growing a tad impatient with his circumvention, she pinned him with a stern look and demanded clarification, “Who hasn’t told me what?” Paul rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and squinted, all signs that he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “Your rent’s been paid up for six months. I thought you would know by now.” She regarded him as though here were some bizarre, alien creature who’d just declared he was taking over the planet. “Paid up?” she repeated. Awareness slowly trickled in until it had flooded her consciousness. Her bewildered scrutiny swiftly transmuted into an aspect of lividity. Quicker than lightning, she spun on her heel and stomped toward the farmhouse with the mien of a warrior marching into battle. The laird hurried to match her rapid gait and threw himself in front of the door, blocking her passage as he begged her to slow down and reconsider before she waged an unnecessary war. She was having none of it, though, and with a face like thunder she ordered him to move out of her way. He reluctantly did so and she barged on through, slamming the door and making a beeline for the lounge. She could hear the television playing and she had the sudden, violent urge to hurl the remote out the window. Paul pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed under his breath, “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” He wisely decided to wait outside until all grenades were launched and peace was restored. He had no desire to put himself in the line of fire for this particular battle. He’d done enough damage already and berated himself for his carelessness. Isobel came into the room like a storm cloud and Kiera immediately knew that a tsunami was brewing. She pressed pause and the room fell into a brief moment of deafening silence. “What the hell were you thinking?” The Scot’s voice was louder and angrier than she could ever recall hearing. She shrank back unconsciously and winced, knowing instinctively what this was about. In a small voice, looking for all the world to possess the innocence of a child, she mumbled, “I was trying to help… because I care about you.” Isobel considered this and couldn’t mask her incredulity or furore at the simplicity of the rationalisation. How could one be so bold and so sure of oneself? How could one be so selfless and show such disregard for the personal pride of another? The Scot couldn’t reconcile these personality traits with the way she’d been raised to live her life, and for a fleeting moment she felt a deep sense of sorrow to have been denied this outlook. She deflated as though receiving a punch to the gut. Her lower lip trembled and her eyes filled with unwelcome moisture. Kiera was on her feet in an instant, recklessly discarding caution of the Scot’s volatility. Her instinct was to protect and comfort, and she would do so no matter the situation. She drew the rigid woman into her arms and squeezed her as though the fate of the world depended on her grip. In a way it did: the fate of their world, their unity and happiness hanging in the breach. She feared if she let go, all that she now held dear would slip through her fingertips and be lost irretrievably. The half of her heart that beat for another had expanded until it saturated the whole of her being, every part of her given away in the blink of an eye. She had nothing left to call her own, and no mind to reverse this noumenonal occurrence. She was hyperaware of this change within herself and accepted the veracity of her feelings with a selflessness that astounded them both. Isobel choked on a silent sob and returned the embrace wordlessly, feeling a fundamental part of her wither and die to give way to something foreign and new. She wanted to shout, she wanted to cry, she wanted to beat her fists against the wall in protest, but a warmth was blossoming in the core of her soul that prevented these impulses from surfacing. The weight of the moment was not lost on either women, their thoughts and feelings speeding rapidly down parallel tracks. Isobel grasped at a last ditch effort to protest before her barriers dissolved completely, “Maybe you care too much. Maybe I don’t deserve you.” Kiera allowed not an inch of space or uncertainty to be left in the wake of her words, “That’s not possible. You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever known and I love you in a way I didn’t think myself capable. I had no idea I could ever feel this way about anyone until I met you.” Misplaced pride finally disintegrated, leaving a wide chasm to be filled by trust. A shuddering breath was released as her fear of losing control was overshadowed by something much more corporeal. Their eyes engaged in a desire riddled staring match only seconds before their mouths came together and their hands roughly pulled at pieces of clothing. Paul entered the farmhouse upon hearing a crash that sounded like breaking glass. ‘I’d better stop them from killing each other,’ he thought onerously. He burst into the lounge, ready to intervene, and stopped short as he saw Isobel with her blouse torn open and her bra hanging askew. Kiera had her pressed against the wall next to an antique oak bureau, a broken vase scattered across the hardwood floor beside their feet. They had their hands down each other’s jeans and were working up a furious rhythm. Loud breathing and gasps of pleasure permeated the otherwise silent atmosphere and for a moment he stood dumbstruck, caught off guard by the erotic sight before him. The two women were so ensconced in their own universe that they didn’t notice his presence, and after a moment he retreated quickly and silently, feeling very much like a voyeur. He’d now completely forgotten his original purpose for coming to the farm and left promptly. There were poachers on the estate and the problem was getting more pressing by the day, so he’d stopped by with the intention of asking Isobel and Kiera to keep their eyes peeled for suspicious persons and activities. What he left with was a series of images that would be forever burned into his memory. Chapter Twenty-Three London, England – Friday, May 17, 2002 The day before their planned vacation, Helen left her flat near Hyde Park and went to meet with the Home Office representative who’d emailed her. She found the location of the Home Office building in Westminster with ease, guided by her new car’s built-in navigation system. She’d only had the vehicle two days now and was already in love with it. Dressed in a crisp black trouser suit with a silk turquoise blouse beneath, she entered the building from the ground floor and stopped at the main reception desk. The receptionist dialled up to the appropriate secretary on the third floor and Helen was given the go-ahead. She made the short journey upward in the lift then wandered down a hallway lined with offices. She found the correct office via the brass nameplates mounted on the outer doors. Upon entrance she spotted a dizzy blonde wearing a leggy black pencil skirt and a bright floral blouse, perhaps showing a hint too much of her cleavage. The blonde verified Helen’s name before waving her through the next door into the office of Russell Ryers. The middle-aged Home Office rep was dark-skinned and tall, well over six feet, with short, curly black hair that was greying at the temples. His smile and his brown eyes were warm as he stood from behind his desk and greeted her with an outstretched hand. “Russell Ryers,” he shook her hand vigourously, “pleased to finally meet you Miss Stewart. I’ve been hearing a lot of interesting things recently. Lucky I don’t pay any mind to gossip. I let the facts speak for themselves.” They seated themselves on opposite sides of the desk and the Scot insisted, “Please call me Helen. Miss Stewart makes me sound like a school teacher.” They shared an easy laugh and then got down to business. Russell steepled his fingers and spoke to her frankly, “I think I should be completely open with you. An old colleague of yours, Jim Fenner, has been speaking quite ill of you to anyone who will listen. I’m sure this will come as no surprise.” He regarded her in a calculating manner for a moment before continuing, “There’s obviously plenty of bad blood between you. As long as you can assure me that his allegations are unfounded and that these rumours won’t affect the performance of a future career in the prison service, I’m happy to disregard them.” Helen felt herself becomingly increasingly tense as he opened the conversation with the topic she least wanted to discuss. She’d known it would likely arise during the course of her interview, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be the starter. She used every relaxation technique known to her to drop her shoulders and put on an unaffected and confident smile. “You’re correct on all counts, and I can assure you that Jim Fenner’s opinions and fantasies hold no bearing on my work performance. If we’re in agreement that they’re irrelevant, which they should be, then I don’t see any problem here. I’d rather not waste any more time talking about him, if it’s all the same to you,” she finished politely. Russell leaned back in his chair and surveyed her with something like admiration shining in his eyes. A smile grew slowly on his face and he complimented, “You’re very direct. I like that about you. I also like what I’ve been hearing from some of my associates. According to a reliable source, you have some invaluable qualities that the prison service is in dire need of at the moment: initiative, drive, intelligence, resourcefulness, and perseverance.” Helen was stunned by his assessment, to say the least. She’d been half expecting to come in here and be ambushed by accusations about her prior work history. She hadn’t been daring to hope for anything more than a civil interview, so to be praised on her personality traits was slightly disconcerting. She felt her earth’s axis tipping dangerously and she floundered to cover her reaction. “Well,” she started in a controlled, even tone and replied honestly, “I wasn’t expecting that, but I’m pleased to hear it. I wouldn’t put myself on a pedestal by any means, though. I’m passionate about reforming injustice and correcting the many flaws of the prison service, but that doesn’t make me some kind of superhero. I’m only trying to find a way to help women who’ve been neglected their whole lives and have nowhere else to turn.” He nodded and sat in contemplation for a moment, considering everything she’d said and weighing its measure. He found her approach earnest and he could see many possibilities for her future and the future of the prison service if she was given an integral role. Finally he spoke, “I agree with everything you’ve said so far. Furthermore, I think our prisons are currently failing to uphold the mission statement under which they serve, and you could be a vital part of changing that.” He quoted wistfully, “Her Majesty’s Prison Service serves the public by keeping in custody those committed by the courts. Our duty is to look after them with humanity and help them lead law-abiding and useful lives in custody and after release.” He spread his palms flat on the desk and plunged forward into the main topic they were here to discuss. “There are whispers going around that the Director General of the Prison Service is growing unhappy with the way things are run. There’s even been talk of appointing him as the new Commissioner of Correctional Services and altering the entire system, even giving it a new name. If this goes ahead, there will need to be strong personalities at the helm to manage the many changes.” This was news to Helen, who’d only ever seen the Old Boys Network side of the Home Office, and she wasn’t sure quite how she felt about the shift in attitude or the possibility of such a drastic change. She decided to stall judgement until she had all the facts. This could be a good thing or this could spell disaster. He took her silence as a cue to continue, “If the prison service ceases to be an Executive Agency, then it will again be the direct responsibility of the Home Office instead of being delegated to lesser divisions. Obviously that would mean a greater workload and new positions would have to be created to compensate. What I’m proposing today is to start you on a path toward filling one of those positions, should the need arise. In the meantime, you’ll be part of the policy making side but with a more hands-on approach, if you’re amenable to the offer.” Helen had listened to all of this without interruption, her mind whirring as she struggled to absorb the possible ramifications of such a remodeling. She was now intrigued and eager to hear more. “What would the position entail exactly?” “As you know, the Director of Operations manages the public sector prisons with thirteen Area Managers below him, and the nine Category A prisons are managed by the Director of High Security Prisons. There are two Assistant Directors who manage female inmates and juvenile offenders respectively. The former of them is retiring…” The penny was swift in its descent and landed with a clamour. “You’re joking!” Helen exclaimed, hardly daring to believe her ears. “You want to make me an Assistant Director?” Russell nodded mutely, observing her reaction with an intense stare. He knew she would be perfect for this position and he hoped that she would feel the same way. It was a hell of a lot of responsibility and her track record in holding down a job wasn’t the best, but she had the brains and the balls necessary to get the job done. Helen released a slow, deep breath and shook her head a few times, nearly pinching herself to make sure she was awake. This job offer was beyond anything in her wildest dreams in terms of a career path. “I need to think about it,” she said after a beat. “Can I get back to you in a few days after I’ve discussed this with my partner?” There was no way she was ready to accept this position without first discussing it with Nikki. Every aspect of her life was now merged with the ex-lifer’s and she wouldn’t be so callous to make a decision of this enormity without input from her other half. Another thing that was weighing heavily on her mind was that she was certain the relationship would be forbidden in such an elevated office, at the very least highly frowned upon. The manual of prison regulations forbade any officer of the prison service to engage in a sexual relationship with a prisoner or former prisoner, and contact with released prisoners was against the rules for employees without first disclosing it to management. She toyed with the idea of spinning a story, meeting Nikki on the outside after her appeal and starting the relationship after her release, but she hated the thought of lying to her colleagues and boss. Omission was preferable to direct dishonesty. Beyond that even, she feared that Fenner’s allegations would be upheld in a new and condemning light if her circumstances were revealed. She felt queasy as she considered the possible consequences. Russell interrupted her reverie as he nodded abruptly and agreed that, of course, she could take a few days to talk things through with her partner. In an act of good faith, she decided to at least confide the fact that her living companion was a woman. She wanted there to be no misunderstandings or ill will if she was going to move forward with this position. “I should tell you, in the interest of disclosure, that I’m currently involved in a serious relationship with a woman. If that poses a problem for you or this department, or for anyone under whom I’ll be working, then I need to know now.” He appeared surprised but not offended by her confession and he quickly assured her, “Your private life is your own, Helen. I personally have no problem with it, and as yet I’m unaware that anyone else would find it a deal breaker in offering you this position. I’ll see what I can do about asking around discreetly, without betraying your confidence of course, and I’ll let you know if I hear anything unsavoury. Deal?” Helen smiled then, a bright and unfettered display of relief, and she stood to shake his hand once more before taking her leave. She drove home in a daze, unable to stop the current of her thoughts as there was so much to consider in such a short space of time. After nearly running a red light, she forced herself to pay marginally more attention to the road, if only to prevent a serious accident. While Helen was meeting with Russell, Nikki was meeting with Monica Lindsay at the newly established Peter Hunt House in Wembley. It was a comfortable thirty-minute drive from the flat she and Helen shared in Mayfair. At first glance from the roadside, the halfway house appeared to be moderate in size and well maintained, but upon entering she found it to be much larger than it initially seemed. It spanned back from the road for nearly half an acre, and as she toured the house with her old friend, she came to realise that the residential area at the rear of the building had been added on recently, accounting for its massive stature. The walls were an institutional white but the wooden rafters, doors, floorboards, and trim were stained a dark cherry and added warmth to the place. There were no bars or cold metal doors to be found. Monica introduced her to a few of the residents who were on their way to recovery from drug addiction as well as the therapists and instructors who were present that day. She then showed her the rooms used for group therapy, creative therapy, and education classes. These rooms were filled with long wooden tables and chairs rather than individual desks, meant to relax the students and bring about a sense of unity. The education courses on offer ranged from cooking and standard house maintenance to mathematics, literature, and science. Art courses included painting, drawing, sculpting, and woodcarving. Nikki spent extra time looking at the paintings and drawings in the art room and found herself reacting viscerally to the imagery. Some of the portraits were bright and hopeful while others were dreich and eerie, but all of them emanated the feelings from which they were created. She thought back to her time in Larkhall and could recognise these emotions within herself. She was overjoyed that these women had a place to call home whilst enduring the transition from prison to everyday life. If it hadn’t been for Helen, she may well have ended up in a similar place upon release. Monica and Nikki ended up in the kitchen used by the residents and sat down with cups of tea. Nikki expressed her intention to become involved with the house in whatever capacity was needed and Monica welcomed her help eagerly, knowing firsthand how influential a presence Nikki could be. The ex-lifer had saved her life during her brief incarceration and she still felt indebted to her. This burden of debt was eased by the fact that she spent most of her waking hours devoting her time to helping the women who were in that same position. It was plainly obvious that the women now in her care would benefit from having Nikki around. They discussed the changes in their personal lives for a brief spell and Nikki ended up, somewhat sheepishly, admitting that she was living with Helen. Monica found this to be a great shock and fired a seemingly endless barrage of questions her way, and so she reluctantly relayed the history of their relationship, excluding her scandalous escape from the prison and their night of passion. She felt that was a topic better left un-discussed just yet, fearing the older woman might faint if she laid on any more surprises. By the time Nikki left the premises, it was agreed that she would come in once a week to teach the residents about gardening as an alternative form of therapy. She’d explained that she would be on holiday in Scotland for the following fortnight, so she planned her first visit in three weeks’ time. That would leave opportunity enough for any interested residents to add their names to a sign-up sheet and for her to plan out a few courses. Initially after leaving Larkhall, the taste of freedom had been bittersweet and she’d felt lost, ambling along uncertainly and not knowing what life held for her, but then she’d reunited with Helen and things had begun to fall into place. A new kind of restlessness had enveloped her in the absence of a job, so she’d set about planning her future and that involved starting her own small business. When she and Helen returned from their mini-vacation her hands would be full with renovating Chix and getting her gardening business on its feet, and so she could only promise to come in once a week to begin. When things settled down and she got all of her ducks in a row, she promised herself that she would spend at least two days a week helping out at the halfway house. Instead of driving straight home from Peter Hunt House, she detoured to Hoxton Square on impulse. After finding Helen’s vibrator the other day and seeing the intensity with which Helen came upon using it, she was fascinated with the concept of spicing up their love life. She entered Sh! Women’s Erotic Emporium with a mind to stock up on a few essentials for the bedroom. She wasn’t certain where to start but a friendly sales associate quickly eased her plight. Nikki had never been one to shy away from talking about sex – it was a natural and healthy part of any properly functioning relationship – but when asked to describe the nature of what she was looking for, she felt herself get a little hot under the collar and she was sure there was a pink tint to her cheeks. After three-quarters of an hour she made her final decisions and paid, leaving the store with a single bag and a raging libido. Inside the bag was a bottle of Lelo Luxury Massage Oil in spicy clove and amber, a pair of steel sex handcuffs, and a strap-on dildo kit. The last item had been particularly embarrassing for her to choose as she’d not used one in a very long time. She and Trisha had delved into kink on a few occasions, but mostly they’d preferred to go au naturel. There was also the uncertainty of how Helen would react. They’d not yet discussed bringing toys into the bedroom and she was nervous that the Scot would take offence. On the other hand, she knew that Helen had only ever been with men until she’d entered this relationship, so she had an inkling that her partner would enjoy being taken in a more traditional way. They frequently enjoyed an active sex life and the longer they were together, the more relaxed and creative Helen seemed to become. Nikki’s last stop on the way home was to the famous Agent Provocateur lingerie shop on Broadwick Street in Soho. If she was going to splash out before their trip, she might as well get a few sets of new knickers and bras to go with the toys she’d purchased. She allowed herself to get lost in a fantasy land as she perused the vast collections of undergarments available. It took her over an hour to decide on her purchases. She walked away with a Daniellah corset for herself, made of supple black leather with decorative eyelets, tulle lining, and underwired cups to provide lift; black satin suspenders and black stockings to go with it; a full set of the Fifi line for Helen, including briefs, a bra, a thong, suspenders, and a slip; and a few other miscellaneous items that sent her blood boiling. When she pulled into the drive she noted that Helen was already home from her interview, so she stowed the shopping bags in the passenger side floorboard, wanting them to be a special treat for their holiday. She would have to find a time later to sneak them into the house and hide them in her suitcase, lest she sacrifice the element of surprise. She let herself into the house and found it eerily silent. After searching the office, the master bedroom, the lounge, and the kitchen, she concluded that Helen must be in the garden. Puzzled, Nikki headed outside to find her lover sitting on the bench by the shed, staring dazedly at a clump of red azaleas on the other side of the yard. She looked troubled and lost, so Nikki joined her on the bench and asked gently, “What happened, darling? Why the long face?” “Oh, Nikki…” Helen’s shoulders slumped as she released a heavy sigh. “I was offered an incredible position. I just don’t think I can take it.” The Scot seemed to be on the verge of tears and this didn’t sit well with her lover. Nikki wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “Why not? What is it?” “Assistant Director under the Director of Operations. That means I would be in charge of all women prisoners in England and Wales.” Helen sounded even more defeated as she described the job aloud for the first time since it had been offered. “But that’s an amazing job!” Nikki couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She didn’t understand why Helen would pass up an opportunity like this. “You’ve got to take it,” she insisted, grasping both of Helen’s shoulders and twisting her torso to hold eye contact. “Think of everything you could accomplish.” Helen remained mute for a long moment and a tense silence ensued before she finally explained her reservations. “I know I could do a lot of good, but what if it drives us apart? I don’t like having to hide this relationship and I don’t ever want to lose you again.” Nikki relaxed, more at ease now she knew why Helen was being so reluctant. “As far as hiding the relationship, work isn’t supposed to be personal anyway. It’s none of their business, so if they ask just tell them to sod off. You won’t lose me. I can promise you that.” Nikki made a decision there and then but kept it to herself. It wasn’t the right time yet, but she could see it coming like a dawn on the horizon. Before long the moment would be upon them, and then she would embrace it with everything she had. Until then she would wait. The following morning the pair loaded their suitcases into Helen’s BMW and did last minute checks around the flat, ensuring that all was tidy and appliances were turned off to conserve energy during their absence. They were on the A1 by mid-morning, which would take them on a seven-hour drive to Edinburgh and from there they would complete the last leg of their journey with a two-hour drive northwest to Glenbogle. Chapter Twenty-Four Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Saturday, May 18, 2002 The morning of the day Helen and Nikki were set to arrive at the Anderson Farm, Isobel was having a wee lie-in. Kiera dragged herself out of bed and went downstairs in her pyjamas to get coffee and breakfast sorted. Deciding she had nothing but time on her hands, the writer opted for an un-lazy approach when it came to preparing everything. She retrieved her supply of gourmet coffee beans from Glasgow and set about measuring them into the Krups coffee grinder. She set the dial for a coarse grind and set four cups of water to boil on the stove. When her grounds were finished she spooned them into the cafetière and allowed the water to cool a good thirty seconds before pouring it in. She stirred the mixture with a plastic spatula then put the lid on with the plunger fully raised, allowing the coffee to brew for three minutes before she depressed the filter. The result was a lovely, rich flavour that sent energy down to the tips of her toes. She poured what she wasn’t immediately going to drink into the kettle for safekeeping, knowing if she left it in the press too long it would become bitter. As she sipped on her coffee she gathered the ingredients she needed to make a breakfast of eggs, pork sausages, and cinnamon porridge with bananas and strawberries. It took her thirty-five minutes to get the entire meal coordinated and then she loaded up a tray with two plates full of food and two mugs filled with steaming coffee, kept the right temperature by sitting on a hot plate. She nipped outside, stopping only to put wellies on over her pyjama bottoms, and wandered into the field she knew was rife with Bloody Crane’s-bill (geranium sanguineum), a lovely purple flower that bloomed between late May and late July. She picked two of the vibrant blossoms and carried them inside to add to the presentation. She ascended the staircase carefully and set the tray down on the end of the bed, going to wake Isobel with a slow kiss. She was pleased when her lover smiled up at her, and then the smile turned into a curious frown as Isobel asked, “Do I smell food?” Kiera couldn’t contain her snort of amusement as the Scot’s stomach grumbled on cue. She retrieved the tray and presented it nervously for inspection. Isobel stared at her for a moment as though she didn’t understand the concept of being brought breakfast in bed, and then the widest grin crossed her face and she declared, “Kiera McKinley, you sure know how to make a girl swoon. Come here you.” The writer set the tray down and moved into Isobel’s outstretched arms, receiving a series of soft kisses that would’ve turned into more if the Scot’s stomach hadn’t once again announced its need for sustenance. They shared a quiet chuckle and then began to tuck into their breakfast. Isobel delicately traced a purple petal with her fingertip as she swallowed a spoonful of oats. “How did you know purple was my favorite color? I hardly ever wear it.” The brunette smiled slowly and answered simply, “Your underwear collection.” Isobel paused mid-sip and her cheeks darkened adorably. “Oh.” Kiera’s mouth turned up in a devilish grin but she refrained from making further comment as she chowed down on her own porridge, congratulating herself for how well it had turned out. They ate in comfortable silence as the sun streamed in through the open curtains and gradually brightened the room. When every scrumptious morsel had been devoured, the writer cleared their plates and carried the tray downstairs. When she returned to the master bedroom she found Isobel standing nude in front of her chest of drawers, rifling through a mass of colourful silk, lace, and frills. The writer stood silently in the doorway and admired the naked form of her lover, wondering not for the first time how she could be so lucky with the privilege to call her that. She walked up behind the Scot and slowly trailed her fingertips down the shorter woman’s sides, ghosting them over her round hips and firm buttocks, causing Isobel’s spine to stiffen as she sucked in a breath. Kiera leaned into her neck and brushed her lips over the sensitive pulse points, allowing her tongue to dart out just behind the Scot’s ear. Isobel closed her eyes and swallowed hard, thinking it was entirely unreasonable to be this turned on by such a mere caress. She felt her tenant nibble at her earlobe and she groaned unconsciously, swaying back towards the taller woman in a bid to gain more contact. The writer slid her hands around Isobel’s waist and up to cup her full breasts, avoiding the nipples that were beginning to harden in anticipation. The Scot dropped the pair of frilly knickers she’d been holding and moved to turn around, but Kiera’s hands found her hips and held them firmly in place, denying her that freedom. Isobel shuddered as she felt a warm, wet tongue trace a path along her jugular, followed by a stream of cool air as the brunette blew where she’d licked. Dropping her mouth to the shorter woman’s shoulder, Kiera bit down gently and was rewarded with a throaty whimper. She loved everything about turning this woman on. Simply being the source of the Scot’s pleasure and watching the changes in her body was enough to fuel the writer’s own desire to the brink of explosion. Isobel leaned backward against the taller woman’s frame as she felt two hands slide simultaneously down to her inner thighs, stroking and teasing but not touching where she needed it. A growl of frustration rose in the Scot’s throat after several minutes of this delicious torture, but Kiera refused to relent and continued her maddening pace. “Let’s play a game,” the writer whispered, her mouth only centimetres from her landlord’s ear. She heard Isobel swallow before asking shakily, “What kind of game?” Kiera pretended to think for a second before answering, “I’m going to touch you. All day. In all of the places that turn you on. I’m going to keep doing so until you can’t stand another second of it, and then, only then, will I let you come. And when you don’t think you can come anymore, I’m going to make you come again and again.” The writer emphasised her words by rubbing her fingertips achingly slowly along the creases where Isobel’s thighs met her groin. The Scot bit her lower lip and stifled a moan, her heart beating wildly within her chest. Her mind conjured images that were slowly driving her mad. She didn’t know if she wanted to play this game; she wanted the results now, damn it. But a wicked little voice told her to wait, to play along, to see where this could take her… Kiera had a lot more experience with the delights of lesbian sex than she, and so she was inclined to believe the brunette knew what she was doing. Her skill at lovemaking was testament enough to that. Isobel breathed out through her nose and willed her body to relax, resigning herself to a day of blissful torture. “Okay,” she concurred quietly, “I’ll play.” She felt the brunette smile against her shoulder then release her, taking a step backward and breaking their bodily contact. The next second Kiera was directly beside her and picking through the underwear drawer as a woman on a mission. She found what she was looking for and held up her prize with a satisfied smirk. “You’re going to wear these until our company arrives. Nothing else.” Isobel stared at the sexiest set of lingerie she owned and felt another involuntary shudder pass through her. The writer handed her the black satin shelf bra with a sheer lace panel and the matching knickers that went with it. She took the items with shaky hands and began to dress. Just when she thought the torment couldn’t get any worse, Kiera went through her own underwear drawer and pulled out a selection that nearly made the Scot’s heart stop. “Y-you’re not going to wear those… are you?” Isobel eyed the scant scraps of cloth and felt her core clench as a steady throb began below her navel. The writer merely offered a grin in response before dressing herself in a pair of black hose, a black satin thong, which laced straight down the middle with a red ribbon and had attached garters, and a matching shelf bra that had no lace panel, nothing to cover her in all her glory. Isobel had the random thought that her mouth was disproportionately dry in comparison to the rest of her body. Her heart was pounding so quickly that she was almost sweating, and this was only the start of the day. She had no idea how she was going to survive the next few hours of this. Kiera departed the room after giving her lover a firm smack on the backside. She went downstairs and began the arduous task of cleaning the place from top to tail, soon joined by a still flustered Isobel. Together they worked meticulously to prepare the farmhouse for the arrival of their guests, and every so often when the Scot was least suspecting it, her lover would begin a slow assault on her senses and then pull away before she reached climax. By the time she heard a car pull up in the driveway in late afternoon, she was so sexually frustrated she didn’t even want to greet her twin. Her pulse was too fast, her breathing too irregular, her palms too sweaty, and her face too set in a permanent mask of arousal. She hurried upstairs on unsteady legs, Kiera right on her heels, and the pair quickly dressed as casually as they could, anything to offset the completely un-casual manner in which they’d spent their day. ![]() Edited by CrashxBurn, Jun 9 2013, 11:03 PM.
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"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"
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| CrashxBurn | Jun 9 2013, 11:53 PM Post #18 |
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G2 landing
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A/N on my changes to this story: In one of the earliest chapters of this story I said Helen had short brown hair, meant to portray her season one look, because that’s how I originally envisioned this fic happening, but I’ve decided that was an error in judgement and she should retain her season three look for the time being. I removed Kiera’s fringy bangs and kept her with long wispy side bangs. Also, I said that Isobel’s ex-husband’s name was Brian, but upon watching an episode of MotG I realised it was Dan. So… I’ve compensated by making his middle name Brian and his first name Daniel. Another note of some significance: In the show, Isobel’s grandmother had been dead for two years when she moved to Glenbogle. I have decided to keep it as one year for the purpose of my timeline fluctuation. Apologies for any confusion that may have arisen. Furthermore, I have made a valiant effort to transform all words into their British spelling. *fingers crossed for success* Without further ado, I will post below some vital information on the timeline and the characters’ bloodlines, withholding Nikki’s for the time being as it would be an unacceptable spoiler for a future chapter. Timeline: Chapter 1 – Tuesday, April 23, 2002 – Kiera arrives in Glenbogle and meets Isobel Chapter 2 – Tuesday, April 23, 2002 – Kiera agrees to be Isobel’s tenant Chapter 3 – Tuesday, April 23, 2002 – Nikki is released from Larkhall and reunites with Helen Chapter 4 – Wednesday, April 24, 2002 – Nikki and Helen go shopping, Nikki calls Trisha Chapter 5 – Wednesday, April 24, 2002 – Kiera goes to the pub, Isobel explains the festival Chapter 6 – Saturday, April 27, 2002 – Nikki moves her things into Helen’s flat Chapter 7 – Sunday, April 28, 2002 – Nikki meets with Trisha at Chix to discuss business Chapter 8 – Tuesday, April 30, 2002 – Kiera and Isobel attend the Glenbogle Fire Festival Chapter 9 – Wednesday, May 1, 2002 – A WWII German plane is raised from the loch Chapter 10 – Thursday, May 2, 2002 – Investigation continues, Isobel watches Xena with Kiera Chapter 11 – Thursday, May 2, 2002 – Nikki writes to Barbara and Shaz and gets her OU results Chapter 12 – Friday, May 3, 2002 – Plane incident is resolved, Isobel goes on a date with Alex Chapter 12 – Saturday, May 4, 2002 – Alex stops by the farm and Isobel rejects him Chapter 13 – Saturday, May 4, 2002 – Nikki and Helen read about Virginia’s murder Chapter 14 – Saturday, May 4, 2002 – Claire stops by for a girly chat with Nikki and Helen Chapter 15 – Saturday, May 4, 2002 – Isobel orders Kiera’s books, they make love the 1st time Chapter 16 – Monday, May 6, 2002 – Trisha approves Nikki’s blueprints and kisses her Chapter 17 – Tuesday, May 7, 2002 – Golly and Jess meet Meg, Paul appoints Alex as Factor Chapter 18 – Wednesday, May 8, 2002 – Alex leaves Glenbogle and Kiera consoles Isobel Chapter 18 – Thursday, May 9, 2002 – Isobel and Kiera have their first argument Chapter 19 – Thursday, May 9, 2002 – Nikki buys Helen a new car, they celebrate at Chix Chapter 20 – Thursday, May 9, 2002 – A stranger arrives, Kelly visits, dancing at the pub Chapter 20 – Friday, May 10, 2002 – Kiera finds out that Isobel might be leaving Glenbogle Chapter 20 – Sunday, May 12, 2002 – Kelly leaves the farm but Isobel stays Chapter 20 – Monday, May 13, 2002 – Kiera’s books are delivered, Kiera pays Isobel’s rent Chapter 21 – Wednesday, May 15, 2002 – Nikki visits Yvonne, Lauren stops by for dinner Chapter 22 – Wednesday, May 15, 2002 – Isobel and Kiera harvest vegetables from the patch Chapter 23 – Friday, May 17, 2002 – Helen meets a H.O. rep, Nikki visits Peter Hunt House Chapter 24 – Saturday, May 18, 2002 – Kiera brings Isobel breakfast in bed, torture ensues Did you know? Monarch of the Glen was filmed on the Ardverikie Estate in Kinloch Laggan, Newtonmore, Scotland. It's approximately two hours northwest of Edinburgh. Bloodlines: Daughter: Kiera (pronounced like Key-rah) Rose McKinley (Scottish-English-Italian) – age 28, 5’8”, long brown hair, blue eyes Mother and aunt: Aileen McKinley and Siobhan McKinley (Scottish-English) – raised in Glasgow Maternal grandparents: Elspeth Fisher/McKinley (Scottish-English, Glasgow) and Boyd McKinley (Scottish, Perthshire) – met and married in Glasgow Maternal great grandparents: Agnes Graham/Fisher (Scottish, Glenbogle) and Michael Fisher (English, Surrey) – met and married in Glenbogle Maternal great, great grandparents: Iona MacDonald (Scottish, Glenbogle) and Aonghus Graham (Scottish, Glenbogle) – born and raised in Glenbogle, met and married in Glenbogle Father: Giraldo Valesi (Italian-Sicilian) Paternal grandparents: Caprice Anesini/Valesi (Italian) and Luigi Valesi (Italian-Sicilian) Paternal great grandparents: Luciana Trapani (Sicilian) and Niccolò Valesi (Italian) Stepfather: Calvin Bennett (American) Daughter: Isobel Mairi (pronounced like Mary) (Stewart-Abrams) Anderson (Scottish-French), age 37, 5’4”, shoulder length honey blonde hair, no mole on neck, green eyes Ex-husband: Daniel Brian Abrams (English) Daughter: Helen Katrina Stewart (Scottish-French), age 37, 5’4”, shoulder length honey blonde hair, mole on neck, green eyes Ex-fiancée: Sean Parr (English) Parents: Mary Anderson/Stewart (Scottish) and Henry Stewart (Scottish-French) Maternal grandparents: Kate Crawford/Anderson (Scottish) and Arthur Anderson (Scottish) Paternal grandparents: Moira Fleming/Stewart (Scottish) and Abraham Stewart (Scottish-French) Paternal great grandparents: Apolline Soucy (French) and Cailean Stewart (Scottish) |
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"
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| CrashxBurn | Jun 10 2013, 03:58 PM Post #19 |
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G2 landing
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Chapter Twenty-Five Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Saturday, May 18, 2002 Pulling up to the farmhouse in Helen’s blue-grey BMW, the pair of vacationers scanned the property for any sign of a welcoming committee. Helen had been here many times before throughout her childhood and early adult life, but this was a new experience for Nikki. The ex-con had eagerly soaked in the sights and smells of Scotland as they’d driven through the countryside, windows rolled down to let in a fresh breeze. Amusement was the prevalent emotion as her eyes surveilled the land and she spotted Isobel’s car in the drive, dwarfed in elegance but not in size by the flashy Mercedes beside it. Helen had told her that Isobel had a tenant staying at the farm, but she’d neglected to mention that this tenant was filthy rich. Nikki immediately wondered at who this mystery woman was and she found herself mentally complimenting the woman’s taste in cars. It was a much more expensive class than her own new car. As Helen put the BMW in park and they made to exit the vehicle, the front door opened and two figures appeared on the porch, both looking flushed and aggravated. Nikki’s jaw dropped as the shorter of the pair came closer wearing a tense smile. The ex-lifer now understood what the expression ‘dead ringer’ meant. She was a carbon copy of Helen, albeit a bit more tanned with slightly longer, lighter blonde hair. Nikki blinked stupidly as she gazed back and forth between them. It was one thing to see a picture of the twins, but it was another matter entirely to see them together in person. Kiera hung back on the porch and stuffed her hands in her jeans pockets as her lover strode forward to greet their guests. She, too, was in a state of awe as she took in the sight of Helen. She forced herself to stop staring dumbly at the pair as they hugged each other, and her eyes travelled over to the woman standing at the passenger’s side. Confusion sparked in her mind as she studied the tall, ebony haired woman who’d thus far remained mute and immobile. Isobel had mentioned that her twin was bringing her partner to meet them, but the Scot had also said on a different occasion that her twin was straight, so Kiera was a bit flummoxed as she realized what this had to mean. Nikki met the gaze of Isobel’s mystery tenant and she found herself studying the stranger just as the brunette was studying her. Isobel and Helen separated after hugging each other tightly, each holding on to the shoulders of the other as they stood not a foot apart. Helen turned her head to Nikki and beckoned her forward just as Isobel did the same to her tenant. The two dark haired women closed the distance with uncertainty and extended their hands awkwardly. “Kiera McKinley.” The writer shook Nikki’s hand and then Helen’s. “Nikki Wade.” The ex-con greeted Kiera and Isobel. Kiera stood at Isobel’s shoulder and speculated, “Looks like they’re not the only ones in for a surprise. Who would’ve thought, eh?” Isobel looked at her girlfriend with evident confusion and said, “What? You lost me there.” Helen glanced at Nikki and then addressed her twin, “I think she means because I have Nikki with me. I told you I was bringing my partner and I know you thought it would be a man.” Isobel’s expression was comically stunned as she stared at her twin, but Nikki was now searching Kiera’s gaze for confirmation of her own suspicions. Kiera fidgeted but met her stare boldly, not giving an inch. “You and her?” Isobel asked, pointing a finger between the pair. Nikki wrapped an arm around Helen’s waist and gave her a squeeze, a proud smile blossoming on her face. “Yeah, apparently I’m irresistible.” Helen laughed heartily and whacked her good-naturedly on the rear. Isobel felt a hand touching the small of her back and she started slightly, only relaxing marginally when she realised it was that of her lover. Before she could get the words out, Nikki beat her to the punch. “Well, I knew twins had a knack for being similar, but this really takes the biscuit! You both drive horrible little red cars, you both dye your hair blonde, you married a tosser,” she pointed at Isobel, “you almost married a tosser,” to Helen, “and you’re both closet dykes… well until recently, anyway.” Nikki shook her head in disbelief, staring from one to the other. “Hey!” they shouted in unison, only lending credence to Nikki’s observation. Kiera joined her in staring at the twins with a very odd look upon her face. There was something almost surreal about this moment in time. What immediately struck Helen as Nikki’s words registered in her brain was that Isobel hadn’t denied the observation. She looked to Kiera and began to study the brunette more closely, noting the closeness with which she stood to Isobel and the placement of her hand. It was clear these two were intimate and, while she shouldn’t have been surprised given her own semi-recent discovery and the invisible bond she and her twin had always shared, she found herself pleasantly waylaid by the revelation and the symmetry of their lives. “Shall we take a walk round the farm?” Isobel broke the tension as she offered up her services as tour guide. The group agreed and set off at a leisurely pace, exploring the pasture full of highland cattle and the hills and fields covered in greenery and wild flowers. On more than one occasion Nikki stopped walking and commented on the varying flora growing wild in the highlands, mainly those which couldn’t be found naturally on lower altitude English soil. “Wow… there’s Yarrow, Foxglove, Purple Vetch… you’ve even got Bilberries growing out here,” Nikki commented gleefully, stooping down to inspect a few of the flowering plants. “Aye, but around here we call them Blaeberries,” Isobel corrected with a smile. Helen chuckled at her twin and Kiera slipped her hand into Isobel’s, giving it a squeeze. Isobel lifted her other hand to point at the edge of a small forest that spilled onto her land, “And over there are Junipers and Scots Pine. When I first moved down here permanently I had to fight my next door neighbour not to cut down the woods.” The group steadily worked their way through the farmland in the span of an hour and then retreated into the farmhouse. Isobel and Kiera headed into the kitchen to start preparing a version of Scottish High Tea while Helen and Nikki went upstairs to unpack in the guest room. Isobel was picking ingredients out of the fridge when Kiera snuck up behind her and slid her hands under the blue cotton of the Scot’s shirt. The honey blonde froze and cursed the writer quietly, “Damn it will you stop doing that? I’ve got a lot to cook and I don’t need you frustrating me any more than you already have!” Kiera chuckled and pressed in closer to the Scot, nuzzling the side of her neck and moving her hands slowly upward. She whispered into Isobel’s ear in the huskiest tone she could manage, “But that would be against the rules of our game.” The shorter woman held in a moan as the writer’s palms cupped her aching breasts. She’d been in a state of heightened arousal all morning and afternoon. Her body was begging for release and her clit and nipples felt sore from being engorged and neglected for so long. “Not fair,” the Scot managed to gasp, as one of the brunette’s hands moved down to stroke her through the faded denim of her jeans. Her hips began to move in time with the taller woman’s hand and she groaned as a delicious friction was formed. “Uh-uh,” Kiera lightly chastised, “none of that or I won’t play with you anymore.” Isobel let out a frustrated breath and said sternly, “If you don’t fuck me soon, I might just kill you.” The writer felt an answering shudder course through her body upon hearing the Scot’s words. She rubbed a little harder between the blonde’s thighs and got her right to the edge of ecstasy before pulling away. Isobel turned to her with a glare and angrily thrust a package of tomatoes at the writer’s chest. “Start chopping those into rings,” she barked. Kiera smiled and lightly kissed her on the lips, murmuring, “I’m sorry, darling, but you’ll thank me for this later when I give you the biggest orgasm you’ve ever had.” The Scot narrowed her eyes and pointed wordlessly at the chopping block on the worktop. Kiera chuckled and moved to do as she was told. Several hours later, with help from Helen and Nikki, the group of four sat down to eat a massive meal: carrot cake scones; warm slices of whole-grain Golspie loaf; butter in a side dish; melon and ginger jam in jam dishes; caramelised orange and poppy seed cake; two-layer coconut cream cake with strawberries; French tomato tart with goat cheese; baked haddock with lemon thyme germolata; homemade Scottish shortbread; and Scottish Blend tea. By the time they’d all finished sampling a bit of everything, each woman was feeling stuffed and sleepy from the heavy foods. Nikki rubbed her stomach and muttered, “I haven’t eaten like that since before I went to Larkhall.” Isobel and Kiera, not understanding what she meant, looked at her quizzically. Helen jumped in with a ready explanation, “She means Her Majesty’s Prison Larkhall. Nikki served three years there before being released on appeal.” Isobel stared at her twin for a long moment before saying, “So you met Nikki when you were working there.” The Scot arched both eyebrows and remarked, “Well this is certainly a day for surprises. Two years ago I never would’ve imagined we’d be sitting here, both of us with girlfriends and one of them an ex-prisoner.” Kiera jumped in during the pause, addressing Nikki directly, “Do you mind me asking what you were in for?” There was no malice or judgement in her tone, only intrigue, so the ex-lifer didn’t take offence to the question. “Murder. I killed a copper who was trying to rape my partner at the time. The pigs wouldn’t believe me or Trish and the judge was old hat. They gave me a life sentence with a minimum ten years before being considered for parole.” The writer let out a long whistle and shook her head, stating firmly, “Bloody English justice system,” to which the whole table laughed. “Well,” Isobel said as she pushed back from the table, “I’m going to grab some whisky and then we can do some more catching up.” Kiera got up as well and followed her lover into the kitchen, retrieving four glass tumblers for the whisky. Isobel entered the dining room brandishing a bottle of Glenfiddich 40-year-old whisky and Helen blurted, “Christ that had to be upwards of £2,000! How did you afford it?” Isobel chuckled quietly and replied, “I didn’t. My ex bought it for me as a wedding gift. I just haven’t gotten round to drinking it ‘til now. I thought we could celebrate as we haven’t seen each other in five years.” “Here, here!” Kiera raised her empty tumbler in a mock toast. Nikki clinked her own glass against Kiera’s and the two shared a conspiratorial grin. “So…” Nikki began, “which one of you is older?” Kiera snickered as she saw Isobel fidget uncomfortably before answering, “I’m twelve minutes older than Helen.” Helen piped up, “And she’s never let me forget it either.” The twins stuck their tongues out at each other and Nikki and Kiera watched on slack-jawed. Kiera cleared her throat and said, “Anyway… what are you planning on doing for a living now that you’re free?” The question was directed at Nikki. The ex-lifer smiled and divulged happily, “I’m going to start up a small gardening business when we get home, as well as renovating the night club that my ex-partner and I still own. I’ve also got some upcoming volunteer work on my plate. One of the women I met inside started up a halfway house when she was released, and now she’s got two open to help women transition back into society. I’ll be giving gardening classes in between my other projects.” Kiera nodded thoughtfully and observed, “You must really like gardening. Isobel does, too. Don’t go trying to steal my woman,” the writer teased. “Oh, I don’t know, I’ve got a thing for twins,” the ex-con joked back. Nikki and Kiera laughed heartily but the twins both glared, neither of them particularly pleased with the joke. Kiera nudged Isobel’s shoulder and said, “Lighten up, sheesh.” Isobel glared even more sternly at that, but this time it was only directed at Kiera. She leaned in and said under her breath, “Don’t tell me to lighten up. This is your fault.” The older twin poured four drams of the aged whisky and the group clinked glasses before sipping it slowly. “Mmm,” Helen commented, “this is amazing. It puts every whisky I’ve had before to shame.” Nikki and Kiera nodded their agreement and then Isobel re-opened the former conversation on career paths. “So, Helen… what are you going to do while Nikki runs her gardening business?” Helen snickered and bit down her first reply, which was totally inappropriate, and said instead, “I had a meeting with a Home Office rep before we came here. He’s offered me a job as an Assistant Director in the prison service, meaning I’d be in charge of all the women prisoners in England and Wales. I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to take it.” She glanced sideways at Nikki as she said this and the ex-lifer sighed. Not giving her stubborn girlfriend the chance to interrupt, Helen quickly carried on, “My decision is going to be contingent upon whether or not they accept my relationship with Nikki. Despite her protests that it’s none of their business, there are strict regulations in place and I don’t want to live a lie. If they find the relationship unacceptable, then I’ll recommend a qualified candidate in my place.” Nikki perked up in interest, not having heard this before, and asked, “Who?” Helen grinned a little and revealed, “Honestly? I was thinking Karen Betts would be a good choice in my stead. She always struck me as levelheaded and intelligent, and she certainly seemed to have the women’s best interests in mind.” The raven haired woman sighed bitterly as she said, “Yeah, except when it came to Fenner. He was always stuck on her like Sellotape.” Isobel and Kiera were watching this exchange in confused silence, neither of them knowing the people in question. Kiera propped her chin on her palm and frowned, trying to think of a subject to which they could all relate. She brightened suddenly and chirped, “Helen! What crazy stories can you tell me about Isobel?” Nikki caught on to her point quickly and joined in with a smirk, “And likewise, I’d like to hear a bit about Helen from Isobel.” The twins groaned in protest so Nikki and Kiera took to banging their fists lightly on the tabletop, egging them on amidst peals of laughter. “Okay! Okay…” Helen laughed as she conceded loss. “Hmm… Should I tell them about the Hogmanay celebration when we were seventeen?” Isobel’s eyes widened and she exclaimed, “You wouldn’t dare!” Helen chuckled evilly. “Oh, but I would. Iz and I went to our friend Lila’s house and we all started drinking cheap whisky, whatever we could afford with our pocket money. Lila had this older brother that we’d always fancied, but he was two years ahead of us and away at University. Well… he came home and joined the festivities, but poor Isobel had already had a skinful.” Kiera was sniggering by this point, already seeing the funny side. Helen continued, “We ended up leaving the house and wandering down to this spot by the river. We got even more pissed and Camden, Lila’s brother, and his best friend Reed dared us to go skinny dipping. Never one to back down from a dare, we stripped and took it in turns to dive in. Isobel went first. Unfortunately, the boys thought it would be funny to steal her clothes and make her walk home naked. Imagine trying to sneak in through a window without getting caught by our father. That was the last time we saw Cam.” “Bloody good job, too! I could’ve killed him for that,” Isobel chipped in. Nikki and Kiera were in stitches by this point, both clutching their sides desperately while the twins stared on with displeasure, thinking it unfair that their partners gleaned such amusement from their embarrassment. “Okay…” Nikki gasped for breath and managed to say, “Now one about Helen.” Isobel got an unnaturally wicked gleam in her eye and Helen immediately knew which story was about to be told. “No! No, no, no…” she protested, but it fell on deaf ears. “So… we were on holiday from school when we were fifteen, and Len had just started seeing this boy named Leslie. She was forever sneaking out to spend time with him and using me as an alibi. One afternoon in July I was standing watch outside our father’s church, as he was due to arrive in two hours to work on his sermon. For whatever reason, Helen thought it would be a good idea to snog in the parsonage.” The dark haired women snorted almost simultaneously at this, and Nikki ribbed her lover playfully, “If I’d known churches were your thing I would’ve suggested shagging in the prison chapel.” Helen turned notably pink as the other three burst into raucous laughter. Isobel managed to get her mirth under control long enough to finish the story, “They’d been in there about an hour when our father showed up early. I tried to stall him but he was in a hurry and brushed me off. I couldn’t get past him to warn Helen and so he walked in to find her christening the altar with one of the choir boys.” After several minutes of side-splitting laughter the group finally calmed down, though Helen’s face was still flaming. More whisky was poured and then Kiera asked conversationally, “So did you two ever do the horizontal mambo in Larkhall?” Helen stiffened and retorted indignantly, “We certainly did not!” Nikki decided now was a good time to add her two cents, “That’s if you’re not counting the night I broke out of prison and showed up at her flat. She was completely pissed off, but I managed to distract her for a few hours.” The ex-lifer shot her lover a playful wink and Helen found it hard to be angry at the remark. Isobel smirked and commented, “I never knew you had it in you, Len.” “You’d be surprised what she’s had in her recently.” Nikki ducked to avoid a sharp whack to the head as the table once again burst into laughter. “I saw your car outside earlier,” Nikki said to Kiera. “Very nice,” she complimented. “May I ask what you do that allows you to afford it?” The writer smiled pleasantly and drained the last of the whisky in her glass. “I write. I published three novels in my early twenties and I’m fortunate that they sold well.” After another hour of drinking, storytelling, and all-around jocundity, the couples separated for the evening. Nikki and Helen went upstairs to get some rest after their long drive, while Isobel and Kiera cleaned up the kitchen and went outside to watch the sunset. The writer grabbed a thick, comfy blanket and a thermos of hot cocoa along the way then led Isobel out to one of the grassy fields. They settled onto the blanket and under the waning orange glow of the setting sun, Kiera finally gave Isobel the release she’d been craving since that morning. And just as the brunette had promised, when the Scot didn’t think she could take anymore stimulation the writer kept pushing her until she was a boneless heap of sweating flesh, totally incoherent to anything around her. The next day while Isobel and Helen wandered off to catch up on missed time, Nikki and Kiera sat outside on lawn chairs chatting. The writer introduced the ex-con to Isobel’s famous lemonade and Nikki proceeded to get to know the brunette a bit better. “So what brought you to Glenbogle, of all places?” “I wanted to get some inspiration for the book I’m writing. Also, I’m researching my family history.” “Ah. Never really bothered myself. Apparently my biological father was a typical Italian wanker.” “Hmm. Mine as well. All I know is his place of birth and name. That’s enough for me, thanks.” Kiera laughed lightly, brushing off her bitterness with a tone of nonchalance. “Yeah?” Nikki raised her brows. “So what would you be calling yourself if he’d stuck around?” “Kiera Valesi.” The writer shuddered and made an ‘ick’ face, obviously preferring her Scottish surname. “Valesi,” Nikki sounded the name out slowly, a thoughtful frown furrowing her brows. “Maybe we’re distant cousins or something. My blood father’s name was Giraldo Valesi, according to my very bitter socialite mother.” Kiera stared at Nikki then, shock marring her features as she blinked several times. “Not cousins…” the writer said slowly, waiting for some hint of realisation from the taller woman. Now that she knew what she knew, she began to realise how similar they were in looks. They were both above average height, Nikki at 5’10” and Kiera at 5’8”, their skin tones were similar, with Kiera only being a few shades lighter – the difference would be completely demolished if she got a tan, and they both had thick dark hair. It took Nikki a good minute to work it out, and when she did her eyes widened comically. “Bloody hell! Are you saying we’re half-sisters?” The writer nodded. “It would seem so. We do kind of look alike, except your hair and skin tone are a bit darker than mine.” Nikki shrugged and said, “You can thank my Iranian background on my mother’s side for that.” Kiera propped her chin on her hand and mused, “My mother’s side is all Scottish. That’s what drew me here specifically. I found out I’m related to the MacDonalds through my great, great grandmother Iona MacDonald, which means Paul, the current Laird, is my distant cousin.” “Shit… that must be a lot to take in. What do you say we get a good brew in town? I could use something stronger than lemonade to absorb all this information.” Kiera nodded her assent and stood up. “There’s a pub in town called McCall’s, and the bartender is really tasty to look at.” The writer winked at the ex-con and Nikki threw back her head and laughed. A sobering thought occurred to the ex-lifer and she asked with sudden uncertainty, “Are you serious about Isobel? I know it’s not really my place to ask, but I love Helen more than life itself and if Isobel got hurt that would hurt Helen.” Kiera stared at Nikki and stated with more conviction than she’d ever had in her life, “I would never do anything to hurt Isobel. She’s part of me.” With that out of the way, the unlikely half-sisters left their lemonade glasses on the porch and headed into town via Kiera’s Mercedes. A/N: Don't read this until you've read the above chapter. It's a dead giveaway and I like surprises. Bloodlines Continued: Daughter: Nicola Jayne Wade (Iranian-English-Italian), age 35, 5’10”, short brown-black hair, brown eyes Ex-partner: Patricia ‘Trisha’ Harris (English) Mother: Brenda Wade (English) Maternal grandparents: Audra Foster/Wade (English) and Dean Wade (English) Maternal great grandparents: Parisa Rahmani (Iranian) and Robert Foster (English) Maternal great, great grandparents: Ziba Soomekh (Iranian) and Javed Rahmani (Iranian) Father: Giraldo Valesi (Italian-Sicilian) Paternal grandparents: Caprice Anesini/Valesi (Italian) and Luigi Valesi (Italian-Sicilian) Paternal great grandparents: Luciana Trapani (Sicilian) and Niccolò Valesi (Italian) Stepfather: Lyndon Edwards (English) |
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"
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| CrashxBurn | Jun 13 2013, 03:46 PM Post #20 |
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G2 landing
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Chapter Twenty-Six Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Sunday, May 19, 2002 A drink at the pub had allowed Kiera and Nikki ample time to trade notes and life stories, both feeling the need to get to know the other better. They struck up an easy camaraderie and effortlessly made up for lost time. Their biological bond certainly explained the strange way in which they were drawn to one another. There was nothing sexual about it and neither had considered the idea, even before their relation was revealed, for which both were immensely relieved. When the writer reached her two drink limit she suggested they leave the pub and explore the village for a while. Nikki agreed and they took off. Upon reaching the building Meg had acquired as a dance studio, they decided to stop in and see what it was all about. Tango lessons were in full swing with some of the town’s younger residents taking part. Kiera was at once fascinated and remarked, “I always wanted to learn tango dancing but I never got around to it.” Nikki grinned and offered, “I could teach you if you like?” Kiera looked at her with evident surprise and asked, “Where did you learn to tango?” Nikki shrugged and explained, “Boarding school. I attended until I was sixteen, when they expelled me for deviant activities, and ballroom dancing was one of the courses my parents made me take.” Kiera looked thoughtful for a moment and then her smile widened and she mused, “You know… we could surprise Isobel and Helen…” Nikki considered this with a light chuckle and added, “But then they’d have to learn the dance as well or it would be pointless.” Kiera smirked and hooked her arm through Nikki’s, pulling her toward the redheaded dance instructor so they could enquire about joining the lesson. “They already know how,” she said flippantly. The ex-con cocked her head, brows furrowed, and asked, “Eh?” The writer laughed and patted Nikki on the arm. “Yeah. Iz and I spent the night dancing during the Fire Festival and afterward we got to talking. She told me that her father made her and Helen take dance lessons when they were teenagers, including tango. Apparently they were quite good at it. We’ll just have to find out for ourselves.” Meg happily agreed to let them join the class so they moved into position on the edge of the wooden dance floor. Meg pressed play on the portable stereo and began relaying instructions to her students. Kiera quickly shed her shy demeanour and threw herself fully into the lesson. Before long she was moving with ease and enjoying herself immensely. There was something really freeing about dancing this way, though it did push her body’s flexibility to the limit. There was an amusing moment of confusion when Meg came over to them and insisted they switch positions, allowing Kiera to learn to lead and Nikki to follow. They grasped each other awkwardly as the ex-con tried to give up the habit of a lifetime when it came to this particular dance. She’d always been the lead since she never danced with men, but likewise it was nice for Kiera to take the lead so she’d be able to dance with Isobel properly. When the two-hour session was over, the half-sisters left sweaty and aching but incredibly content. They’d confided their objective in Meg and she’d agreed to help them, inviting them to come back in two days’ time for a personalised lesson. They made their way back to the farm and found Isobel and Helen in a laughing heap in the lounge. Apparently they’d gotten into some sort of tickling contest and now both of them were breathless and giggling, clutching stitches in their sides as they lay on the floor together. Kiera and Nikki stopped in the doorway and observed the pair with odd expressions. The writer looked at the ex-lifer and likewise Nikki looked at her. They both snorted in amusement, brows raised, and Kiera leaned in closer to speak to Nikki, preventing her words from carrying to the twins. “I know I shouldn’t be thinking what I’m thinking… I mean, it’s not only illegal but just plain wrong, but can you blame me? I almost go cross-eyed whenever those two go near each other.” Nikki chuckled and replied, “No you shouldn’t, but I’m right there with you, mate. Just don’t tell Helen that.” Kiera made a cross over her heart with a smirk and turned her attention back to the twins, who were now picking themselves up off the floor. Each twin made her way to her respective partner and greeted her with a kiss. Helen was the first to speak, “So, what have you two been up to all morning?” Nikki exchanged a quick glance with Kiera before answering, “Not much… had a drink at the pub, shared stories, that kind of thing.” Kiera grinned and answered, “Yeah, it was great. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have a sister, but Nikki’s awesome.” Isobel and Helen caught Kiera’s words but didn’t understand the meaning behind them. They simply thought their partners had grown close like sisters. Isobel smiled and wrapped her arms around the writer’s waist. “I’m glad you two are getting on so well.” Kiera smiled and shook her head slightly, sussing out the misunderstanding. “No… I mean we’re literally sisters, half-sisters anyway. We share a biological father.” The twins went slightly slack-jawed as they stared between the half-sisters, and then Helen commented, “Well, now I know what keeping it in the family means.” The group laughed simultaneously and moved toward the kitchen to grab an afternoon snack. A few hours later, Nikki went with Isobel and Helen to see to the afternoon chores on the farm while Kiera worked on the next chapter of her book. She was sitting in the study with pages of lined paper spread out in front of her, a thoughtful frown on her face. She tapped her pen as she tried to think of a word that was proving elusive. She began rummaging through the drawers of the desk to see if Isobel kept a thesaurus handy, and she stopped short when she found all three of her published books in the bottom drawer. “What the-” she mumbled, pulling them out for inspection. The first one showed signs of being read and the second one had a bookmark in it almost halfway through. Kiera shook her head in bafflement and wonder as she processed the fact that her girlfriend was secretly reading her published works. Hitting upon an idea, she opened the front cover of the third novel and inscribed a small note where Isobel would find it. She replaced the trio where she’d found them and resumed her search for a thesaurus. Why she hadn’t brought one with her, she had no idea. +++ Tuesday, May 21, 2002 Isobel sat in her study while Helen was taking a hike through the woods, claiming she needed to stretch her legs and breathe in the fresh air after living in London for so long. Kiera and Nikki had mysteriously disappeared into town again and her morning chores were finished, so she was at a bit of a loose end. She decided now would be a perfect time to continue her reading. She’d already managed to sneak in a few hours during the last two days while everyone else was still asleep, so she was nearly finished with Mending Broken Glass. It took her just over thirty minutes to finish it and when she stowed it away she had tears forming in her eyes. The kind of love Kiera wrote about was the sort you’d read in fairytales. She sure knew how to write a happy ending. It made Isobel wonder if that’s how the writer felt about her. The thought caused her heart to beat faster and her tears to fall. It would be the greatest compliment she could ever receive to have those feelings directed toward her. She pulled Love Theorem out of its hiding place after a glance at the clock, which told her she still had plenty of time to kill. She flipped it open and stopped short when she saw the familiar handwriting next to the first page of the introduction. I hope our love grows to transcend all things No matter what struggles or trials life brings You are the one I will always hold dear May our love bring us hope and unravel our fear I’m flattered to know you’re reading my books, though I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy them and that you’ll give me honest feedback when you’re finished. See… I can be sneaky too. xoxo Kiera Isobel laughed and put a hand to her lips, realising she’d been caught out by her lover. She didn’t know why she’d kept it a secret either. She supposed she was hoping to surprise the writer by mentioning it when she’d finished. Or perhaps she was afraid Kiera wouldn’t want her to read them if she knew? Isobel couldn’t fathom the reason she hadn’t been forthright, but it was null and void now, whatever it was. She eagerly dived into the contents of the first chapter, feeling her emotions flow with the rise and fall of the tale the writer had written. The first book had been heartbreaking and, at times, nearly impossible to read. The second had been uplifting and cathartic, proving that love could prevail even through the trickiest of situations. The third brought tragedy back down on the main character and Isobel wondered how she would cope. How would she herself cope if she lost a lover? It was a painful and unwelcome thought, so she pushed it to the back of her mind and continued to read until she heard the front door open. +++ Jess walked up the drive to the Anderson farm with her hands stuffed in her jeans pockets. She wanted to keep Isobel in the loop by telling her that the poachers had finally been apprehended yesterday. She spotted the Scot walking across one of the fields from the wooded area that backed onto the farmland. She changed course to meet her halfway and exclaimed with surprise, “You cut your hair! It looks nice, though.” Helen had seen the blonde coming toward her and figured this was the gillie’s daughter that Isobel had told her about. She had just been about to introduce herself when Jess spoke. She stifled a laugh at the misunderstanding and canted her head, wearing a huge grin as she said, “I think you’ve got me confused for my twin sister Isobel. I’m Helen.” She stuck out her hand and watched as Jess shook it, clearly bewildered. “I didn’t know she had a twin sister,” the blonde commented. Then she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Oh well. It’s nice to meet you anyway. I came to talk to Isobel. Is she around?” “Yeah, she should be inside the house. Come on, I’ll get her and you two can sit down for a chinwag.” The pair smiled at each other and moved toward the house. Isobel exited the study when she heard the front and was surprised to see Jess there. “Jess!” She greeted the blonde with a hug and asked, “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be busy hunting poachers just now.” Jess grinned and revealed, “That’s why I’m here, actually. We caught them yesterday and I wanted to tell you the good news. I’m not the only one with a surprise, though. How come you never mentioned you had a twin?” Isobel smiled sheepishly and admitted, “It never came up in conversation. We hadn’t seen each other in about five years until she came to visit. It’s good to have her here again.” Isobel and Helen shared a heartwarming smile and moved to put their arms around the other’s waist, both glad they’d been reunited on such good terms. The trio moved into the kitchen to have a chat and half an hour later Isobel was sitting on a kitchen chair with her back to the sink, a bin bag wrapped around her shoulders as Jess stood beside her wielding a pair of scissors. “Are you sure about this?” the blonde asked, looking hesitant. Isobel and Helen shared a conspiratorial glance and chorused simultaneously, “We’re sure.” “Okay then…” Jess began to run a wet comb through Isobel’s hair and then followed it with the scissors, carefully cutting it all to one length to match Helen’s hairstyle. She thought their plot was devious but imagined it would be entertaining nonetheless. When she was finished she tapped Isobel on the shoulder and carefully removed the bin bag, ensuring that none of the hair got on the Scot’s clothing. Isobel exited the room with Helen on her heels so she could inspect her new ‘do’. She peered at her reflection in the downstairs loo and smiled as she turned to her twin. “Oh this is going to be fun…” Helen laughed and shook her head. “You’re absolutely wicked. I love it.” The twins moved upstairs to trade outfits and perfume, creating the finishing touches needed for their scheme. The plan was to play a massive joke on their lovers by temporarily switching places. It was something the twins had done when they were in school together, much to the frustration of their teachers and friends. They were enjoying the trip down memory lane and were eager to see if their partners could figure it out. In the meantime, Kiera and Nikki were in town at Meg’s dance studio, receiving one-on-one instruction from the redhead and perfecting their choreography. By the end of their second two-hour session they had a routine planned and all that was left to do was practise it until they worked out the kinks. They headed back toward the farmhouse with a plan in mind to surprise their partners in a week’s time. Isobel descended the staircase wearing one of Helen’s leather jackets and her twin followed suit, having borrowed a button-up blouse and jeans from her sister. Jess stood at the base of the stairs gaping at the pair, unable to believe how easily they had transformed into one another. The gillie’s daughter shook her head and marvelled, “They won’t be able to tell the difference, though I still say this is pure evil.” The twins chuckled and joined hands, swinging their arms happily. “That’s the idea,” Isobel answered. “It’s just a wee bit of fun,” Helen rationalised. “Just so you know,” Isobel cautioned, “Kiera’s very affectionate. Don’t be surprised if she tries to snog you.” Helen nodded and added her own warning, “Nikki’s the same way. Can’t seem to keep her hands off me for more than five minutes. Rules?” “No tongue and nothing under the clothes?” “Agreed.” Isobel then thought of something else, “You should make your accent thicker, like you’ve been living here for a while, and I’ll make mine lighter like yours.” They practised quickly and were satisfied with the deception. Kiera and Nikki wouldn’t know what hit them. They heard a car pull up outside and they grinned at one another. “Showtime,” they chorused. The writer and the ex-con entered a minute later and immediately greeted their partners with a kiss. Both Scotswomen tried not to tense up at the gesture, knowing it would give the game away. Jess introduced herself to Nikki before quickly taking her leave. “You cut your hair.” Kiera fingered the silken honey blonde strands of Helen’s hair and the Scot bit her lip, resisting the urge to say that was the second time she’d heard that phrase that day. “Jess cut it for me,” Helen informed, pretending to be her twin. Nikki ran her hands down Isobel’s back and parked them on her arse, giving it a little squeeze. The Scot tensed up for a brief moment then relaxed, shooting a glance at her twin. Helen pursed her lips almost imperceptibly then covered with a smile. “Let’s go through to the kitchen and we can figure out what we’re going to do tomorrow while we eat.” Helen took Kiera by the hand and led her down the hallway. Nikki and Isobel followed close behind and then seated themselves at the table. Helen rummaged through the fridge as Kiera leaned back against the worktop, arms crossed as she studied the Scot with a curious expression. She had a strange feeling but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Something was different… She dismissed it as an overactive imagination and helped Isobel put together some sandwiches for tea. They made it through dinner without incident, though all four women were on edge for different reasons, and they discussed ideas for the following day. It was decided they would visit Strathisla Brewery in Keith, about an hour’s drive away. After their plates were deposited in the sink, they each settled down at the table with a dram of after-dinner whisky. Nikki leaned in close to Isobel and ran a hand up her thigh under the table. “You almost ready for bed, darling? I’ve got plans for you that wouldn’t be polite in present company.” Isobel choked on her drink and swiftly moved Nikki’s hand away from her crotch, blushing furiously. Nikki was confused and it showed on her face, and Kiera was equally nonplussed when she noticed that Helen was grinding her jaw beside her. Suddenly a thought occurred to the writer and she shook her head slowly, thinking it couldn’t possibly be… Testing the waters, the American leaned into her lover and cupped her cheek. Her suspicions grew when the Scot refused to meet her eyes. The writer dipped her head and allowed their lips to meet, running her fingers through Helen’s hair and down the side of her neck as they shared a series of brief kisses. She stopped when she felt the mole on the side of the Scot’s neck. She pulled away and asked promptly, “Which show did we watch together when I first moved in?” Helen floundered for an answer but couldn’t find one, having no idea what Kiera was talking about. At this point Nikki had pulled back Isobel’s hair and was likewise inspecting her neck, finding no mole present. The writer released Helen with a shake of the head and exclaimed, “I knew it! That’s just evil.” She looked between the twins and then focused on Isobel, declaring, “I’ll get you for this.” She waggled her finger and Isobel knew she was in for some kind of sexual torture later. The twins stood from the table and quickly switched sides, sitting beside their actual partners. Helen grabbed Nikki’s hand and frowned when the ex-lifer pulled away. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It was just meant to be a joke. We used to do it in school all the time and we wanted to see if we still had it.” Nikki shook her head as she glared at her ex-jailer. Kiera was sitting with her arms crossed and pinned Isobel with an equal stare of unhappiness. Isobel placed a hand on her arm and said, “I’m sorry, too. It was a stupid idea. On the bright side, though, it didn’t take you long to figure it out. I’m pleased you know me so well.” Kiera softened slightly at that but insisted, “Well that’s all fine and good, but you still sat there and let me snog your sister.” Nikki bristled at the fact and Kiera looked over at her quickly. “Sorry, Nik. I didn’t know.” The ex-con nodded and said, “Don’t worry, it’s not you I’m mad at.” The writer relaxed and the group sipped on their drinks in silence. After a long, tense couple of minutes, Nikki finally busted out laughing, shattering the tension as she croaked around a mouthful of whisky. “You two don’t half put on a good show, though. You should consider the entertainment industry.” Kiera picked up the idea and added, “Or the circus. You two could do some kind of sister act. Fire-eating, knife throwing, twin juggling…” The whole table laughed and the incident was obviously forgiven. After a while the couples headed upstairs for the night and moved into their respective bedrooms. |
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"
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| CrashxBurn | Jun 16 2013, 05:50 PM Post #21 |
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G2 landing
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A/N: Another really short one I'm afraid. Chapter Twenty-Seven London, England – Tuesday, May 21, 2002 Eight o’clock on Tuesday night saw a brunette dressed head to toe in leather entering the booming atmosphere of Chix nightclub. Her good looks and fashion sense got her to the front of the line and past the bouncers easily, much to the irritation of the other women waiting outside in the queue. It would seem this establishment garnered a hell of a lot of foot traffic. Once inside the building, the brunette immediately knew the reason for its popularity. It was lavishly decorated with the latest in modern equipment making up the sound system and luxuriant seating off the dance floor. She politely jostled her way through the crowd and made haste towards the bar. It was three-deep in every direction and she had to wait her turn to be served. A posh-looking blonde shot her a friendly smile from the other side of the bar top and she felt an unfamiliar stirring of attraction. “What can I get you, love?” Trisha asked with another smile. “I’m lookin’ for Nikki Wade,” the brunette answered. “She here?” Trisha’s smile froze for a second and a pained expression briefly flitted across her face. She recovered quickly and apologised, “Sorry, Nik’s on holiday and she won’t be back for two weeks. Who should I tell her stopped by?” “Lauren Atkins,” the brunette replied, eyeing the other woman up with some interest. Trisha seemed thoughtful for a moment and then it clicked. She extended her hand and said, “Trisha Harris. I co-own this place with Nik. She mentioned you once but didn’t tell me how she knew you.” Lauren shook Trisha’s hand then hedged politely, “You’ve got a really nice place set up here. I think I’ll stay for a drink or two.” She ordered a Category Five Hurricane and parked her bum on one of the barstools, studying the club owner surreptitiously as she sipped on her drink. +++ Larkhall Visiting Room – Friday, May 24, 2002 “You struck a deal with Fenner? Are you outta your mind, Mum?” “Yeah, I did, and no, I’m not. I’m not sayin’ I like the bastard any more than I did before, but ‘e ‘elped me get off this murder charge. I reckon ‘e realised ‘e was makin’ a mistake protecting Purvis. As long as ‘e did, she ‘ad somethin’ over ‘im.” “Okay, okay… I see your point. But he’s not gonna be happy when we take him to court. Are you sure it’s a done deal and he can’t turn on you? He’s not stupid, Mum. He’s gonna know that you were involved when he sees me in the courtroom.” “Don’t you worry ‘bout it, Lauren. Denny got Al to confess and recorded it. That’s ‘ard evidence even the wanker pigs can’t ignore. They’re goin’ down for it and there’s nothin’ Fenner can do ‘bout it.” Lauren nodded, satisfied for the time being, and leaned back in her chair a little ways. She tapped her fingers on the Formica tabletop and said, “Look, there’s something else I need to talk to you about. And I want you to hear me out before you flip your lid, okay?” Yvonne narrowed her eyes but nodded. “Go on…” Lauren fidgeted and segued, “I’ve started dating someone.” Yvonne scowled, misunderstanding her daughter’s reason for reluctance in sharing this bit of information. “What’s wrong with ‘im? ‘e’s not a bloody copper is ‘e?!” Lauren suppressed a smile in the face of her mother’s outrage and clarified, “It’s not a he it’s a she, Mum.” Mother looked at daughter with an expression somewhere between horror and bewilderment. “You what?” “You ‘eard,” the gangster’s daughter crossed her arms and appeared to be sulking slightly, a look that was extremely out of character for her. “Jesus!” Yvonne shook her head in wonder. She never would’ve guessed her Lauren would grow up to be a lesbian, though the prospect wasn’t as horrifying to her as it would’ve been even four years ago. After meeting and befriending Nikki Wade she’d realised that lesbians weren’t scary people out to corrupt the world’s youth. Still, she was entirely pleased by the prospect. It would take some getting used to. She decided to try and make light of the announcement, “Been spendin’ a lot o’ time with Nikki, ‘ave ya?” While puzzled at her mum’s change in mood and ill-disguised attempt at humour, Lauren thought the direct approach would be best. “Not really, no, but I met Trish through Nikki… I was lookin’ for ‘er at her nightclub. She and Trish own it together.” Yvonne’s eyes widened and she queried, “Bloody ‘ell, Lauren, yer datin’ ‘er bleedin’ ex?! That blonde tart ‘oo was with ‘er on the telly?” Lauren shot her mother a glare and answered defensively, “She’s not a tart, Mum. I would’ve thought you’d know better since you and Nik were so close in here. I don’t know Nikki half as well as you, but I don’t think she’d ‘ave spent nine years with a slag.” Duly chastised, Yvonne lowered her head and sighed. “Yeh, okay… If Nik don’t ‘ave a problem with this I guess I’m gonna ‘ave to get used to it, in’t I?” Lauren grinned and decided now would be an appropriate time to wind up her mother. “Yeah, but Nik is pretty gorgeous. I might need some help gettin’ used to it meself.” Yvonne’s gaze turned steely and she barked, “Don’ even bloody think about it!” Lauren sniggered behind her hand and watched as her mother realised she’d been had. “You evil little cow,” Yvonne teased, “you were just yankin’ me chain.” Lauren smirked and leaned over the table to cover her mother’s hands with her own, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “It’s not the end of the world, Mum. Especially seein’ as how my boys are closin’ in on Fenner.” Mother and daughter shared a conspiratorial grin as visiting time came to an end. |
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"
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| taptap | Aug 12 2013, 03:53 AM Post #22 |
G2 landing
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Come on this great board and it's readers really want an update... we love your story. |
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| Axiegirl21 | Sep 8 2013, 12:34 PM Post #23 |
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Out of Dorm
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I've just found this wonderful story and can't wait to see where your taking us with it. I love the setting of Glenbogle, Monarch of the Glen was one of my favourite series and was disappointed when Simone's character was only in the one series. Really happy to see what your doing with her here. Keep up the good work, oh and the swapping twin thing - I knew they would discover it really quickly, Nikki knows Helen too well to be fooled for too long. |
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The past is history. The future a mystery. And now is a gift thats why we call the present. Larkhall Lovelies Rule | |
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| CrashxBurn | Nov 5 2013, 07:56 PM Post #24 |
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G2 landing
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I'm sorry I've been so absent girls... I need to find out where I left off in posting this and get you up to date. For those of you familiar with BGR (Bad Girls Riot), that's my main posting place now and all of my stories are up to speed there. |
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"
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8:47 AM Jul 11