Title: "Liberation"
Author: monimala
Fandom: ATWT
Rating/Classification: SAC, Dusty/Lucy, second person pov.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
Summary: Dusty's way out of line.
Notes: For Monica and for myself...to make sure I haven't lost the Lusty love.
You watch her. You know it's the 21st century, that your attitude is way out of line, but you want to strut around telling people, "Yeah, that's mine. Right there. She belongs to me." You want to brand it on her skin with your teeth, your tongue. You want her to know that every inch of her is yours for the taking. Her and the world. Everybody. Yeah. You want everybody to know.
You've had that. That beautiful body. Every bit of it. Wrapped around
you, hot and wanting you, wanting everything you have to give. She cries out your name and you know she's never said another man's name like that before. That kitten purr...that little moan that says you've found the right spot and hit it.
You christened every nook and cranny in Metro after hours... so when you leave, there's going to be parts of you left behind here. Craig won't be able to find a place that you didn't have his daughter. Table number four...the men's room...the dance floor... the kitchen prep counter... and, Man, the Health Department will freaking love that, won't they?
You'll kill Dominick if he touches her. You'd kill anybody for touching her. You never used to think of yourself as a killer, as the kind of guy who'd ever be anything more than a two bit hustler, but she drives you past your limits at 180 miles per hour.
Your attitude isn't the only thing way over the line. You're over it. Totally. The line, the frigging moon. Everything. Lucy Montgomery is yours and you want to howl it like you're some primeval caveman. Maybe even beat your chest.
You took a bullshit feminist theory class before you dropped out of school. You figured it would be a great way to meet chicks that weren't Lily. You scored with about half those uppercrust bra-burning preppie girls before you left campus the third week of term. But you did actually listen to some of the b.s., too. You remember bits and pieces. Even all these years later. Hell, intellectual male sensitivity is still a great way to pick up women. "Everyone is entitled to their own identity, to their own space," your professor had said. "So much of modern society denies females that simple space to grow."
Lucy's space is in your arms.
You believe that.
Does that make you some kind of cro-magnon asshole?
Probably.
But you watch her.
"Yeah, that's mine," she murmurs, to some girl from high school, the knowing gleam in her eye. "Right there," she says, pointing towards you as you stretch up for a pint glass. "He belongs to me."
It's the 21st century.
The feminist movement is alive and well.
When you get home...she gets to tie you up.
--end--
September 14, 2004.