TITLE:  Drabbles

AUTHOR:  Lex

EMAIL:  lex@bitchenvy.com

RATING:  PG-13

DISCLAIMER:  All Witchblade characters belong to someone other
than me.  This work is not-for-profit fanfiction, and no
infringement is intended.

SYNOPSIS:  Various drabbles, 100 words each

=====

Sara Pezzini:

His head is bowed, penitent, and she is struck with the sudden
need to cause a reaction, any reaction.  She wants to shake him
up, to break that iron control.

"Get the fuck up, Nottingham.  I'm tired of your bullshit."

He remains kneeling, and she wants to kick him, to make him bleed
for the confusion that tears her apart.  She is tired of the
dreams.  She is tired of wanting something just beyond her grasp.

She is tired of him.

But nothing compares to the exhaustion caused by the weight of
the world she bears on her arm.

=====

Danny Woo:

"We can touch each other now, Sara..."

His own words echo in his ears as he watches her body writhe
across the bed, muscles flexing, skin sheened with sweat.  She
whimpers low in her throat as the Witchblade climbs higher up her
thighs.

It's been a long time since he's seen her like that, and he
misses it.  He misses the way she sounds, the way she tastes, the
way she digs her blunt nails into his back as she comes.

And he hates himself as he prays for her to fail so he can touch
her forever.

=====

Vicky Po:

Nice girls don't swear, her mother always says.

Nice girls don't drink, either.  They don't drag themselves into
work for a morning shift still hung over from the bender the
night before.  Nice girls don't cut up dead bodies for a living.
They don't smell like formaldehyde, strong soap and desperation.
Nice girls aren't nicknamed 'The Queen of the Dead' by their
co-workers and banished to the basement.

Nice girls don't ache for the strong, sure touch of Sara
Pezzini's hands on their bodies.

Vicky will never be a nice girl.

=====

Jake McCartey:

"I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt/So sexy it
hurts.."

Jake danced around his apartment, yanking his t-shirt over his
head as he moved to the music.  He loved this song; it was one of
his guiltiest pleasures besides Baywatch and VIP.  He was, he
admitted to himself, an extremely good looking man.  There was no
shame in that.  It had made his life immeasurably easier over the
years.  Being easy on the eyes saved his ass hundreds of times.

He checked himself out in the mirror.

And what an ass it was!

=====

Irons:

He needed a piece of floss.

There was something caught on his back tooth, and no matter what
he did, no matter how many fingers he shoved into his mouth, he
couldn't get rid of it.  It was driving him crazy.  He tried
using the point of the 17th century Italian dagger he used as a
letter opener, but all that did was make his gums bleed.  He
tried using the edge of one of his gold-embossed business cards,
but with all the blood in his mouth, the paper was useless.

Even in death, Elizabeth Bronte plagued him.

=====

And, in honor of my badfic, Daniel Pezzini-Nottingham:

MY HERO 
by Danny

My hero is my mom.  She is a police officer.  She carries a gun.
And a really big sword, but she told me not to tell anyone about
that because it's a secret.  I think she is really pretty.  My
dad must think she is too, because he is always touching her and
stuff.

It's gross.  She's my mom, but she's a GIRL.

My uncle Danny says that one day I will want to touch girls, but
I think he's wrong.  He's dead.  Maybe you forget stuff when you
die.


THE END, for now.