ofvanity: (mal)
[personal profile] ofvanity
Title: Incandescent
Author[livejournal.com profile] ofvanity 
Pairings: Mal/Miles
Word Count: 2500
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Incest,  Daddy!kink, underage, fingering, voyeurism/exhibitionism, and a mild touch of dubcon.
Disclaimers: This, children, in no way ever happened. Nolan is beautiful and Inception is his pet that I occasionally walk through a park of wild and fake ideas.
Author's Note: Written for this prompt: "Mal has a daddykink, and the only person who can fill it is Miles." I didn't stand a chance, this prompt was too good.
Summary: Mal has daddykink. Miles is her father.

Dinner ends with a clink of empty wine glasses and the clatter of plates in the sink. There's a small moment where Mal considers ditching the washing up in favor of working on her physics homework. Before she can make up her mind, though, her mother’s pager beeps, loudly from the living room. She sets down the plates she was collecting and runs to get it. She returns a few minutes later, her winter coat already flapping loudly around her thighs and dressed in hospital scrubs.

She starts scrambling for an excuse but Miles just waves her off, “Go on, Marie, be the breadwinner.”

Mal watches her mother roll her eyes warmly before she reaches for her keys. She press a chaste kiss to Mal’s cheek and warns about the casserole in the fridge before fleeing through the back door. Mal meets her father’s eyes across the room before they share a long-suffering, fond sigh. Mal’s mother has been pulling extra shifts at the hospital for the last four months, on a feminist binge after watching a Lifetime movie.

She turns away from him and starts running the water in the sink, making small soap bubbles at the edge of the sink as she waits for it to fill up. Mal only has the slide of eating utensils scraping against each other as warning before the warm weight of her father’s body presses at her back as he places another plate in the sink.

Mal steps to the side, making room for him. Instead, though, he wraps his arms across her shoulders and pulls her into him, “Mallorie, Mallorie, Mallorie, haven’t you some homework to do, sweetheart? Of the physics persuasion, I assume?”

She leans against his weight, rubbing her hands dry on a dishtowel nearby. “Maybe,” she replies teasingly.

Her father presses his nose into her temples, rubbing absently. “Shouldn’t you be doing that homework, then?”

“And who will do the dishes?”

He kisses her temple, a gentle press of dry lips over the edge of her brow bone, “I’ll do them,” he rubs at her bare arms, warming cool skin, “You go work.” He pats her arm in dismissal and adds as an afterthought, “Come get me if you need any help.”

Mal spins on her heel, throwing thin arms around his neck. “Thanks, I will.” She presses an equally innocent touch of her mouth at the edge of his jaw and slips out of his arms, to do her homework.

It’s cool in her room, the vent hasn’t been working properly for a few days now and as much as she would prefer it otherwise, her room is still the one place she goes to for a haven. She props open her physics book on her desk and the accompanying notebook; there isn’t much left to do but three or four questions. They’re relatively straight forward questions and she closes the book with a few minutes left before the time she should start heading to bed.

Mal heads for the dresser, pulling out a simple pair of pyjama pants and a long sleeve shirt. She pulls off her shirt and bra, stretching absently in the lack of restraint, then moves to tug at her jeans until they fall to the floor and she kicks out of them. Instead of pulling on the fresh change, though, she crosses the room, climbing a top her bed and laying back onto the pillows and over the comforter.

Mal stares at the ceiling, rubbing absent circles over her skin and thinks of that gentle press of lips against her temple. She feels the phantom press of his weight against her body. Her skin buzzes, feeling goose flesh rise over her arms as she dips her fingers lower past her navel.

Her body is warming up to the idea, heat rising over her chest and she brings her fingers to her mouth, sucking and pressing the pad of her tongue between them. She slides her underwear off her thighs and past her ankles in one decisive moment. Mal closes her eyes and arches into her hand, rubbing a slow circle over her clit. Her folds open easily as she slicks her fingers over them, wet with spit. The line of it is warm with her body and she worries her lip in concentration as she slides a finger into herself, long and burning just the smallest bit.

She works her finger in, building a steady rhythm and a rush of slick adds to the slide. She feels the phantom hands on her skin, rubbing warm palms and rough fingertips over the curve of her back--that's been a spot for her since then--from when she had the flu and couldn't sleep. Her father's hands have always been gentle and sweeping, but firm on her shoulder blades when she needed him to be. She feels his weight, across her body and warm, feverish hot.

He would say her name, in such a new, beautiful way. "Mallorie."

Her free hand grasps her thigh so she can hold herself open and trying to keep from trembling. She adds a second finger, feeling a little burn and lifting her hips into it. Unconsciously she releases her lip and whines, feeling the very beginning of heat coil inside her belly, boundless and exhilarating. Mal purposely doesn't suppress a small breathy moan, secretly hoping she will be heard. It is the barest whisper but it sounds loud in her ears, “Daddy.”

She lifts her fingers and rubs the slick between her folds, pressing at her clit with her thumb, the dry skin making it a little rough. Mal can feel her skin prickle, she’s definitely flushing now and she thinks of the time she was reprimanded for staying out past curfew. Her father’s lips were tight as he worked his jaw, staring her down. His hands were making curt movements as he grounded her. But after a few days of wallowing in her own misery, she remembers how he came into her room and hugged her and they both fell asleep like that. She remembers waking in the crook of his neck, so repentant and him, so forgiving.

Mal knows--and maybe Miles knows--that he would take care of her. Miles has never treated her like a child and that wouldn't change. He would push himself flush against her, touch her lips and her face and kiss her like he really loves her. Miles would fuck into her like he could barely breathe against her chest. His eyes would stay open and he’d whisper her name is such a beautiful, breathy way. “Mallorie.”

“Daddy.” Mal moans, pushing her fingers in and curling them inside herself.

Miles would be good, too. He wouldn’t be like the awkward fumbling she’s done with Dominic Cobb from her Chem class. Miles would know where to be, where to press and suck and breathe to make her come apart. He would be silent. He’s always been silent, but there would be shifts in his body language. Like if she rode him, bouncing in his lap with Miles inside her, stretching her open and driving, he would arch off the bed in the frantic mess to fuck her, bittersweet and open like no one else can. Mal would ride him for hours, in a slow and fluent rhythm. There wouldn’t be time between them, just the place where their bodies meet and he slides in and out, wet with how slick she would be. Like how slick she is now.

Mal’s breath hitches, fucking herself down into her hand as she adds a third finger, just picking up the pace a bit. There’s a burn now, and her fingers are rubbing against her insides, damp with fluid between them and touching the edges of hot skin that force her throat open in a mindless gasp. She rubs there, nails of her free hand digging into the inside of her knee. Mal moans again, her fingers reaching farther down, past the second knuckle, she needs it there, Mal needs it deeper and harder, farther than she can reach. “Oh, Daddy.”

There’s a rustle of weight and Mal’s eyes jolt open, startled. Miles is leaning against the doorway, with his fingers curled around his mouth like he’s watching something horrific. Or like he’s thinking something though. Mal meets his gaze from between her lashes, fluttering them before decisively pushing into herself to the third knuckle of three fingers, burning her open. It aches but when she curls them and touches feverish skin, another rush of slick allows the slide.

There are wet sounds pulling at her skin and moves her hand to her stomach, pawing at her navel, aching to just reach that edge and come. Mal is aching to come between her fingers and all over the bed sheets with Miles watching, thinking, because if this is horrific, he hasn’t left yet. The lights from behind him cast shadows over the hollows of his cheeks and Mal thinks of his tongue, sliding between her thighs and her folds, rough against how hot she is. “Daddy, please,” she whines, arching off the bed at him.

Miles watches her work herself, fucking down onto her own hand--that hand that was passing him the salt only an hour ago. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he’s thinking of all the ways this is wrong, how he’s taking advantage of a young girl, how this is actually his daughter, how he has a wife, and how this will wreck everything, but then Mal whines, “Please, Dad, I need it. I’m burning up, Dad. Daddy.”

Miles crosses the room in one silent yet hesitant stride, standing at the bed before he sits down. Next to her, Miles can see all the raised goose flesh on her skin. Without thinking, he reaches out, running his hand down her thigh and past the curve of her stomach to her breast, small and heaving under his touch. Mal is warm but she’s shivering and Miles only has the presence of mind to ask, “Are you cold, sweetheart?”

Mal bites her lip red, rocking her hips down into her hand. “Yes.”

Miles turns, pulling the blankets rumpled around her until he can rest them over her body. Mal leans into all his touches as her skin disappears underneath the blanket and he watches it go. Miles sits at the edge of the bed, rubbing gentle circles at her nipples until she’s gasping lightly, “More, Dad, please. I need more.”

Her skin is hot to the touch as he moves his hands past the cut of her hipbones and finds her wrist. Her fingers are slick and make wet noises as he lifts them out of her. When he slips his own finger into her, he finds her soaked; she's dripping between his fingertips. It hurts to think that she’s been needing release the entire time he stood by and watched, too shocked to do anything else. But he’s here now and he leans over the bed and holds himself against her, holding all his heat over her to be warm.

Miles gets two fingers in easy, Mal writhing as he reaches farther into her and drags calloused fingers sweetly into her body. She convulses and tightens around him as he works a rhythm, her breathing is so cut up and ragged, he knows she’s close. Mal lifts her hips off the bed, pushing insistently onto his hand. Miles rocks into her, speeding up and rubbing her precome across her folds. Mal shivers but lifts her hands to his neck. “Please, Daddy, I’m so close. Kiss me, Daddy. Daddy, I want to come, I need to come so bad--”

Miles lifts himself over her body completely, stilling his fingers for a moment and then finally reaching over and holding her down, the blanket rumpled beneath them somewhere as he slots his mouth against her red bitten lips. He kisses her breathless, working his tongue into her mouth for long, sweet licks. He traces the ridges of her teeth and pulls off, kissing her lips and jaw, then her neck. Miles kisses her neck, nibbling gently on the fair skin and in her ear, whispering. “I’ve got you, Mallorie, you can come, it’ll be okay, sweetheart, just let go. I’ve got you.”

“Daddy,” she is breathless, pushing words out of her throat, “Dad, I’m so close, oh, Daddy, please.”

His fingers are buried in her when she pulses around him, clenching sporadically and there’s a final long rush of slick as she comes all over his hand and between his fingers. When he removes them, come runs down her body, soaking the bed sheets beneath her.

Mal breathes rapidly for a minute, her pulse raised underneath his lips as he presses wet kisses between her collarbones. God only knows when he’ll be able to do this again, and Mallorie--his Mallorie--has always been so fair skinned with a red, pouting mouth, so sharp-witted, she reminds him so much of when he was young. Now he’s cared for her in every way.

When her breathing steadies, she runs her hand under his jaw and her other hand finds his belt, trying to work it open. He stops her hand, pressing a fast kiss to her collarbone before he stands from the bed. The goose flesh rises on her skin instantly and he pulls the discarded cover back over her. “Stay, Mallorie.” Miles admonishes.

“Let me, Dad. I’d make it good, please, Daddy, I want to,” her hand reaches out, stroking at the inseam of his thigh. His body responds instantly, his eyes slip closed as she rubs at the outline of his cock through his trousers and her fingers go for the belt again when he remembers himself.

He catches her wrist and raises it to kiss her fingertips. They are still damp and smell musky and mouth watering. He sets her back on the bed, gently and says, “Not tonight, Mallorie. You’re still so very young.”

“I could--”

“Not tonight, darling.” His tone is firm and Mal wonders if she’s gone too far. But then he smiles, a bit wanly, but smiles nonetheless, and says, "Not tonight," like it's unsure whether it will happen some other time. Mal smiles, toothlessly and content.

On his way out, Mal has a sudden thought and voices it, "Did you put the casserole in the refrigerator?"

Miles stops in his tracks, scrubbing his face with his clean hand, "I'll do it now. Go to sleep."

In the doorway, Miles turns off the light and closes the door behind him.
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December 2011


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