#sex barely related to an already tenuous plot

[anthrofreshtodeath]

More Crossover Work

Ok so I wanted to play with putting Booth/Brennan and Rizzles conversations side by side, and then added sex in to make it interesting 😂

Still getting a feel for b&b, but I'm feeling a little more comfortable. This is under a cut because it's naughty.

“It’s not the Royal Diner, but I know you have to be hungry,” Brennan carries a greasy paper bag in her hand when she announces her presence in the homicide bullpen.

It’s late, enough for most other detectives to be gone, and a lot of the lights are out. Booth sits slumped in his office chair, his white shirt with two streaks of dirt across the front, the gum soles of his slip-on Vans planted on the linoleum below. He blinks, like if his eyes move quickly enough, his exhaustion will evaporate, but nevertheless, they light up when they see her arrive. She takes the seat next to his desk and he smiles. “Oh hey, Bones, look at that,” he sits up straight when she puts the takeout box in front of him. “Burger and fries.”

Brennan half-smiles at him and then turns to Jane, who is looking at the screen of her phone. “I have it on good authority that The Dirty Robber has some of the best food in the Back Bay,” she says, “I’m sorry, Jane, I didn’t know you were still here; I would have-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jane, looking just as haggard as Booth, rubs a long hand over her features. She puts her phone down. “I gotta get outta here, anyway. And if that good authority is my mother, you better temper those expectations a bit.”

Booth chuckles, his ribs a little sore from tackling the running suspect they encountered in a truck depot just outside the city only a couple hours prior to now. “Your mom’s a nice lady, Jane,” he tells her around a french fry. “You could stand to give her a break every once in a while.”

“She got to you, too?” Jane stands and throws her blazer over her equally dirty button-up shirt. “Was it the sack lunches she sent in yesterday?”

“That mighta been part of it, yeah,” says Booth. “I love a snack pack.”

“He does. He has quite the affinity for pudding,” Brennan adds, “especially when he’s injured.” She throws her head in his direction and crosses her legs. Then she pops the lid off of her own food and begins to navigate it.

“Not a bad choice,” Jane chimes in when she picks up her keys. “You two have a nice dinner, and a nice night. I’m off.”

“Hot date?” asks Booth. 

“Yeah,” snarks Jane on her way to the elevator, “with the first loves of my life. The Boston Red Sox and my couch. Night!” 

“See ya!” Booth calls out, and then he turns his attention to Brennan as soon as the doors ding shut. “She’s goin’ to go see Maura.”

“What, like sexually? No, Booth, they’re divorced,” Brennan shakes her head to dismiss him, but nevertheless leans in to share the conspiracy with him.

“The secret texts? The get up and go? Seen it all before,” he tells her, elbows on the table while he points a long fry in her direction. “Divorce or no divorce.”

“They don’t seem to like each other very much when we’re all together,” Brennan posits. She picks the fry out from Booth’s fingers and chews it. She shrugs. “Doctor Isles becomes very clinical when she’s angry. Moreso than me,” she observes. “And when Jane is around, she’s very often angry.”

“More than you? That possible?” Booth teases, and he ducks when a blueberry from Brennan’s fruit cup flies toward his forehead.

“Wh- Booth,” Brennan chides in that way that tells him she’s actually a little insecure about it.

“Aw c’mon, you’re not that bad,” he soothes, getting close, patting her wrist, even though he still wears that guilty grin. “But you gotta look beyond the surface. She’s mad because she’s hurt. She’s hurt because she cares. She cares because she’s, y’know, still in love, Bones.”

“I don’t see it that way. Doctor Isles is an empiricist and love is fleeting,” Brennan tells him, and he sits back, moving away from the moment because he’s heard it all before. “It’s fickle and she’s clearly moved on.”

“See, this is the problem,” Booth says, crossing his arms. He is thankful for the emptiness of the bullpen because he feels his ears getting hot. “You think everyone’s thinkin’ with their heads all the time, but those two are thinkin’ with their hearts right now.”

“That’s absurd. The brain is the only organ with which you can think,” Brennan scoffs, “you might be able to argue about the neuronal connection to the gut, but even then, the heart isn’t involved in cognition at all. Beyond, of course, its role as blood supply to-”

“It’s!” Booth starts through gritted teeth, but then he stops himself when his hands come forward and clench. “It’s… not that simple. Rizzoli’s been through hell, and she’s just tryin’ to prove that she’s worthy. That she’s worthy of the risk it would be to take her back, whether either of them see that or not. And them seeing each other is probably the only way they can have that conversation right now.”

Brennan pauses, and then she sighs. Her eyes catalog all of Booth’s signs of arousal, the ones that prove his nervous system is on high alert, and the sexuality that runs deep underneath it, because he’s buried it to move through his day. She drops her mouth open before she speaks, like she is trying to think of exactly the right words to say. “You are… talking about us,” she says. “Or, more accurately, about you. But I’ve already told you… you don’t need to prove yourself worthy. It’s not about that.”

Booth knocks his head back against his seat, and his eyes get glossy, wet. He never cries the tears that coat them, at least, never in her presence, and she doesn’t know if she’s appreciative that he’s spared her the emotion she has no idea how to carry, or disappointed that he doesn’t trust her with it. “It’s not about that,” he echoes lamely. Like he’s not sure he’s heard correctly so he has to assure himself. “Let’s just finish up dinner, a’right? Then we can get back to the hotel and get a decent night's sleep. Remind me to talk to Rizzoli tomorrow about moving the operation out to Amherst permanently.”

“Booth,” Brennan pleads, but she doesn’t know what for, because the conversation they stumbled into is one she’s been dreading since… well, that she has always dreaded. 

“Just eat your sandwich, huh?” He says around a giant bite of his own. He sucks ketchup off his thumb and then he looks anywhere but her eyes. “I’m tired.”

___

“Hey,” Jane calls when she walks through the front door of her little one bedroom about three blocks from the station. She drops her keys on the counter and opens up the gun safe around the corner in the kitchen so that she can lock up her firearms for the evening. She punches in the code, and when she finally faces the living room, the harness holster on her shoulders is empty, her shirt untucked. “You sure whatever I left at the house couldn’t wait? I know-” 

She stops herself, because while she expected to see Maura there, she did not expect to see Maura on her couch, in nothing but what appears to be her underwear and Jane’s very old, very lucky, Jason Varitek jersey. The home white with the Red Sox across the front, even though each word drifts away from the other because the first three buttons are undone and Jane can see the hardest working pushup bra she’s ever encountered beneath. Maura barely turns her head, and by god, the sexiest part about the whole scene is that she might actually be more invested in the Sox/Orioles game on the big screen than whatever performance she originally intended to put on. “Hmm?” she begins, only turning her head once the pitch has been thrown and counted for a strike against Xander Bogaerts. “You cut yourself off.”

Very, very lucky, thinks Jane. “Hmm,” she echoes, but in that way she often does, swallowing and tucking her chin down just before marching into a situation she has no idea how to handle. She marches to her own sofa, the one she had to buy when Maura kicked her out of the house, the one where Maura sits now. “Babe? What uh, what are you doin’ here? In that?”

“Well, I came in my work attire,” Maura answers. She reaches for the remote, turns the TV on a soft mute before she faces Jane completely. “But I’ll admit that when I arrived I wanted to wear something that would put you at ease with me,” she whispers into Jane’s mouth when she pulls Jane forward by the front of her shirt. 

Jane’s gaze flickers to Maura’s wet lips, then lower. The Tek jersey is a men’s medium, and had been a gift. She usually wears it over a hoodie for games like tonight, in mid April when there’s still a chill in the Fenway air. It drapes on Maura now, just enough for Jane to imagine sinking her teeth into the tops of Maura’s breasts - the ones on tasteful display. “At ease?” Jane asks. “Maura, I…”

Maura silences her by dropping to the floor, kneeling between Jane’s long legs, and tugging at Jane’s belt until it pops loose. At the sound, their eyes meet. Jane’s hands squeeze into fists on the tops of her own thighs, because when Maura arches her back forward, the jersey rides up, and an all black, sheer Agent Provocateur thong peeks through. It leaves no ass to the imagination, and Jane squirms - everything’s far away except the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. “Sit up,” Maura’s voice brings her to reality again, not some far-off blurry space, but to the thick air of her apartment living room. Maura is still there and yanking the waistband of Jane’s slacks toward her. Jane lifts herself, and the weight of her belt causes her pants to thump to the floor around her ankles. 

She’s exposed. She’s wet, and she knows Maura sees that, and she can’t help but spread her knees at Maura’s insistence. There are teeth on the short patch of hair just between her hips, and then, pressure. A bite. “Agh,” she grimaces, because it feels so good. “At ease isn’t exactly what I’d call this,” she asserts.

Maura looks up then, her tongue out, hovering dangerously low. “Well, I wanted you at ease until I saw that new toy in your nightstand.” She wastes no more time, and dips her head into Jane, waiting for her. “Now I just want to unravel you.”

Jane winces at the first tongue swipe, the one that spreads her and exposes her to Maura’s expert mouth. Her hand grips the armrest and her toes curl and Maura keeps going. Pleasure, wet and writhing, wraps around her waist. “What’re you doin’ goin’ through my things, huh?” she yips, when something hard brushes her clit. Damn Maura for knowing all her weaknesses and rolling them up into one sexual show of force. 

“I was looking for this,” Maura looks up, blinking herself into a pout, kissing Jane as she pinches jersey material between her fingers. “Why do you have it? Who’s it for, Jane?” she demands. “Who are you seeing?”

Her pout transforms into a scowl just before she returns to licking Jane into a frenzy. She mimics Jane’s most devastating slow, deep, encompassing stroke to make her come. Jane gets the other message, too: I know exactly how you fuck, and I’ll use it against you. You better not be fucking anyone else like this. Jane moans, turning her head into her arm, the one clutching the headrest of the sofa behind her. “Jesus,” she croaks. “Nobody. I keep it here for you, a’right? I wanna fuck you. Just you.”

Maura stops. She looks up again, this time her green eyes shining with mischief, and maybe a little sentimental humor. She says nothing in reply, just closes her lips around the apex of Jane’s sex and spends all of the next two minutes there. Sucking, licking, kissing, sending indecent squelching sounds to mingle with Jane’s groaning. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Jane chants, because her orgasm has hit her all at once. The tension she carries makes her ribs bark, an injury nearly identical to Booth’s, but she rides through it for all the colors bursting behind her shut eyelids, all the zaps of oxytocin slithering out to her limbs while Maura brings her back down. “Fuck, babe,” she gulps in air as it passes. 

Maura licks her lips, and climbs up to straddle Jane’s wide open lap. “I don’t believe you,” she says into Jane’s parted lips. Jane’s hands slide onto her ass with a barely-there squeeze. “I shouldn’t believe you.”

“Why not?” Jane pants. Her chest heaves and seeing Maura this close, in that Sox home white, revs her up again. She walks two fingers around to Maura’s front, lace scratching against her fingertips, which earns her hand a smack. “Youch!”

“Don’t touch me yet,” Maura orders. When Jane’s brows narrow, confused, Maura gathers her head and pulls it close. “You belong to me only, Jane,” she says in Jane’s ear. When Jane pulls back to argue, Maura pulls the hair at the base of Jane’s neck so that Jane stares up while she stares down. “Divorce or not. You. Belong. To. Me.”

Jane nods slowly, and though Maura’s grip is tight, she shows mercy in the way she scratches Jane’s hairline. Jane shivers and her sex pulses. An elixir of domination and affection? Maura intends to end her. “You… you left me,” she says, moving her hands back to Maura’s thighs, her hips, her waist. 

“Mine,” Maura reiterates. She kisses Jane, all soft lips and tongue, and Jane can’t help but kiss back, pulling Maura close. Her thumbs swipe the bottom of Varitek’s number 33, halfway up Maura’s back. “Come to bed. I’m going to show you,” Maura says.

She rises, puts her feet on the floor all while Jane watches. Jane freezes, stays put, until Maura throws a look over her shoulder right at the mouth of the hallway to the bedroom. Then, Jane jumps up, yanking her boots away and hopping out of her pants. Her shirt takes a little longer because she struggles with the buttons, but soon enough, it flutters to the floor, her undershirt and bra completing the trail to where she meets Maura in the dark hall. “Hey, hey,” she calls, like she has done often since their breakup, and she pulls Maura close to her by the wrist.

Maura whimpers when Jane, naked, with scars and muscle and olive skin exposed to the air, presses her into the wall behind them. Her head knocks against it, and she wraps her arms around Jane’s shoulders for stability when Jane’s hands rub up against her hips again. Fingers entwine with the sexy elastic there, twisting and smoothing and begging to get rid of it. “Jane,” she warns.

Jane keeps it up. She smoothes the skin under that elastic, her thumbs alternating between pressure and delicate touch. “Take ‘em off for me,” she pleads, her voice silky and rough, somehow at the same time. The bottom drops out of her pitch and Maura’s mouth opens, like she wants to swallow it. “I wanna see you. I wanna touch you. I wanna get wet,” Jane pursues her case.

And all the kissing and the touching and the body-to-body moments break Maura’s resolve. She looks down, their legs all tangled, their feet so close together on the carpet, and makes a decision. She lets Jane go so she can pull her underwear away from her body and hold them up.

Jane turns from Maura’s mouth and looks. She leans into the barely-there thong in Maura’s hand, inhales, and then, when she’s found where they’re wettest, she bites them, taking the cocktail on her tongue. She kisses Maura with that new taste - the smacks of it are loud and sweet, and match when she brings her fingers back between Maura’s legs.

This time, Maura opens. She shifts to the balls of her feet and wraps a leg around one of Jane’s when she takes two fingers inside. She and Jane knock against the wall for a few thrusts, Jane’s hot breath tumbling into Maura’s ear and down her neck. Jane’s shoulders flexing under her fingers while she holds on. When the pleasure grows so heavy as to be mind-altering, she drags fingernails through the sweat down Jane’s back. “Stop,” Maura orders, and Jane does pause. “Bed.”

“We throwin’ a wrench in yah plans?” Jane teases, and there’s Boston in her whisper. 

“You are. You’re the one wrenching my plans,” Maura whines, half because Jane slips out, and half because Jane really is turning this thing on its head. 

Jane laughs at the verbiage. “Well, I am a plumber’s daughter, y’know,” she says, but Maura is already halfway through the bedroom’s threshold. So, she jogs the last few steps until she can catch up. “Where you goin’, huh? C’mere,” she beckons as they fall into the bed together. 

They kiss for a few more seconds; Maura can’t resist, but then she pushes Jane back onto the unmade bed. “Stay there,” she says. She shuffles on her knees toward Jane’s side of the bed, opens the nightstand, and pulls out the toy and harness she’d happened upon during execution of plan A. “Put it on.”

Jane licks her lips and does as told. There is a flurry of movement and Jane grunts when the curved end slips into her, and then she tugs at the base to get the feel just right. With that hand still holding it, she nods at Maura. “Come find me, babe.”

Maura rolls her eyes, but mostly so that the unexpected swell of emotion doesn’t spill over. The intimacy in Jane’s demand reminds her of times past, when the only thing between them was love. She shuffles, straddles Jane again, and decides that she won’t hold back. She lowers herself, Jane keeps the toy steady, and as a team, they achieve union between them. “Christ,” Maura adjusts slowly. She settles, lets her weight rest against Jane’s lap. Her hands caress each of Jane’s sides, including the one with the bruise. She is full and she needs something to anchor her to the moment. “This is superficial,” she says. The wound is warm under her palm, and it undulates with the way she rocks her hips. “It should heal quickly.”

Jane has to tell her long legs to still because Maura’s rhythm is a deadly one and if she gives into it too fast, she’ll come again before Maura even gets a chance. Looking up and seeing perfect tits beneath a Boston jersey does the opposite of help. “‘S that what this is all about? I got hurt? Because I wasn’t the only one.” She tries to control the speed of Maura’s fucking, but she gets lost in the feeling of Maura’s ass in her hands, full and soft and pushing silicone into her at the perfect angle. “Agh,” she moans, unable to keep up her tough exterior. 

“No, that’s not it,” Maura yelps when Jane pushes up with her pelvis, going deep. She gathers her long honey hair into her hands, holding it up before letting it go and puffing feminine little moans above her head. Her fingers then go back to Jane, to that one puckermark of a scar just to the right of her abdomen. “I just… I needed this. Without the fighting and the tension. I…”

“Hey, hey, ok,” Jane says through a grimace, because orgasm threatens her again. “I - I’m not complainin’, y’know,” she laughs, and then, finally, finally, Maura does too. “The sportswear was a nice touch.”

Maura winks, and then she picks up the pace of her ride, the fucking now fast, and hard. “Think… oh. Think of it as a ceasefire, my love,” she struggles to reply. Her gaze drops, because Jane is shaking and then tossing her head back against the pillow. Maura can think of nothing better to usher Jane through her climax than the cries bubbling up out of her own mouth from how good Jane feels inside, so she doesn’t hide them.

“Shit,” Jane clenches her teeth as she comes again, her grip tight against Maura’s skin, holding her in place. 

So, Maura slows, bends down, letting every inch of her upper body touch every inch of Jane’s until their lips meet. Each kiss is soft, slow, and sweet. “Hmm,” Maura hums when Jane stills.

“Proud of yourself?” Jane asks hoarsely, and Maura sits up again, resuming the winding of her hips. She shrugs and smirks. Jane licks the length of her own thumb and puts it on Maura’s clit to humble her as much to repay her for the good time.

“Oh, Jane,” Maura breathes out when she feels it. Bolts of electricity speed all the way to her brain, and she spreads her thighs so that Jane can have better access and she can ride faster. 

“Hey, oh,” Jane coos. “It’s not gonna take long,” she says, and Maura glares at the pride she senses in the statement. “It’s not,” Jane insists. “I know you, you know me. I’ll get ya there quick. Just ride it out.”

Maura would never tell Jane, but she’s grateful for Jane’s commitment, her steadfastness. Because true to her word, she gets Maura there quick. Maura accepts the oxytocin bath over her whole body, arching her back and making her cry into her own palm as it slides down her face. The other flattens against Jane’s chest, holding on tight until every jerky motion cycles through her hips and she can gather herself. “That…”

“Was quick,” says Jane. “Told ya. I know this was a you-showin’-me-who’s-boss kinda thing but I couldn’t let ya get me twice without a little bit of fun for yourself.”

Maura hangs her head. She wants to dismount, but her legs are like jelly and the thought of pulling Jane out of her incites grief. Feelings of loss she doesn’t quite want to deal with for at least the next few seconds. “I was going to say that was good,” she admonishes Jane’s humility. 

“We’re good together,” Jane says. “Like I said before: this was never the problem with us. And if I’m hearin’ you right, you don’t want the other problems in the way tonight.”

Maura bites down on her lower lip, hard, her crying tell. She hates it, but Jane is right and Jane has seen her. Has listened. Suddenly she needs nothing more than to lie down. So, she does, moving until she is under the covers and hears Jane divest herself of the toy they’d shared. It falls to the floor, and Jane turns until she can gather Maura up from behind. “Is it ok if I stay here tonight?” Maura asks, her voice quiet and unsure.

“Course,” mumbles Jane into the hair on the back of Maura’s head. Maura moves backwards until most of their skin touches. Jane’s hand slips under the jersey on Maura and then she huffs. “Take this off, would ya? You’ll sleep better without it, trust me.”

Maura undoes the buttons of the jersey with care, and with Jane’s help, unsnaps her bra. Those fall to the floor, too, and Maura lets a little more vulnerability creep in now that they lie naked together. She pulls Jane’s hand up close to her heart, flattening it until it presses on her sternum. “I think…” she wavers, contemplates how much she should say, but who else would she tell? “I think Agent Booth is in love with Doctor Brennan,” she finishes quietly.

Jane smirks because Maura can’t see. “I think so, too,” she agrees, leaving out the fact that Booth has confessed as much to her. “Big time.”

“He should tell her,” Maura says as she snuggles closer. Jane gathers her up with both arms.

“I think he has,” Jane chances, hoping Maura doesn’t ask because she won’t be giving up much more.

“And she rejected him?” Maura is surprised.

Jane kisses Maura’s earlobe to soften what she’s about to say. “Well, you’re the one who always says it’s about more than just love, right? Maybe he’s just tryin’ to prove himself worthy right now.”

Maura is quiet for a bit because she had said that before, it’s true. “I don’t think it’s about being worthy, either. He seems like quite a worthy mate.”

“Hmm, I agree,” Jane burrs, which earns her a pinch on the forearm. “Ow! Not.. not for me, obviously,” she corrects, though if their lives had been different and they’d met under better circumstances... “But you’re right.”

“Maybe her heart just isn’t ready yet,” Maura whispers, curling into herself all while making sure Jane curls around her. 

“That’s not a very you thing to say,” Jane comments, amusement taking her inflection up a bit.

“What do you mean, it’s not a me thing to say?”

“Well, no studies about trauma? Or the neuroscience behind cold feet?” Jane argues. “No cardio-cerebral-blah blah blah?”

Maura pulls Jane’s hand to her face so she can bite down on its index finger. Jane yelps, and Maura soothes with her tongue. Swirls it around, sucks until the pain goes and Jane relaxes. “No, not this time. I want you to hear me.”

“I’m still listenin’, even when you do sound like a textbook,” Jane tells her. “But, for what it’s worth, I agree with you. I don’t think her heart is ready yet. I also just don’t know how long he can wait.”

Maura says nothing. Jane accepts that, snuggles close, and lets herself fall asleep against Maura while the last of the Sox game carries in from the living room. Maura waits until she hears that deep, even breathing to speak. “How long can you wait?” she asks when she knows she won’t get an answer. 

They lay, and Jane sleeps, for over an hour. Maura looks out the window through the crack in the curtains, and the April moon shines brightly. She knows she won’t rest with it there, not as she lies now, and not until she gets up to use the restroom that is attached to Jane’s bedroom. She pats, Jane stirs, but doesn’t free her. “Move, please. I need up,” she says softly. 

Jane wakes enough to move and settles onto her back again, with a huff of sleepy air and a stretch of just her lower half under the sheets. It evokes visceral memories in Maura, of their marriage bed, and she’s glad for the dark on the way into the bathroom and the way out of it, because she can’t hide the emotion on her face. She’s also glad for the way Jane’s eyes flutter with dreams, how her consciousness drifts beyond the here and now. Maura’s hands are cold from having just been washed, and her feet from the spring chill. Her heart is cold with all that they’ve become.

And as if anticipating it, Jane wakes when Maura climbs back into bed. “C’mere,” she says, “it’s cold tonight.” 

Maura frowns, and the tears might win. She burrows into the side that Jane’s offered, and hides her head in the crook of Jane’s shoulder in case they do. She finds Jane’s bruise and rubs on it again. When she speaks, she has to sniffle some moisture away. “What are we doing?” 

“Sleepin’,” Jane deadpans, pulling her close and kissing her temple. “Shh.”

“Not what I mean. I can’t just keep using you; you’re so kind,” the words are muffled against Jane’s skin. 

Jane snorts; she wakes fully. “Wha-?” She asks as her brain catches up. “What do you mean, usin’ me?”

Maura scoffs. “Using you. I can’t just show up whenever I want to be penetrated. It’s not fair to you,” she answers. 

Jane frowns, and then squints. “You gotta be so… clinical?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I like to be accurate,” Maura says.

“But that’s not accurate,” Jane argues. 

“Of course it is,” Maura responds. It intrigues her, Jane’s line of thought, so she pushes up on her elbows until she can look Jane in the face. Green meets brown and Maura bites her lip again. Oh hell, she thinks, because she can’t stop her hand from smoothing the hair on the top of Jane’s head.

Jane knows the effect she’s had, and so she shuts her eyes and smiles. “I mean, the using, maybe sometimes. You deserve to use me a little bit after everything that went down between us,” she says. Maura pulls back, but Jane’s hand on the small of her back brings her close again. “Plus - I know I’m not just a dick to you.”

This time, Maura’s face scrunches. “Must you be so non-clinical?”

Jane barks out a laugh. “You want me to say, uh, non-biological phallus-shaped object, Doctor?” she prods, and Maura blushes before she shrugs. “Either way, it’s true. No matter what you might say. Sure you’re mad at me, and maybe I’m mad at you, and we’re not together anymore. But we’re never just ships passin’ in the night, here, babe. We’re makin’ love. Every time. Because we miss each other. I miss you.”

Jane is earnest, not desperate. She’s open, but not distraught. And Maura melts into her arms because of it. “Oh, Jane,” she breathes again, just before they kiss and just before Jane shifts on top of her for the first time this evening.

[first-and-last-neocount]

Anthony is Out, Corey is In

So, I’ve found something far more worthy of my time and thoughts than Piers Anthony’s grossness. 

A coworker of mine - who is now immediately getting upgraded to Friend status, by the way, lol - just loaned me James S. A. Corey’s novel “Leviathan Wakes”, first book of the Expanse series. I’ve had the book in my custody for about five hours, only two of which were available reading time, I’m on Chapter 7 and I’m in love. The formal second post on Bearing an Hourglass is canceled in favour of writing my next proper installment on Leviathan Wakes, so here’s my last thoughts on the Incarnations of Immortality: 

I liked Norton a lot more than Zane, but the whole of Bearing an Hourglass dragged because of those damn alternate-reality segments that had only the most tenuous relevance to the rest of the plot. It was a struggle to finish the book, and I only managed by skipping another two big chunks toward the end and just dipping back in where the thread of the main plot picked up. The third book, With a Tangled Skein, opened with some of the most skin-crawling sexism I’ve ever had the displeasure of reading: Niobe is portrayed as the most stereotyped, shallow cutout of a character I’ve ever seen. The entire book is focused on her marriage and sex life with her husband, instead of developing her actual personality and interests as the first two books did for their protagonists. Barely thirty pages into the book she gets assaulted by four college guys, which somehow puts her in the mood to have sex with her husband. I’m not going into any more detail than that, it was gross and creepy and made me feel like I needed about ten hot showers just reading it, I’m done. I’ve also been told that it somehow manages to get worse, further into the series, and I am profoundly grateful that I decided to bail when I did. 

I’m now scrubbing my brain of everything in those books, except for the general vibe of the premise, which is going through six cycles of Yuck Reduction and getting recycled into the worldbuilding for ‘Cause I Loved You For Too Long. 

NOW, ON TO LEVIATHAN WAKES. 

Proper thoughts coming in another post tomorrow (because I should really be in bed already), but oh my god, I am so incredibly invested already. The characterization is sharp and relatable, the setting is vivid and fills me with nostalgia for the old classic sci-fi from Bradbury and Heinlein, the action is beautifully paced and the intrigue has got me absolutely hooked. I’ve seen a few people talking about this series here on Tumblr, but I had no idea just what I was missing: I am so, so glad that I’ve been introduced to these books, and I’m massively enjoying myself so far. 

Get ready for a lot of sci-fi blogging from me for the next little bit XD