Nora Charles (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
noracharles) wrote2009-11-12 03:20 pm
noracharles) wrote2009-11-12 03:20 pm
Fic: In which Grant is not a rocket scientist
Title: Crash and Burn missing scene, in which Grant is not a rocket scientist.
Pairing: Grant/Karie Q.
Rating: Adult
Word count: 1500
Spoilers for the Mythbusters episode "Crash and Burn", inspired by the personas projected on TV by real people, but pure, fictional fantasy. Smut. Cracky, porny smut.
Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
myth_confirmed, especially lunate8.
Grant was not a rocket scientist. Watching his miniature open cage rocket tumble and spin through the air shooting sparks had been awesome, sure, but it did kind of burn that Tory's design flew straight. Grant had ignored the laws of aerodynamics deliberately in order to match the clip from the "Istanbul Beneath My Wings" movie they were going to use to illustrate the myth on the show, but a tiny part of him had hoped his single engine would outperform Tory's eight.
Their full scale rocket incorporated the best of both models: Tory's tube shaped shuttle with fins, and Grant's single engine. He machined the rocket nozzle himself, carefully drilling out a solid cylinder of steel. It was really the most critical part of the rocket. Watching the lathe spin the large hunk of metal, while the thick drill slowly worked its way into its core was oddly compelling. He put on protective goggles and earmuffs so he could get in close and do it right.
At the White Sand Missile Range, Grant and Tory met a real rocket scientist. Grant was a bit nervous about showing her his nozzle, but also excited. She didn't say anything when he pulled it out, but she smiled and ran a finger appreciatively around the perfectly smooth inner rim. He had worn a nice, white button up shirt, but the wind and the heat were conspiring to make him look rumpled. She wouldn't be able to tell that he had ironed and starched it, and carried it here in a garment bag.
She was an expert on engines and propellants. Her t-shirt was a pure, dark black free from any lint or graying, and it matched the black cap she wore. She said: "The propellant is a mixture of ammonium perchlorate, aluminum powder and a synthetic rubber binder called HTPB," and packed it into the hole Grant had made. Her steady hands were covered by blue plastic gloves. He smiled helplessly at her. She wore iridescent wrap-around sunglasses, and her smooth, shiny hair was pulled back in a straight and centered ponytail. The sun dazzled Grant through his transparent goggles.
She slid the thick propellant cartridges into the steel motor casing. She twisted the igniter wires between her fingers, connecting them. Grant and Tory dressed the rocket man dummy, and met her and the crew in the control center. She had changed into a pristine white top, and a crisp checkered shirt. Her lose hair showed no trace of a ponytail holder kink. She confidently inserted the key in the ignition, and turned it. She was not afraid to stand in the observation window and provide reaction shots with him and Tory, and her laughter and cheering were passionate and uninhibited.
Grant was tired, but felt good. The rocket had launched and flown straight for a hundred feet, more than respectable for a giant bucket. The fire which roared through the rocket had been so powerful, that it had burned the clothes off the rocket man. It had been very satisfying to watch. After cleaning up, the Mythbusters crew shared lunch with the White Sands people. The rocket scientist walked over to Grant, and poured him a drink. "I want to go home with you," she said, and squeezed his arm. "That sounds awesome!" Grant answered.
In Grant's bedroom, she looked him deep in the eyes. She took his face between her hands, and kissed him. Her lips were warm and mobile, and her tongue explored his mouth gently and curiously. She wiggled the tip of her tongue over his. She swirled her tongue around his. She felt his teeth and palate. She sucked on his lips, and carefully nipped his tongue with firm lips, then scraped her teeth lightly over his bottom lip.
She stepped back from him. His pulse was rapid and rising. She pulled her t-shirt off, revealing her bare stomach, and making her breasts jiggle. Grant's hands felt sweaty. He followed her to the edge of his bed, and with fumbling hands helped her unzip her jeans and push them down over her hips.
She started unbuttoning his shirt, tickling and caressing his chest after popping each button, while with her feet she was pushing off her socks and stepping out of her jeans. Her coordination excited him, and he was temporarily confounded by the simultaneous impulses to take off his pants and to hold her round freckled shoulders in his hands as he tasted the skin at her dainty left clavicle.
She brushed his shirt from his shoulders, and he let it fall the floor. Grant wanted to run his fingers through her hair, and he wanted to put his thumbs in the dips of her hips and grind against her and he wanted to take off her bra. She unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. He could smell the tangy sweet and musky scent of her arousal, and the front of her white cotton panties was turning dark and clingy with wetness. He didn't know what to do. His pants fell down, and she unhooked his briefs from his erect cock, and let them drop as well.
"I want you to fuck me hard," she instructed him in a husky voice. Grant was lifted out of his dizzy floundering state of arousal by a clean wave of elation and purpose. "Take that quilt, and spread it on the floor," he told her. "Then take off your bra and panties and kneel in the center of it." She responded with efficiency, like he knew she would, and he retrieved the robot from the closet.
"This is a fucking machine I built," he explained. "You kneel over it like this," and he put the trunk of the machine between her thighs, "I control the speed of the trusts here," and he indicated the knobs next to the power switch on the front of the robot. "And this is where I attach the fucking appendage," he said.
Her eyes widened at the selection of appendages he had made. He had poured gel appendages in molds shaped on his own penis and fist, and he had sculpted ergonomic shapes with ribs, bulges and ticklers, which were perfectly designed for the job they had to do, if he did say so himself. It flattered him that she chose a honey colored sparkly gel dildo based on Little, but Beautifully Proportioned Grant. He clicked it onto the thrusting arm of the robot, and rolled a lubricated condom over it, and with goosebumps and jittering muscles, she raised herself up into a squat and lowered herself onto it.
He started her off with a low, growling vibration, and kneeling in front of her, he cupped her breasts in his hands. She leaned into his caresses, and emitting little whimpering sighs began raising and lowering her body. "Shh," he said, "leave the rhythm to me." He started the robot thrusting, and she squashed her chest against his, clinging to his shoulders. His hands slid slickly over her sweaty skin, and he started stroking up and down her back, and along her thighs. She moaned deeply, and he turned up speed.
Her nipples were hard against his chest, and her breasts rubbed against him like warm, squishy cushions. She was moaning continuously, but muffled it against his shoulder and neck. Her kisses and her scent, and her shaking body in his arms made electricity dance over his skin. He could feel his pulse beating powerfully in his hard cock, but he had to maintain control of the robot. He ran his left hand down her spine, and continued the line down between her buttocks, grazing over her hole, and with his right hand curled in a fist rotated his wrist to make his knuckles rub up and down her pussy, up and down over and over.
Her juices squirted over his fist, and with his left forearm he felt the muscles in her lower back contract. He steadied her as she screamed out her orgasm, trusting him to hold her as she let it shake her. She was flushed pink, and her hair clung to the side of her face and neck. He leaned her to the right, and pulled her off the rumbling, thrusting robot in a controlled fall. She slowly opened her eyes, seemingly with difficulty. Her pupils were very dilated, and her lips were red and puffy. She smiled at him. He turned off the robot, and pushed it to the side.
She pointed her toes, and lifted her arms over her head, palms turned up, and stretched. She stretched her toned legs. She stretched her arms and chest muscles, and her breasts swayed. She arched her pelvis off the quilt, and lowered it slowly back down. He could see her stomach muscles twitching, and thick come dripping from her dark and puffy pussy. Her clit was still hard.
"I have never come so fast and so good in my life," she told him with the specificity and honesty of one scientist to another. Grant's orgasm smashed through him with surprising intensity. His vision blacked out for a moment, and when he regained control of his body, he was on all four curving over her. His white and pearly come had splattered in little drops on her skin and on the quilt. Grant was a robot scientist.
The end.
---
The style I wrote this fic in was inspired by La Jetée. Ever since I saw that movie, the way it used still images and one moving image has niggled me. I don't think I managed to capture the atmosphere or effect at all, so I'll probably try again in a different way some time.
Pairing: Grant/Karie Q.
Rating: Adult
Word count: 1500
Spoilers for the Mythbusters episode "Crash and Burn", inspired by the personas projected on TV by real people, but pure, fictional fantasy. Smut. Cracky, porny smut.
Written for
myth_confirmed, especially lunate8.Grant was not a rocket scientist. Watching his miniature open cage rocket tumble and spin through the air shooting sparks had been awesome, sure, but it did kind of burn that Tory's design flew straight. Grant had ignored the laws of aerodynamics deliberately in order to match the clip from the "Istanbul Beneath My Wings" movie they were going to use to illustrate the myth on the show, but a tiny part of him had hoped his single engine would outperform Tory's eight.
Their full scale rocket incorporated the best of both models: Tory's tube shaped shuttle with fins, and Grant's single engine. He machined the rocket nozzle himself, carefully drilling out a solid cylinder of steel. It was really the most critical part of the rocket. Watching the lathe spin the large hunk of metal, while the thick drill slowly worked its way into its core was oddly compelling. He put on protective goggles and earmuffs so he could get in close and do it right.
At the White Sand Missile Range, Grant and Tory met a real rocket scientist. Grant was a bit nervous about showing her his nozzle, but also excited. She didn't say anything when he pulled it out, but she smiled and ran a finger appreciatively around the perfectly smooth inner rim. He had worn a nice, white button up shirt, but the wind and the heat were conspiring to make him look rumpled. She wouldn't be able to tell that he had ironed and starched it, and carried it here in a garment bag.
She was an expert on engines and propellants. Her t-shirt was a pure, dark black free from any lint or graying, and it matched the black cap she wore. She said: "The propellant is a mixture of ammonium perchlorate, aluminum powder and a synthetic rubber binder called HTPB," and packed it into the hole Grant had made. Her steady hands were covered by blue plastic gloves. He smiled helplessly at her. She wore iridescent wrap-around sunglasses, and her smooth, shiny hair was pulled back in a straight and centered ponytail. The sun dazzled Grant through his transparent goggles.
She slid the thick propellant cartridges into the steel motor casing. She twisted the igniter wires between her fingers, connecting them. Grant and Tory dressed the rocket man dummy, and met her and the crew in the control center. She had changed into a pristine white top, and a crisp checkered shirt. Her lose hair showed no trace of a ponytail holder kink. She confidently inserted the key in the ignition, and turned it. She was not afraid to stand in the observation window and provide reaction shots with him and Tory, and her laughter and cheering were passionate and uninhibited.
Grant was tired, but felt good. The rocket had launched and flown straight for a hundred feet, more than respectable for a giant bucket. The fire which roared through the rocket had been so powerful, that it had burned the clothes off the rocket man. It had been very satisfying to watch. After cleaning up, the Mythbusters crew shared lunch with the White Sands people. The rocket scientist walked over to Grant, and poured him a drink. "I want to go home with you," she said, and squeezed his arm. "That sounds awesome!" Grant answered.
In Grant's bedroom, she looked him deep in the eyes. She took his face between her hands, and kissed him. Her lips were warm and mobile, and her tongue explored his mouth gently and curiously. She wiggled the tip of her tongue over his. She swirled her tongue around his. She felt his teeth and palate. She sucked on his lips, and carefully nipped his tongue with firm lips, then scraped her teeth lightly over his bottom lip.
She stepped back from him. His pulse was rapid and rising. She pulled her t-shirt off, revealing her bare stomach, and making her breasts jiggle. Grant's hands felt sweaty. He followed her to the edge of his bed, and with fumbling hands helped her unzip her jeans and push them down over her hips.
She started unbuttoning his shirt, tickling and caressing his chest after popping each button, while with her feet she was pushing off her socks and stepping out of her jeans. Her coordination excited him, and he was temporarily confounded by the simultaneous impulses to take off his pants and to hold her round freckled shoulders in his hands as he tasted the skin at her dainty left clavicle.
She brushed his shirt from his shoulders, and he let it fall the floor. Grant wanted to run his fingers through her hair, and he wanted to put his thumbs in the dips of her hips and grind against her and he wanted to take off her bra. She unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. He could smell the tangy sweet and musky scent of her arousal, and the front of her white cotton panties was turning dark and clingy with wetness. He didn't know what to do. His pants fell down, and she unhooked his briefs from his erect cock, and let them drop as well.
"I want you to fuck me hard," she instructed him in a husky voice. Grant was lifted out of his dizzy floundering state of arousal by a clean wave of elation and purpose. "Take that quilt, and spread it on the floor," he told her. "Then take off your bra and panties and kneel in the center of it." She responded with efficiency, like he knew she would, and he retrieved the robot from the closet.
"This is a fucking machine I built," he explained. "You kneel over it like this," and he put the trunk of the machine between her thighs, "I control the speed of the trusts here," and he indicated the knobs next to the power switch on the front of the robot. "And this is where I attach the fucking appendage," he said.
Her eyes widened at the selection of appendages he had made. He had poured gel appendages in molds shaped on his own penis and fist, and he had sculpted ergonomic shapes with ribs, bulges and ticklers, which were perfectly designed for the job they had to do, if he did say so himself. It flattered him that she chose a honey colored sparkly gel dildo based on Little, but Beautifully Proportioned Grant. He clicked it onto the thrusting arm of the robot, and rolled a lubricated condom over it, and with goosebumps and jittering muscles, she raised herself up into a squat and lowered herself onto it.
He started her off with a low, growling vibration, and kneeling in front of her, he cupped her breasts in his hands. She leaned into his caresses, and emitting little whimpering sighs began raising and lowering her body. "Shh," he said, "leave the rhythm to me." He started the robot thrusting, and she squashed her chest against his, clinging to his shoulders. His hands slid slickly over her sweaty skin, and he started stroking up and down her back, and along her thighs. She moaned deeply, and he turned up speed.
Her nipples were hard against his chest, and her breasts rubbed against him like warm, squishy cushions. She was moaning continuously, but muffled it against his shoulder and neck. Her kisses and her scent, and her shaking body in his arms made electricity dance over his skin. He could feel his pulse beating powerfully in his hard cock, but he had to maintain control of the robot. He ran his left hand down her spine, and continued the line down between her buttocks, grazing over her hole, and with his right hand curled in a fist rotated his wrist to make his knuckles rub up and down her pussy, up and down over and over.
Her juices squirted over his fist, and with his left forearm he felt the muscles in her lower back contract. He steadied her as she screamed out her orgasm, trusting him to hold her as she let it shake her. She was flushed pink, and her hair clung to the side of her face and neck. He leaned her to the right, and pulled her off the rumbling, thrusting robot in a controlled fall. She slowly opened her eyes, seemingly with difficulty. Her pupils were very dilated, and her lips were red and puffy. She smiled at him. He turned off the robot, and pushed it to the side.
She pointed her toes, and lifted her arms over her head, palms turned up, and stretched. She stretched her toned legs. She stretched her arms and chest muscles, and her breasts swayed. She arched her pelvis off the quilt, and lowered it slowly back down. He could see her stomach muscles twitching, and thick come dripping from her dark and puffy pussy. Her clit was still hard.
"I have never come so fast and so good in my life," she told him with the specificity and honesty of one scientist to another. Grant's orgasm smashed through him with surprising intensity. His vision blacked out for a moment, and when he regained control of his body, he was on all four curving over her. His white and pearly come had splattered in little drops on her skin and on the quilt. Grant was a robot scientist.
The end.
---
The style I wrote this fic in was inspired by La Jetée. Ever since I saw that movie, the way it used still images and one moving image has niggled me. I don't think I managed to capture the atmosphere or effect at all, so I'll probably try again in a different way some time.
no subject
I only seem able to write Gen about Adam and Jamie so far, but I can see that other characters are a good way to sneak in the smut ;-)
Or a complete AU I guess. Anyway, good on you for helping kick off the comm.
no subject
I think it'd be great if you posted some Jamie and Adam gen. The show is entertaining enough without smut, after all ^_~
no subject
no subject