Caprica/Hybrid fic
Title: Bathing
Pairing: Caprica/Hybrid
Rating: Rish?
Word count: 350ish
A/N: This is sort of a continuation, or loosely based upon, my Hybrid fic Colours run the path of ashes… but you don’t need to have read it to get this…
(And yay to boring seminars.)
It tickles my feet.
I have been here before - felt the liquid seep between my toes, the electric current echo through my skin, heard her contented sigh - but that first moment of immersion never fails to startle me. That first moment of touch that feels both perfectly subtle, comforting, and shockingly taboo. The Hybrid is our world condensed and the slow intensity of her touch wracks me with a delicious taste of what it is to be her, what it is to Be.
I slide down, taking in the slightly metallic sent of her body beneath the viscous gel. It surrounds my thighs, my knees. I lay across her chest and feel the weight of the liquid around my ribs. That feeling of almost drowning that makes me lightheaded. Desire compounded by death. Her fingers rap staccato against my cheek, my arm, my hip and I slide against her, my face in the crook of her neck, lips against her skin, tasting the liquid that is surprisingly sweet.
A deep inhale of breath that precedes my own as her fingers slide between my legs. Startlingly efficient. I hear the jumble of words I recognize as her ode to me, "2 by 3 in patterns of astounding pale, special hidden within the mold," as her fingers dance inside of me. The light builds, aching to incredible brightness as I gasp and groan and sigh, tremble and tense. Tense. Tense.
The exhale feels particularly warm against my lips, as if I was holding it forever, nurturing it inside me until it burst forth. The signal of life following the moment of perfect absence. And I lay there, cocooned in her bath, idly trailing curious fingers along tubes to junction points in her skin. Knowing that every touch is one she longs for but sustaining my lazy pace, building her desire tentatively until she speaks to me. The beautiful coherent sentences she longs to say, I long to hear, the only moment where the machines don't control her.
Pairing: Caprica/Hybrid
Rating: Rish?
Word count: 350ish
A/N: This is sort of a continuation, or loosely based upon, my Hybrid fic Colours run the path of ashes… but you don’t need to have read it to get this…
(And yay to boring seminars.)
It tickles my feet.
I have been here before - felt the liquid seep between my toes, the electric current echo through my skin, heard her contented sigh - but that first moment of immersion never fails to startle me. That first moment of touch that feels both perfectly subtle, comforting, and shockingly taboo. The Hybrid is our world condensed and the slow intensity of her touch wracks me with a delicious taste of what it is to be her, what it is to Be.
I slide down, taking in the slightly metallic sent of her body beneath the viscous gel. It surrounds my thighs, my knees. I lay across her chest and feel the weight of the liquid around my ribs. That feeling of almost drowning that makes me lightheaded. Desire compounded by death. Her fingers rap staccato against my cheek, my arm, my hip and I slide against her, my face in the crook of her neck, lips against her skin, tasting the liquid that is surprisingly sweet.
A deep inhale of breath that precedes my own as her fingers slide between my legs. Startlingly efficient. I hear the jumble of words I recognize as her ode to me, "2 by 3 in patterns of astounding pale, special hidden within the mold," as her fingers dance inside of me. The light builds, aching to incredible brightness as I gasp and groan and sigh, tremble and tense. Tense. Tense.
The exhale feels particularly warm against my lips, as if I was holding it forever, nurturing it inside me until it burst forth. The signal of life following the moment of perfect absence. And I lay there, cocooned in her bath, idly trailing curious fingers along tubes to junction points in her skin. Knowing that every touch is one she longs for but sustaining my lazy pace, building her desire tentatively until she speaks to me. The beautiful coherent sentences she longs to say, I long to hear, the only moment where the machines don't control her.