(no subject)
Title: in that long ago somewhere very near
Author: eudaimon
Rating: adult.
Wordcount: 579
Pairing: Jamie Kirk/Chris Pike
Summary: "What do you need?" he asks her and she knows that she wants to feel like that bird must feel, but she doesn't know how to put that into words so she kisses him instead.
A/N: fingerbones!Universe. Everything is the same except Kirk was born a girl. This is for rubynye, because she sounded like she could do with cheering up and I know she's fond of both Jamie and Pike.
In that long ago somewher very near this place he watched a falcon fall down the long blue wall of the mountain and break with the heel of its breastbone the midmost of a flight of cranes and take it to the river below all gangly and wrecked and trailing its loose and blowsy plumage in the still autumn air - p.19, The Road, Cormac McCarthy.
In the spring, the smell of the sage rolls in off the flatlands and she sits naked on the porch, wrapped in a sheet pulled from the bed and the fingers of one hand tousled into her long blonde hair. She flexes her toes and listens to the rain, tips her head back and closes her eyes, keeping the chair moving with one foot.
She listens to him moving inside the house. Tango snuffles and huffs out on the pasture. There's a sound of birds and then Jamie opens her eyes and watches one fall, tumbling and spinning against the breeze, and for a moment her heart stops because she thinks it surely has to hit the ground and she remembers what it felt to fall like that and she remembers how it felt to be that free. She remembers how, up beyond the blue, there's black and countless stars and it goes on and on. She remembers that the Enterprise is waiting.
"I'll give you a penny for 'em."
He's standing in the doorway like some kind of old cowboy, jeans and a black t-shirt, arms folded across his chest. His hair is damp from the shower, pushed back from his face. He watches her and, for a moment, she's still watching the bird and she can taste her pulse in the back of her throat but then it pulls up, swooping in an arc and it's what it was made for, and it's beautiful.
"Space," she says. "I'm thinking about space."
He smiles like that's not much of a surprise, but, perhaps, he knows her better than anybody else on the surface of the earth (except maybe Leonard McCoy, and they know both know different things about her). He walks over and bends from the waist and kisses her. His mouth tastes of toothpaste and bottled water.
"Liar," he says. "You're thinking about the Enterprise."
He draws her to her feet and she keeps the sheet clasped against the front of her body but the back is open to the sage-scented air, chill with a breath of rain. He draws her in against her chest and skims one rough-edged hand down the soft slope of her spine. She tips her head and kisses his chin, her fingers making a fist against his shoulder.
"What do you need?" he asks her and she knows that she wants to feel like that bird must feel, but she doesn't know how to put that into words so she kisses him instead.
They end up fucking in the chair, the chair out on the porch that Chris says belonged to his mother, to Delphine Pike who wore turquoise rings and had white in her long black hair. She sits with her back to him, knees spread, toes barely touching the floor and she keeps white cotton gathered against her chest and every movement of the chair pushes him deeper inside her. She arches, hair tumbling against her bare back and she fists her finger against her hairline. His hands frame her fibs and pull her down onto him. She spreads her arms, lets the sheet slip down around her waist, and she tastes ozone, Vulcan dust and, for a moment, she feels like she's tumbling through the endless blue sky and she knows that her wings will catch her, and she trusts in nothing but her wings and the updrafts and the strength of her own beating, screaming heart.
Author: eudaimon
Rating: adult.
Wordcount: 579
Pairing: Jamie Kirk/Chris Pike
Summary: "What do you need?" he asks her and she knows that she wants to feel like that bird must feel, but she doesn't know how to put that into words so she kisses him instead.
A/N: fingerbones!Universe. Everything is the same except Kirk was born a girl. This is for rubynye, because she sounded like she could do with cheering up and I know she's fond of both Jamie and Pike.
In that long ago somewher very near this place he watched a falcon fall down the long blue wall of the mountain and break with the heel of its breastbone the midmost of a flight of cranes and take it to the river below all gangly and wrecked and trailing its loose and blowsy plumage in the still autumn air - p.19, The Road, Cormac McCarthy.
In the spring, the smell of the sage rolls in off the flatlands and she sits naked on the porch, wrapped in a sheet pulled from the bed and the fingers of one hand tousled into her long blonde hair. She flexes her toes and listens to the rain, tips her head back and closes her eyes, keeping the chair moving with one foot.
She listens to him moving inside the house. Tango snuffles and huffs out on the pasture. There's a sound of birds and then Jamie opens her eyes and watches one fall, tumbling and spinning against the breeze, and for a moment her heart stops because she thinks it surely has to hit the ground and she remembers what it felt to fall like that and she remembers how it felt to be that free. She remembers how, up beyond the blue, there's black and countless stars and it goes on and on. She remembers that the Enterprise is waiting.
"I'll give you a penny for 'em."
He's standing in the doorway like some kind of old cowboy, jeans and a black t-shirt, arms folded across his chest. His hair is damp from the shower, pushed back from his face. He watches her and, for a moment, she's still watching the bird and she can taste her pulse in the back of her throat but then it pulls up, swooping in an arc and it's what it was made for, and it's beautiful.
"Space," she says. "I'm thinking about space."
He smiles like that's not much of a surprise, but, perhaps, he knows her better than anybody else on the surface of the earth (except maybe Leonard McCoy, and they know both know different things about her). He walks over and bends from the waist and kisses her. His mouth tastes of toothpaste and bottled water.
"Liar," he says. "You're thinking about the Enterprise."
He draws her to her feet and she keeps the sheet clasped against the front of her body but the back is open to the sage-scented air, chill with a breath of rain. He draws her in against her chest and skims one rough-edged hand down the soft slope of her spine. She tips her head and kisses his chin, her fingers making a fist against his shoulder.
"What do you need?" he asks her and she knows that she wants to feel like that bird must feel, but she doesn't know how to put that into words so she kisses him instead.
They end up fucking in the chair, the chair out on the porch that Chris says belonged to his mother, to Delphine Pike who wore turquoise rings and had white in her long black hair. She sits with her back to him, knees spread, toes barely touching the floor and she keeps white cotton gathered against her chest and every movement of the chair pushes him deeper inside her. She arches, hair tumbling against her bare back and she fists her finger against her hairline. His hands frame her fibs and pull her down onto him. She spreads her arms, lets the sheet slip down around her waist, and she tastes ozone, Vulcan dust and, for a moment, she feels like she's tumbling through the endless blue sky and she knows that her wings will catch her, and she trusts in nothing but her wings and the updrafts and the strength of her own beating, screaming heart.