k is for knife, z is for zipper
Prompt: k is for knife
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Pairing: Mirror Ezri/Our Jadzia
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Trill metaphysics.
Word count: 200
Title: Braided
She's small and sharp and self-assured in my arms, blue eyes half-shadowed in perpetual smirk, dark hair falling against velvety midnight-black spots and pale smooth cheeks, the unmistakable feel of wear beyond her years in the skin beneath my fingers. She leans into me and I startle at the outline of something distinctively knife-shaped against her leg under the leather.
She tickles the edge of my consciousness, her breath teasing a shadowy memory--whether of the past or the future I don't know. I'm dead certain I've never seen her before, but sometimes in the instant between kisses I'm just as certain that I know the lines of her face as well as I know my own. In those moments it feels strange, and she seems strange, like there's something not quite on about her, and an inexplicable shudder runs through me.
For a second there is a flash of understanding; she is me and I am her and we are braided together, indistinguishable. She mutters my name and in that instant I forget which of us is which--
Then all-too-quickly it's over, she's lacing up her boots again and smirking, always smirking.
I know I'll never see her again.
Prompt: z is for zipper
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Pairing: Mirror Jadzia/Our Ezri
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 250
Author's note: Trill stream-of-consciousness mindfuck.
Title: Sick
It's wrong, it's so very wrong, and it makes the hair on her arms stand on end. Ezri's stomach is turning over in a horrible way as Jadzia kisses her, but she kisses back, because she can't not. It's incestuous, it's almost Oedipal, she feels the bile rising in her throat and her head is spinning, she can't, she's not ready for this--
She trembles all over as Jadzia-not-Jadzia calmly, almost lazily, fingers the zipper of her jacket. Ezri wants to throw up, Ezri wants to push her hands away, but she knows Jadzia can't feel her revulsion. Because Ezri is mechanically reacting, doing everything the way it should be done. She's good at this, she's just as experienced as Jadzia is, a little clumsy but she knows so much. A desperate desire rises in her throat, clawing through her terror--to be this for Jadzia, to find her way through the impossibly complex maze of her wants and make her scream--she has to know--she has to prove that she can--
--can't breathe, her lungs are constricting, the fear and desire and helplessness pressing in on her, holding her like a vise, and she can live up to her past or break down and crumble, there's no middle ground--
--she's afraid, of herself, of Jadzia, of Dax, of everything, of nothing, and Jadzia slides the zipper playfully further down and Ezri tries to hold together, biting her lip and plunging deeper into the sickening, terrifying whirlwind.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Pairing: Mirror Ezri/Our Jadzia
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Trill metaphysics.
Word count: 200
Title: Braided
She's small and sharp and self-assured in my arms, blue eyes half-shadowed in perpetual smirk, dark hair falling against velvety midnight-black spots and pale smooth cheeks, the unmistakable feel of wear beyond her years in the skin beneath my fingers. She leans into me and I startle at the outline of something distinctively knife-shaped against her leg under the leather.
She tickles the edge of my consciousness, her breath teasing a shadowy memory--whether of the past or the future I don't know. I'm dead certain I've never seen her before, but sometimes in the instant between kisses I'm just as certain that I know the lines of her face as well as I know my own. In those moments it feels strange, and she seems strange, like there's something not quite on about her, and an inexplicable shudder runs through me.
For a second there is a flash of understanding; she is me and I am her and we are braided together, indistinguishable. She mutters my name and in that instant I forget which of us is which--
Then all-too-quickly it's over, she's lacing up her boots again and smirking, always smirking.
I know I'll never see her again.
Prompt: z is for zipper
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Pairing: Mirror Jadzia/Our Ezri
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 250
Author's note: Trill stream-of-consciousness mindfuck.
Title: Sick
It's wrong, it's so very wrong, and it makes the hair on her arms stand on end. Ezri's stomach is turning over in a horrible way as Jadzia kisses her, but she kisses back, because she can't not. It's incestuous, it's almost Oedipal, she feels the bile rising in her throat and her head is spinning, she can't, she's not ready for this--
She trembles all over as Jadzia-not-Jadzia calmly, almost lazily, fingers the zipper of her jacket. Ezri wants to throw up, Ezri wants to push her hands away, but she knows Jadzia can't feel her revulsion. Because Ezri is mechanically reacting, doing everything the way it should be done. She's good at this, she's just as experienced as Jadzia is, a little clumsy but she knows so much. A desperate desire rises in her throat, clawing through her terror--to be this for Jadzia, to find her way through the impossibly complex maze of her wants and make her scream--she has to know--she has to prove that she can--
--can't breathe, her lungs are constricting, the fear and desire and helplessness pressing in on her, holding her like a vise, and she can live up to her past or break down and crumble, there's no middle ground--
--she's afraid, of herself, of Jadzia, of Dax, of everything, of nothing, and Jadzia slides the zipper playfully further down and Ezri tries to hold together, biting her lip and plunging deeper into the sickening, terrifying whirlwind.