Fic: Aftermath
Title: Aftermath
Rating: K+
Summary: An angsty little capper to Six of One.
He kissed her. He had wanted to, but he had not meant to. He looked down at her nervously, wondering if she would stir at his touch. She did not. He was conflicted. He knew it was better this way, but he could not still the stirrings of his wishful heart. He wanted her to know. That he loved her. That he was sorry. But the time was not right. He wondered if it ever would be. Perhaps never. Not after this night. She had cut him with her words, and when he tasted the blood he felt the lust of his frustration. Powerful. Terrible. For without her there could only ever be darkness. So he had been ruthless. Then he had run. And now, in the quiet aftermath of ship’s night, there was only shame. But atonement could not be made through a stolen kiss. This he knew. He must find a true way to be worthy of her once again - or at last. He must find a way to wait for her. He could love her now only in the cracks and crevices of their days. Stealing moments. Until she was ready. And in this instant of quiet, the plunder of a secret kiss did not satisfy him. So he stroked her hair gently. Reverently. But the treasure of this touch proved a curse, as the strands fell away in his hand. Just as she was falling away from him. Grief pounded in his head, which was already thick with liquor and longing, and burned in his heart. But he could not howl in release. For she slept. And she could not know. So he walked the halls of his ship instead. A master of war. And yet he was nothing.
Rating: K+
Summary: An angsty little capper to Six of One.
He kissed her. He had wanted to, but he had not meant to. He looked down at her nervously, wondering if she would stir at his touch. She did not. He was conflicted. He knew it was better this way, but he could not still the stirrings of his wishful heart. He wanted her to know. That he loved her. That he was sorry. But the time was not right. He wondered if it ever would be. Perhaps never. Not after this night. She had cut him with her words, and when he tasted the blood he felt the lust of his frustration. Powerful. Terrible. For without her there could only ever be darkness. So he had been ruthless. Then he had run. And now, in the quiet aftermath of ship’s night, there was only shame. But atonement could not be made through a stolen kiss. This he knew. He must find a true way to be worthy of her once again - or at last. He must find a way to wait for her. He could love her now only in the cracks and crevices of their days. Stealing moments. Until she was ready. And in this instant of quiet, the plunder of a secret kiss did not satisfy him. So he stroked her hair gently. Reverently. But the treasure of this touch proved a curse, as the strands fell away in his hand. Just as she was falling away from him. Grief pounded in his head, which was already thick with liquor and longing, and burned in his heart. But he could not howl in release. For she slept. And she could not know. So he walked the halls of his ship instead. A master of war. And yet he was nothing.