Fic: Breathing
Title: Breathing
Author: Corona
Fandom: Dr. Horrible
Pairing: Billy/Penny
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: She doesn't...she doesn't smile as much as she should.
AN: Comment!fic written for gypsyjr
Penny doesn't see him when he comes in, she's leaning over, hair trailing the white edges of the dryer, but she's not smiling. She's wearing that quiet, pensive look that's become as familiar to Billy as the curve of his own face.
She doesn't...she doesn't smile as much as she should.
"Penny," he calls and it's still an awkward word in his throat, like he's still not quite sure he's allowed to just call her name and have her turn around and-
She's smiling now.
Though it tips away again just as quickly.
"Oh," Penny's mouth pulls down, opens. "Oh Billy, what happened?"
"What?"
She takes a step forward and lifts her hand.
"That." Penny stops short of actually touching him, fingertips hovering over the curve of his cheek and he thinks he's stopped breathing. "It looks painful."
It occurs to him that she's talking about the curve of purple stretching underneath his eye. The one he noticed this morning when he woke up and touched his face.
He doesn't remember getting it, he remembers Captain Hammer, he remembers losing consciousness...it was there when he woke up and dragged himself home. It was there this morning staring at him accusingly, like a stripe of failure across his face.
And Penny is looking at him like he deserves that sympathy and it's all wrong. And suddenly he can't think of anything, no plausible excuse as to how he got it or when and he's just staring stupidly, and saying nothing. He hates himself for it, for his inability to think while she's looking at him like that.
But then she's closer than she was before and any words he might have had dissolve completely.
She puts her hands on his shoulders, a press of weight and warm fingers through his shirt and she leans up and in and close, close enough that he can feel her breath sliding along the side of his face. Then she presses her mouth against the long curve of his cheek, pressure on the ache under his skin but he doesn't care, he doesn't care at all. Because she's almost in his arms and she smells like flowers and fabric softener. She smells warm-
And then she's gone, but still smiling at him from inches away.
When her hands slide off of his shoulders he remembers to breathe again.
Author: Corona
Fandom: Dr. Horrible
Pairing: Billy/Penny
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: She doesn't...she doesn't smile as much as she should.
AN: Comment!fic written for gypsyjr
Penny doesn't see him when he comes in, she's leaning over, hair trailing the white edges of the dryer, but she's not smiling. She's wearing that quiet, pensive look that's become as familiar to Billy as the curve of his own face.
She doesn't...she doesn't smile as much as she should.
"Penny," he calls and it's still an awkward word in his throat, like he's still not quite sure he's allowed to just call her name and have her turn around and-
She's smiling now.
Though it tips away again just as quickly.
"Oh," Penny's mouth pulls down, opens. "Oh Billy, what happened?"
"What?"
She takes a step forward and lifts her hand.
"That." Penny stops short of actually touching him, fingertips hovering over the curve of his cheek and he thinks he's stopped breathing. "It looks painful."
It occurs to him that she's talking about the curve of purple stretching underneath his eye. The one he noticed this morning when he woke up and touched his face.
He doesn't remember getting it, he remembers Captain Hammer, he remembers losing consciousness...it was there when he woke up and dragged himself home. It was there this morning staring at him accusingly, like a stripe of failure across his face.
And Penny is looking at him like he deserves that sympathy and it's all wrong. And suddenly he can't think of anything, no plausible excuse as to how he got it or when and he's just staring stupidly, and saying nothing. He hates himself for it, for his inability to think while she's looking at him like that.
But then she's closer than she was before and any words he might have had dissolve completely.
She puts her hands on his shoulders, a press of weight and warm fingers through his shirt and she leans up and in and close, close enough that he can feel her breath sliding along the side of his face. Then she presses her mouth against the long curve of his cheek, pressure on the ache under his skin but he doesn't care, he doesn't care at all. Because she's almost in his arms and she smells like flowers and fabric softener. She smells warm-
And then she's gone, but still smiling at him from inches away.
When her hands slide off of his shoulders he remembers to breathe again.