a molecule: sean/greta
sean/greta, G. 445 words.
inspired by the may 10 09 prompt at we_are_cities. to bunniesontoast because i still owe her fic and to justhush for always telling me my writing is gorgeous.
it's seriously very random. nothing is mine.
a molecule
greta is tired. she is a twenty-one-year-old, pajama-clad, blond human being and she is tired. maybe if her bones sink into the mattress, the exhaustion will wear off. filter through the sheets and cover the floor like a carpet.
she curls up, hem of her pants climbing up her calves, the cool cotton reminding her she's alive, contrasting with the over-heated skin where his body touches her.
spots of sweat where they connect. his hand to her back, her knee to his thigh. but it's not just sweat in between them. it's eleven p.m. and saying goodnight, sean and greta lying down on separate ends of the bed and then waking up to notice that, at some point in the middle of the night, they've intertwined, pulled together like opposite poles of a magnet, as though staying apart is not what they've been designed for. it's hot where they touch, hot, familiar, caring. and where they don't, it's cold and alive and real, but not any less loving.
sean mumbles something in his sleep, but other than that and the continuous and weighty sound of stillness, it's quiet. everything looks kind of blue, and greta closes her eyes, wanting, waiting to be consumed by the darkness behind her eyelids.
she's not first on this waiting list to sleep. she thinks about how she could die, right this second, close her eyes and instead of drift off to sleep, simply...shut down. die. c'est fini. maybe she's dying of something. maybe her cells will short-circuit and start attacking their own kind. maybe not. maybe she's just living, fast but with intent, in the same way she's dying. in the middle of the night, those two sound like synonyms. so greta plasters herself against his body, arms around herself, but legs weaving in between legs and safety.
he's oxygen. sean, he's oxygen in the way she's breathing him in, deep and greedy, wanting to keep the air trapped inside her lungs, herself. he is vital for survival, that much she knows. sean is oxygen. what if she's hydrogen, then? two smaller atoms of hydrogen, and together (like right now, let's turn this into forever) they both make water. she's not thinking we are the perfect combination, it's something more similar to flowing together is better than not flowing at all.
sean shifts to the left, and she moves along.
in the morning, they wake up as one, and sean says, "i dreamt i was a ship at sea, and you were all that surrounded me."
greta smiles, eyes sleepy and gestures still awkward, and kisses him on the neck. "i'm keeping you" in.
inspired by the may 10 09 prompt at we_are_cities. to bunniesontoast because i still owe her fic and to justhush for always telling me my writing is gorgeous.
it's seriously very random. nothing is mine.
a molecule
greta is tired. she is a twenty-one-year-old, pajama-clad, blond human being and she is tired. maybe if her bones sink into the mattress, the exhaustion will wear off. filter through the sheets and cover the floor like a carpet.
she curls up, hem of her pants climbing up her calves, the cool cotton reminding her she's alive, contrasting with the over-heated skin where his body touches her.
spots of sweat where they connect. his hand to her back, her knee to his thigh. but it's not just sweat in between them. it's eleven p.m. and saying goodnight, sean and greta lying down on separate ends of the bed and then waking up to notice that, at some point in the middle of the night, they've intertwined, pulled together like opposite poles of a magnet, as though staying apart is not what they've been designed for. it's hot where they touch, hot, familiar, caring. and where they don't, it's cold and alive and real, but not any less loving.
sean mumbles something in his sleep, but other than that and the continuous and weighty sound of stillness, it's quiet. everything looks kind of blue, and greta closes her eyes, wanting, waiting to be consumed by the darkness behind her eyelids.
she's not first on this waiting list to sleep. she thinks about how she could die, right this second, close her eyes and instead of drift off to sleep, simply...shut down. die. c'est fini. maybe she's dying of something. maybe her cells will short-circuit and start attacking their own kind. maybe not. maybe she's just living, fast but with intent, in the same way she's dying. in the middle of the night, those two sound like synonyms. so greta plasters herself against his body, arms around herself, but legs weaving in between legs and safety.
he's oxygen. sean, he's oxygen in the way she's breathing him in, deep and greedy, wanting to keep the air trapped inside her lungs, herself. he is vital for survival, that much she knows. sean is oxygen. what if she's hydrogen, then? two smaller atoms of hydrogen, and together (like right now, let's turn this into forever) they both make water. she's not thinking we are the perfect combination, it's something more similar to flowing together is better than not flowing at all.
sean shifts to the left, and she moves along.
in the morning, they wake up as one, and sean says, "i dreamt i was a ship at sea, and you were all that surrounded me."
greta smiles, eyes sleepy and gestures still awkward, and kisses him on the neck. "i'm keeping you" in.