River/Stephen for Shantih!
Title: Non-Abstract Love.
Fandom: Firefly/Master & Commander.
Pairing: River/Stephen.
Rating: PG at the most.
Summary: Love of an abstract is never the same as love of a real thing. Merry Xmas, shantih! Here's hoping you like the fic you requested.
Non-Abstract Love.
“What was it like, dearest, being popcorn?” Stephen asks as he prepares a notebook in front of himself and readies himself to take notes on her answers.
At first, he was too overjoyed to take a proper, scientific approach to the matter, then he had to fill her up on everything that happened while she was gone. This is the first chance he’s had to interrogate her properly about the sensation of being popcorned, and there’s an irrational fear in his mind that maybe talking about it will cause her to become popcorn again, that she will disappear right before him and he will be helpless to stop it.
But he is a scientist, and quells such thoughts, knowing that perhaps, she could provide answers on how to stop the popcorning plague and cure those afflicted. As a doctor and a scientist, it is his duty to question her in the name of science.
“It was…” River thinks it over, and grimaces, beautiful face screwed up for a moment, “Like a pleasant dream.”
Stephen notes that down, “How so, love?”
She shrugs, a little frustrated as she tries to think back to those long (lonely) months. “You were there. And my brother. Both of you were getting on--”
Stephen cringes just a little, and River hastens to reassure him, “But I know you’ve been trying your best, [Chinese word for love], Simon is just stupid.”
“Yes.” Stephen agrees neutrally, because there’s no way to argue with a woman about her family and win. He tries to get the conversation back on track, “But what of your dream, beloved?”
“Oh!” River smiles, and it’s a dreamy smile, as if to think back on it is now pleasant, and Stephen feels that odd pang of fear once more that she could just vanish, so makes himself concentrate on the sound of her voice. As long as she still speaks, she must be there.
“We were all together, on the Serenity, and happy.”
That alone, Stephen refrains from commenting dryly, should have given away that it was only a dream.
“And--” River hesitates.
Stephen stops scribbling down notes and looks at her inquisitively, “Yes, dear?”
She looks like she is about to say something, but doesn’t. How would Stephen understand that in her dream, she danced? He does not approve of it, she knows. He cannot see the sheer lethal beauty of it; cannot appreciate the skill it takes to dance properly.
In her dream, she danced and he applauded her. In her dream, he approved.
But she cannot tell him any of this so instead, she slips off her seat and saunters towards him, curls up on his lap and kisses him full on the mouth.
As far as distractions go, there is no better one (barring animals, Homsar and Evil Clowns), and River is always happy to render up tokens of her love for him.
She will not tell him how she longs to dance; she will not risk losing him.
Her love for dancing comes second to her love for Stephen and when her hands itch to hold knives, she soothes him over his skin instead and licks his scar, reminding herself when she cut it into him and thinking of the way that his blood looked. She can taste it on her tongue at moments like that, stronger than the taste of his skin, and has to close her eyes so that Stephen will not recognize that there is any lust in her eyes that is not for him. She hooks her ankles behind his back, and does not let herself think about how easy it would be to break his spine, to snap his neck.
River reads his mind to distract herself from her own thoughts; seeing how much he loves her reminds her that dancing is an abstract and no matter how skilled at it she might be, it will never love her back.
~Fin.~
Fandom: Firefly/Master & Commander.
Pairing: River/Stephen.
Rating: PG at the most.
Summary: Love of an abstract is never the same as love of a real thing. Merry Xmas, shantih! Here's hoping you like the fic you requested.
Non-Abstract Love.
“What was it like, dearest, being popcorn?” Stephen asks as he prepares a notebook in front of himself and readies himself to take notes on her answers.
At first, he was too overjoyed to take a proper, scientific approach to the matter, then he had to fill her up on everything that happened while she was gone. This is the first chance he’s had to interrogate her properly about the sensation of being popcorned, and there’s an irrational fear in his mind that maybe talking about it will cause her to become popcorn again, that she will disappear right before him and he will be helpless to stop it.
But he is a scientist, and quells such thoughts, knowing that perhaps, she could provide answers on how to stop the popcorning plague and cure those afflicted. As a doctor and a scientist, it is his duty to question her in the name of science.
“It was…” River thinks it over, and grimaces, beautiful face screwed up for a moment, “Like a pleasant dream.”
Stephen notes that down, “How so, love?”
She shrugs, a little frustrated as she tries to think back to those long (lonely) months. “You were there. And my brother. Both of you were getting on--”
Stephen cringes just a little, and River hastens to reassure him, “But I know you’ve been trying your best, [Chinese word for love], Simon is just stupid.”
“Yes.” Stephen agrees neutrally, because there’s no way to argue with a woman about her family and win. He tries to get the conversation back on track, “But what of your dream, beloved?”
“Oh!” River smiles, and it’s a dreamy smile, as if to think back on it is now pleasant, and Stephen feels that odd pang of fear once more that she could just vanish, so makes himself concentrate on the sound of her voice. As long as she still speaks, she must be there.
“We were all together, on the Serenity, and happy.”
That alone, Stephen refrains from commenting dryly, should have given away that it was only a dream.
“And--” River hesitates.
Stephen stops scribbling down notes and looks at her inquisitively, “Yes, dear?”
She looks like she is about to say something, but doesn’t. How would Stephen understand that in her dream, she danced? He does not approve of it, she knows. He cannot see the sheer lethal beauty of it; cannot appreciate the skill it takes to dance properly.
In her dream, she danced and he applauded her. In her dream, he approved.
But she cannot tell him any of this so instead, she slips off her seat and saunters towards him, curls up on his lap and kisses him full on the mouth.
As far as distractions go, there is no better one (barring animals, Homsar and Evil Clowns), and River is always happy to render up tokens of her love for him.
She will not tell him how she longs to dance; she will not risk losing him.
Her love for dancing comes second to her love for Stephen and when her hands itch to hold knives, she soothes him over his skin instead and licks his scar, reminding herself when she cut it into him and thinking of the way that his blood looked. She can taste it on her tongue at moments like that, stronger than the taste of his skin, and has to close her eyes so that Stephen will not recognize that there is any lust in her eyes that is not for him. She hooks her ankles behind his back, and does not let herself think about how easy it would be to break his spine, to snap his neck.
River reads his mind to distract herself from her own thoughts; seeing how much he loves her reminds her that dancing is an abstract and no matter how skilled at it she might be, it will never love her back.
~Fin.~