(FIC) (Evil Dead/Evil Dead 2013) "Arms" (1/1) (PG) (Ash/Mia) (For Sammi)
Title: Arms
Author: rise_your_dead/Missy
Fandom: Evil Dead/Evil Dead Reboot
Pairing/characters: Het; Mia/Ash
Disclaimer: Does not belong to me, belongs to Ghosthouse/Rosebud Releasing
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for Sammi’s birthday!
Word Count: 406
Spoiler: General movie spoilers; S-Mart ending for Ash
Warnings: (if any or choose not to warn) : thematic elements; sexual content
Summary: He’s so heavy.
His arms were a fine place to sleep, but in all honesty they could do with a little bit more practical carefulness.
For they had a way of clashing in the middle of the bed, like soldiers meeting at the grand divide, arms and legs battling for supremacy over the quilts and blankets. He was all sharp knees and elbows, all teeth and floundering fingers and pushy fingers. Sometimes he sweated through his teeshirt, twisting in the sheets, remembering too much - remembering everything about the cabin.
Nightly, she went there too.
She remembered the stink of pine trees pregnant with sap, intermingling with the sharp rancid stink of rotting flesh and the full, bacony scent of wood popping in a bonfire. She remembers the slimy hold and cling of the vine and the sensation of hundreds of roaches crawling over her dope-sick skin. The tacky cling of the seats in David’s old truck licking stinging stripes across the back of her legs. The taste of tea sipped down and brought right back up. She remembered the burning rip of rent flesh and the sound of her own screams echoing in her ears.
But she also remembered the flash of his headlights cutting through the morning haze. She remembered the first mutual kill and the long, somnambulant drives to the lakes when neither of them could sleep. The long nights tangled up in the sheets, the sound of his voice calling her at the bottom of a stairwell. She knew his hard, impenetrable gaze and the heft and weight of him within her, and the shockingly silky texture of his skin when compared to the crisp texture of his hair. She remembered what he smelled like after a shower and the strange, carnivorous scent of his breath in the morning. She remembered the irrepressible strength of him; the brick-solid build of his chest and shoulders, the length of his solid legs, even the way his toes curled. She remembered the angry, irregular flashes of red on his skin, the slash of his scarring, and saw it echoed in her own body.
She was not isolated.
She knew peace.
Ah, but his hands are so damn heavy! They’re like meatloaves with little pruny fingertips at this point, weighing her to the mattress. Her favorite tow-rope, her key to the past and to the future. Her lifelong reminder that fate, or God - or somebody - had made two of them.
Author: rise_your_dead/Missy
Fandom: Evil Dead/Evil Dead Reboot
Pairing/characters: Het; Mia/Ash
Disclaimer: Does not belong to me, belongs to Ghosthouse/Rosebud Releasing
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Written for Sammi’s birthday!
Word Count: 406
Spoiler: General movie spoilers; S-Mart ending for Ash
Warnings: (if any or choose not to warn) : thematic elements; sexual content
Summary: He’s so heavy.
His arms were a fine place to sleep, but in all honesty they could do with a little bit more practical carefulness.
For they had a way of clashing in the middle of the bed, like soldiers meeting at the grand divide, arms and legs battling for supremacy over the quilts and blankets. He was all sharp knees and elbows, all teeth and floundering fingers and pushy fingers. Sometimes he sweated through his teeshirt, twisting in the sheets, remembering too much - remembering everything about the cabin.
Nightly, she went there too.
She remembered the stink of pine trees pregnant with sap, intermingling with the sharp rancid stink of rotting flesh and the full, bacony scent of wood popping in a bonfire. She remembers the slimy hold and cling of the vine and the sensation of hundreds of roaches crawling over her dope-sick skin. The tacky cling of the seats in David’s old truck licking stinging stripes across the back of her legs. The taste of tea sipped down and brought right back up. She remembered the burning rip of rent flesh and the sound of her own screams echoing in her ears.
But she also remembered the flash of his headlights cutting through the morning haze. She remembered the first mutual kill and the long, somnambulant drives to the lakes when neither of them could sleep. The long nights tangled up in the sheets, the sound of his voice calling her at the bottom of a stairwell. She knew his hard, impenetrable gaze and the heft and weight of him within her, and the shockingly silky texture of his skin when compared to the crisp texture of his hair. She remembered what he smelled like after a shower and the strange, carnivorous scent of his breath in the morning. She remembered the irrepressible strength of him; the brick-solid build of his chest and shoulders, the length of his solid legs, even the way his toes curled. She remembered the angry, irregular flashes of red on his skin, the slash of his scarring, and saw it echoed in her own body.
She was not isolated.
She knew peace.
Ah, but his hands are so damn heavy! They’re like meatloaves with little pruny fingertips at this point, weighing her to the mattress. Her favorite tow-rope, her key to the past and to the future. Her lifelong reminder that fate, or God - or somebody - had made two of them.