Miracles ficlet
More Gdocs cleaning. This is a ficlet I started for yuletide several years ago, for one of sailorhathor's requests. As frequently happens, I got hung up on the porn.
This is basically a complete ficlet, though it doesn't really satisfy, if you know what I mean.
Miracles, Paul/Georgia, 900 words.
Paul rests his head against the unpaned glass, staring down on the courtyard below. Drizzle is in the air, like it's been all day, but the damp doesn't cast a pall on the merriment down below. The heavy beat of the music funnels up the walls of the dormitory enclosing the courtyard, but he can't make out the tune.
It's been a good night, meeting new people, drinking a little, just being normal. Not worrying about the past or the future. It's better back here, though, with Georgia, with someone more like him. Someone who knows what homesickness really is. The freshmen out there, still partying away in the courtyard, don't really know whether they want to look forward or back, and so they work on drowning their nerves in beer and dancing.
Paul's glad he knows who the important people in his life are.
The door to the room opens and Georgia sways inside, the tall heels on her tall boots making hollow little clicks on the cheap linoleum floor. Her hair is loose tonight, sweeping across her forehead, soft around her face. He likes it down. Probably too much, but he's not thinking about that tonight.
She smiles at him as she leans back, propping herself against the narrow vertical frame of the closet behind her, wrists tucked behind the small of her back and one foot crossed in front of the other. Paul catches himself measuring the stretch of leg between the hem of her skirt and the cuff of her boot, and jerks his gaze upward.
"What were you thinking about?" she asks. "You're so serious tonight."
Heat starts to creep into his face, but he ignores it. "Nothing much. How different it is here, I guess, and not different at all."
Georgia laughs. She uncrosses her legs and pushes away from the closet, and walks towards him with slow, careful steps. "You never can commit to anything, can you?"
"What?" Paul swallows when she stops less than a foot away from him, smiling up with those devious eyes. "What does that mean, Georgia?"
She shakes her head, then transfers her gaze to what's beyond the window pane. "Nothing. I'm just... We'll always be different, won't we? There's always going to be that one thing that defines us, that separates us from everybody else."
Paul shrugs. "I guess everyone feels that way about something."
She turns back to him, whatever maudlin mood that had taken her before now gone from her face. Her lips are more upturned, closer to happy than ironic, and her eyes sparkle from the light bouncing off the glass. "It doesn't separate us, though. It makes us closer."
Paul's breath catches. Georgia is still swaying ever so slightly, and she seems to sway towards him. Or maybe it's him who moves, body slipping forward until the bare skin below the cap of her sleeveless sweater is pressed against his own bare arm. She's staring up at him, eyes bright and black and daring, and Paul knows he should look away. He has to look away, but he can't.
"You're like a sister to me, you know that," he says, but the words sound rushed and wrong, and his voice is too deep.
"A sister?" Georgia cocks her head to the side, like she's trying to puzzle out one of her computer systems. "Are you sure?"
"Georgia--" he warns, but she's already rising up on her tiptoes, lips parted invitingly--and Paul isn't that strong. He's ignored that part of himself as long as he can.
The kiss isn't anything sibling-like. Her mouth is soft, molding to his, and her lips pass tingles all the way down to his fingers. When she opens her mouth farther, he knows it's a dare, not an invitation; she's Georgia, after all. She tastes like lipstick and strawberry-banana-cheap-vodka punch, better than when he was drinking it out of a plastic cup an hour ago. He tries to pull back, take a breather, to regain some sense, but her hand is on the back of his neck, urging him on. It's not until he feels her nipple pebble under his thumb and she throws her head back with a gasp that he remembers why this is such a bad idea.
"Sorry," he says, dropping his hand to his side. "I shouldn't--"
"You should." Georgia grabs his hand and guides it to her ribcage, just under the curve of her breast. "You really should, and don't you dare apologize for it."
"This is a bad idea." He licks his lips and tastes lipstick. "You know it's a bad idea."
Georgia sighs. She takes a step back, but she brings her hands up and lays them on his chest, keeping the two of them connected. "Maybe it is. But tonight I want to be close to someone who knows me, Paul. I want--" A blush rises up from her throat, highlighting her freckles. "I want this to happen with someone I trust. Someone who..." The blush takes over her whole face, and she ducks her head.
Paul's heart lurches. He covers her hands with his own, bringing them together so he can press a kiss to her fingers. "I do, you know. Always have, always will."
Her smile is back, but she peers up from under her eyelashes, tentative. "But do you want me?"
He can't say it out loud. But he does his best to show her.
This is basically a complete ficlet, though it doesn't really satisfy, if you know what I mean.
Miracles, Paul/Georgia, 900 words.
Paul rests his head against the unpaned glass, staring down on the courtyard below. Drizzle is in the air, like it's been all day, but the damp doesn't cast a pall on the merriment down below. The heavy beat of the music funnels up the walls of the dormitory enclosing the courtyard, but he can't make out the tune.
It's been a good night, meeting new people, drinking a little, just being normal. Not worrying about the past or the future. It's better back here, though, with Georgia, with someone more like him. Someone who knows what homesickness really is. The freshmen out there, still partying away in the courtyard, don't really know whether they want to look forward or back, and so they work on drowning their nerves in beer and dancing.
Paul's glad he knows who the important people in his life are.
The door to the room opens and Georgia sways inside, the tall heels on her tall boots making hollow little clicks on the cheap linoleum floor. Her hair is loose tonight, sweeping across her forehead, soft around her face. He likes it down. Probably too much, but he's not thinking about that tonight.
She smiles at him as she leans back, propping herself against the narrow vertical frame of the closet behind her, wrists tucked behind the small of her back and one foot crossed in front of the other. Paul catches himself measuring the stretch of leg between the hem of her skirt and the cuff of her boot, and jerks his gaze upward.
"What were you thinking about?" she asks. "You're so serious tonight."
Heat starts to creep into his face, but he ignores it. "Nothing much. How different it is here, I guess, and not different at all."
Georgia laughs. She uncrosses her legs and pushes away from the closet, and walks towards him with slow, careful steps. "You never can commit to anything, can you?"
"What?" Paul swallows when she stops less than a foot away from him, smiling up with those devious eyes. "What does that mean, Georgia?"
She shakes her head, then transfers her gaze to what's beyond the window pane. "Nothing. I'm just... We'll always be different, won't we? There's always going to be that one thing that defines us, that separates us from everybody else."
Paul shrugs. "I guess everyone feels that way about something."
She turns back to him, whatever maudlin mood that had taken her before now gone from her face. Her lips are more upturned, closer to happy than ironic, and her eyes sparkle from the light bouncing off the glass. "It doesn't separate us, though. It makes us closer."
Paul's breath catches. Georgia is still swaying ever so slightly, and she seems to sway towards him. Or maybe it's him who moves, body slipping forward until the bare skin below the cap of her sleeveless sweater is pressed against his own bare arm. She's staring up at him, eyes bright and black and daring, and Paul knows he should look away. He has to look away, but he can't.
"You're like a sister to me, you know that," he says, but the words sound rushed and wrong, and his voice is too deep.
"A sister?" Georgia cocks her head to the side, like she's trying to puzzle out one of her computer systems. "Are you sure?"
"Georgia--" he warns, but she's already rising up on her tiptoes, lips parted invitingly--and Paul isn't that strong. He's ignored that part of himself as long as he can.
The kiss isn't anything sibling-like. Her mouth is soft, molding to his, and her lips pass tingles all the way down to his fingers. When she opens her mouth farther, he knows it's a dare, not an invitation; she's Georgia, after all. She tastes like lipstick and strawberry-banana-cheap-vodka punch, better than when he was drinking it out of a plastic cup an hour ago. He tries to pull back, take a breather, to regain some sense, but her hand is on the back of his neck, urging him on. It's not until he feels her nipple pebble under his thumb and she throws her head back with a gasp that he remembers why this is such a bad idea.
"Sorry," he says, dropping his hand to his side. "I shouldn't--"
"You should." Georgia grabs his hand and guides it to her ribcage, just under the curve of her breast. "You really should, and don't you dare apologize for it."
"This is a bad idea." He licks his lips and tastes lipstick. "You know it's a bad idea."
Georgia sighs. She takes a step back, but she brings her hands up and lays them on his chest, keeping the two of them connected. "Maybe it is. But tonight I want to be close to someone who knows me, Paul. I want--" A blush rises up from her throat, highlighting her freckles. "I want this to happen with someone I trust. Someone who..." The blush takes over her whole face, and she ducks her head.
Paul's heart lurches. He covers her hands with his own, bringing them together so he can press a kiss to her fingers. "I do, you know. Always have, always will."
Her smile is back, but she peers up from under her eyelashes, tentative. "But do you want me?"
He can't say it out loud. But he does his best to show her.