ficpost: "Defy the Linear" Kennedy/River
Title: "Defy the Linear"
Fandoms: Firefly/Serenity and Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: River/Kennedy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic and disturbing content, much like the source texts contain. Gender-screwiness. Non-prose. Overuse of scriptural allusion and Christian metaphor.
Spoilers: For "Get It Done" and Serenity.
Notes: For alixtii in the Kennedy round of femslash_minis.
Summary: A swordfight.
Words: 503
Defy the Linear
They roll with appetites, a taste for blood
they must live with this
they aren't human anymore
slayer/reaver
and they cleave together
and they cleave apart
worlds without end
beginning, receding, ending, the ebb of the 'verse
poet and poem:
the universe's ballad
the universe's ballast,
tossed overboard in the rough like Jonah:
Sisters in the blood, in the belly
mei-mei.
The wall that hangs between them is no wall;
it's only time,
and time, like an hourglass, shatters to become sand and glass (only sand itself, ground and glossed)
their feet crush glass, and glass slices their feet just as
Kennedy slices through the wall
and the cleft
is
woman-shaped
like the spread thighs of a Companion
or a whore
In Inara's quarters River sits, pretending patience as Inara rolls her hair into coils and her brocades into robes, silk that hangs from her arms to her feet like the tail of a meteor. River asked for training, asked to know, because knowledge is a binding, and River's ready for her brain to be bound.
(Inara's bound River's feet, but River's let her do the binding. River's free, River's choice. She never was allowed to choose.)
River's bound her feet.
on either side they prepare
[They take, they eat, they drink, they shower, they dry themselves and comb their hair and have their hair combed for them. They test their strengths against the strength of warriors. They train. They're taught in close quarters and at a distance. They're broken, they're healed, they are ready.]
on either side they prepare
Kennedy's bound her breasts.
Kennedy bends at the waist, hair falling to her ankles, untamed. The rest of her's tight and her breasts are bound; she's the androgyny of Slayerdom, the masculine spirit bound in the feminine body; the feminine body bound and desexed.
Some nights she's ready to defy expectations with lipstick and pearls, the prep school dropout on the street corner who will not turn tricks nor be turned but who turns the tables and upsets the money-lenders' booths. Tonight, she's bound her breasts and she's packing. Tonight, there are no surprises: what's between her legs is visible in the bulge of leather at her crotch, and what's in her heart is in her eyes; tonight, she will not need the element of surprise; tonight, come, for all things are ready. Tonight, she is a dyke.
Kennedy slices through the night like a weapon forged in power.
They burn, sisters, like fire
it is belly-passion,
the hunt
it is cunt-passion,
lovingkindness,
the blood-scent
of the Slayer
They open the jaws of time
break the clenched simile of
the linear
and
dissolve
the
mystery
nothing exists but the salt, the sweat
the firebrand of bliss
the scar of sword on neck the
cold hilt of passionless steel
that slowly
resolves
into
an ancient
scythe
the source
of
power
raped into them
dissolving
into
deathlust
bloodsex
the taste of
iron
_in
__ her
___ mouth.
___ in
__her
_cunt
the scent of
fear.
Defy the Linear
Fandoms: Firefly/Serenity and Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: River/Kennedy
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Graphic and disturbing content, much like the source texts contain. Gender-screwiness. Non-prose. Overuse of scriptural allusion and Christian metaphor.
Spoilers: For "Get It Done" and Serenity.
Notes: For alixtii in the Kennedy round of femslash_minis.
Summary: A swordfight.
Words: 503
Defy the Linear
They roll with appetites, a taste for blood
they must live with this
they aren't human anymore
slayer/reaver
and they cleave together
and they cleave apart
worlds without end
beginning, receding, ending, the ebb of the 'verse
poet and poem:
the universe's ballad
the universe's ballast,
tossed overboard in the rough like Jonah:
Sisters in the blood, in the belly
mei-mei.
The wall that hangs between them is no wall;
it's only time,
and time, like an hourglass, shatters to become sand and glass (only sand itself, ground and glossed)
their feet crush glass, and glass slices their feet just as
Kennedy slices through the wall
and the cleft
is
woman-shaped
like the spread thighs of a Companion
or a whore
In Inara's quarters River sits, pretending patience as Inara rolls her hair into coils and her brocades into robes, silk that hangs from her arms to her feet like the tail of a meteor. River asked for training, asked to know, because knowledge is a binding, and River's ready for her brain to be bound.
(Inara's bound River's feet, but River's let her do the binding. River's free, River's choice. She never was allowed to choose.)
River's bound her feet.
on either side they prepare
[They take, they eat, they drink, they shower, they dry themselves and comb their hair and have their hair combed for them. They test their strengths against the strength of warriors. They train. They're taught in close quarters and at a distance. They're broken, they're healed, they are ready.]
on either side they prepare
Kennedy's bound her breasts.
Kennedy bends at the waist, hair falling to her ankles, untamed. The rest of her's tight and her breasts are bound; she's the androgyny of Slayerdom, the masculine spirit bound in the feminine body; the feminine body bound and desexed.
Some nights she's ready to defy expectations with lipstick and pearls, the prep school dropout on the street corner who will not turn tricks nor be turned but who turns the tables and upsets the money-lenders' booths. Tonight, she's bound her breasts and she's packing. Tonight, there are no surprises: what's between her legs is visible in the bulge of leather at her crotch, and what's in her heart is in her eyes; tonight, she will not need the element of surprise; tonight, come, for all things are ready. Tonight, she is a dyke.
Kennedy slices through the night like a weapon forged in power.
They burn, sisters, like fire
it is belly-passion,
the hunt
it is cunt-passion,
lovingkindness,
the blood-scent
of the Slayer
They open the jaws of time
break the clenched simile of
the linear
and
dissolve
the
mystery
nothing exists but the salt, the sweat
the firebrand of bliss
the scar of sword on neck the
cold hilt of passionless steel
that slowly
resolves
into
an ancient
scythe
the source
of
power
raped into them
dissolving
into
deathlust
bloodsex
the taste of
iron
_in
__ her
___ mouth.
___ in
__her
_cunt
the scent of
fear.
Defy the Linear