Beginnings, for soscaredtolove (RENT)
Title: Beginnings
Author: Kiara Sayre (_seven_crows)
Recipient: soscaredtolove
Fandom: RENT
Pairing: Pam/Sue
Rating: R
Word count: 1,075
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Nine ways something starts.
Author's Note: I was originally going to write something completely different, and then -this happened. For those of you who haven't seen RENT twenty bazillion times (:D), Pam and Sue are two of the women from the Life Support meeting. Many thanks and brownies to decollete for the beta on such short notice. :)
i. quietly.
Walking in a park after a meeting, shoulders bumping warm against New York City winter.
Pam makes a joke - something stupid, probably juvenile - but they both laugh, and it feels like the first time.
ii. coffee.
“They always make it too hot,” Pam murmurs into her latte.
Sue shrugs. “I can’t tell anymore.”
“You probably burnt off all your taste buds,” says Pam.
“Probably.”
Sue smiles, and Pam smiles back.
iii. the results.
Pam, looking at the paper without emotion. Johnny, not bothering to deny the accusations any more - Pam saying calmly that he sure as hell wasn’t positive when they got married, so he can just get the hell out of her house.
Sue, with appendicitis on a relief trip to Guatemala. An unfortunate mistake, is all the doctor will say when he tells her that he killed her trying to save her life. They don’t have the funds necessary to screen blood donors, he adds.
It’s not very comforting.
iv. Life Support.
They say their names, and repeat the litany in a six-part harmony. (There are only six who regularly attend, although after Angel finds Collins, it becomes seven until Angel stops coming. They don’t have to ask why. They can see it on Collins’ face.)
At the thirty-second meeting (Pam keeps track, though even she isn’t sure why), five meetings since Angel stopped attending, they’re starting the litany when Sue breaks into tears. Everyone stops, just for a moment, and then Pam reaches over and puts her palm against the back of Sue’s hand, interlacing their fingers. And then they’re both crying, but they pick up right where they left off, and finish the litany mostly without incident.
v. the realization.
It comes out in the middle of a lull in the conversation at the Life Café. One moment Sue’s just thinking about how amazing her coffee is, and the next she’s said it.
“I like girls.”
Pam looks up, frowning. “What?”
Sue, to her complete embarrassment, starts blushing. “I like girls. Like, like like.”
Pam starts to blush, too. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t - ”
“I just thought you might - ”
“ - not that I have any problem with that, of course, I mean I live in New York and all.”
“ - feel that’s something you need to know.”
Silence.
Sue taps the side of her coffee with her index finger a few times, before smiling brightly. “So. Did you hear the rumor about the Les Mis revival?”
vi. the kiss.
It makes sense for Pam to walk Sue home after every meeting. Pam’s apartment is only a few blocks down (and maybe one or two or five over) from Sue’s, after all, but they never really go to Pam’s apartment. It’s always the walks, or the coffees, or the meetings.
So they’re walking, talking about something completely asinine like the weather or Pam’s neighbor’s stupid fucking cat that needs to just go get hit by a car already when they reach Sue’s apartment.
“Hey-Sue, wait.” Sue pauses for a moment; her cheeks are flushed against the hard New York spring, and Pam takes a second to breathe. “About what you said the other day-about liking girls-”
“No, I just think that some people find it awkward when they don’t know, so I thought you might want to know,” Sue says quickly.
“I’m glad I know,” Pam agrees, trying to smile.
“Oh,” says Sue, smiling a bit. “Well, I’m glad you’re glad you know.”
“Yeah,” says Pam, rubbing the side of her face. “But I just-I mean-I-oh, fuck it.”
Pam doesn’t actually kiss Sue first; Sue is standing far enough away to get a good sense of what Pam’s doing, so they end up colliding and Sue’s nose collides with Pam’s cheekbone.
Needless to say, they eventually end up getting the right parts in the right places, and stand there, kissing like hormonal high-schoolers long enough that one of Sue’s neighbors notices and starts wolf-whistling.
So they separate, and lean their foreheads against each other for a while, before Sue wraps her long fingers around Pam’s wrist and leads her into the apartment building.
vii. the sex.
At first it just - happens. It’s not sudden, initially; slower, but with a certain inevitability, or momentum. They take their time to discover each other. How Sue shivers each time Pam lets her fingers drift across the inside of Sue’s wrist, or how there’s one spot just below Pam’s ear that makes her moan. Further along it takes on a sense of urgency, and they move faster and sloppier until their clothes are on the floor and they don’t even make it to Sue’s bed.
It turns out that Pam is a cuddler, and when she pulls herself closer to Sue and rests her face in the curve of Sue’s neck, Sue starts giggling.
Pam sits up on the narrow couch, supporting herself with one arm. (The corresponding leg is slung over Sue’s hip, which Sue is sure must be awkward.) “What?” she demands.
Sue just smiles and shakes her head. She reaches towards Pam’s free hand and laces their fingers together, before leaning up and putting her lips against Pam’s without otherwise moving.
They sit there for a while, just feeling each others’ presence, breathing each others’ breath.
viii. the first date.
Their first official date is at a small café near the bakery that Sue works at.
It’s a little awkward, at first, seeing as Pam is still wearing the clothes she wore to walk Sue home the night before and Sue can't look at Pam's neck without remembering what she sounded like moaning, but the conversation drifts towards familiar topics - a love of theater, and movies, and incredibly unhealthy baked goods.
By the end of their lunch, they’re holding hands and leaning over their coffees to be closer to each other.
xi. the end
It’s inevitable, really. Their days are numbered, and the best they can hope for is a matter of years. Eventually, one of them will get sick, and the other will watch her fade.
But there are moments (the frisson of heat when their palms touch, or sitting with their heads each other’s shoulders in Central Park) when the weight is lifted and the death rushing at them like an oncoming train just seems like the light at the end of the tunnel.
There are moments.
And that’s enough.
Author: Kiara Sayre (_seven_crows)
Recipient: soscaredtolove
Fandom: RENT
Pairing: Pam/Sue
Rating: R
Word count: 1,075
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Nine ways something starts.
Author's Note: I was originally going to write something completely different, and then -this happened. For those of you who haven't seen RENT twenty bazillion times (:D), Pam and Sue are two of the women from the Life Support meeting. Many thanks and brownies to decollete for the beta on such short notice. :)
i. quietly.
Walking in a park after a meeting, shoulders bumping warm against New York City winter.
Pam makes a joke - something stupid, probably juvenile - but they both laugh, and it feels like the first time.
ii. coffee.
“They always make it too hot,” Pam murmurs into her latte.
Sue shrugs. “I can’t tell anymore.”
“You probably burnt off all your taste buds,” says Pam.
“Probably.”
Sue smiles, and Pam smiles back.
iii. the results.
Pam, looking at the paper without emotion. Johnny, not bothering to deny the accusations any more - Pam saying calmly that he sure as hell wasn’t positive when they got married, so he can just get the hell out of her house.
Sue, with appendicitis on a relief trip to Guatemala. An unfortunate mistake, is all the doctor will say when he tells her that he killed her trying to save her life. They don’t have the funds necessary to screen blood donors, he adds.
It’s not very comforting.
iv. Life Support.
They say their names, and repeat the litany in a six-part harmony. (There are only six who regularly attend, although after Angel finds Collins, it becomes seven until Angel stops coming. They don’t have to ask why. They can see it on Collins’ face.)
At the thirty-second meeting (Pam keeps track, though even she isn’t sure why), five meetings since Angel stopped attending, they’re starting the litany when Sue breaks into tears. Everyone stops, just for a moment, and then Pam reaches over and puts her palm against the back of Sue’s hand, interlacing their fingers. And then they’re both crying, but they pick up right where they left off, and finish the litany mostly without incident.
v. the realization.
It comes out in the middle of a lull in the conversation at the Life Café. One moment Sue’s just thinking about how amazing her coffee is, and the next she’s said it.
“I like girls.”
Pam looks up, frowning. “What?”
Sue, to her complete embarrassment, starts blushing. “I like girls. Like, like like.”
Pam starts to blush, too. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t - ”
“I just thought you might - ”
“ - not that I have any problem with that, of course, I mean I live in New York and all.”
“ - feel that’s something you need to know.”
Silence.
Sue taps the side of her coffee with her index finger a few times, before smiling brightly. “So. Did you hear the rumor about the Les Mis revival?”
vi. the kiss.
It makes sense for Pam to walk Sue home after every meeting. Pam’s apartment is only a few blocks down (and maybe one or two or five over) from Sue’s, after all, but they never really go to Pam’s apartment. It’s always the walks, or the coffees, or the meetings.
So they’re walking, talking about something completely asinine like the weather or Pam’s neighbor’s stupid fucking cat that needs to just go get hit by a car already when they reach Sue’s apartment.
“Hey-Sue, wait.” Sue pauses for a moment; her cheeks are flushed against the hard New York spring, and Pam takes a second to breathe. “About what you said the other day-about liking girls-”
“No, I just think that some people find it awkward when they don’t know, so I thought you might want to know,” Sue says quickly.
“I’m glad I know,” Pam agrees, trying to smile.
“Oh,” says Sue, smiling a bit. “Well, I’m glad you’re glad you know.”
“Yeah,” says Pam, rubbing the side of her face. “But I just-I mean-I-oh, fuck it.”
Pam doesn’t actually kiss Sue first; Sue is standing far enough away to get a good sense of what Pam’s doing, so they end up colliding and Sue’s nose collides with Pam’s cheekbone.
Needless to say, they eventually end up getting the right parts in the right places, and stand there, kissing like hormonal high-schoolers long enough that one of Sue’s neighbors notices and starts wolf-whistling.
So they separate, and lean their foreheads against each other for a while, before Sue wraps her long fingers around Pam’s wrist and leads her into the apartment building.
vii. the sex.
At first it just - happens. It’s not sudden, initially; slower, but with a certain inevitability, or momentum. They take their time to discover each other. How Sue shivers each time Pam lets her fingers drift across the inside of Sue’s wrist, or how there’s one spot just below Pam’s ear that makes her moan. Further along it takes on a sense of urgency, and they move faster and sloppier until their clothes are on the floor and they don’t even make it to Sue’s bed.
It turns out that Pam is a cuddler, and when she pulls herself closer to Sue and rests her face in the curve of Sue’s neck, Sue starts giggling.
Pam sits up on the narrow couch, supporting herself with one arm. (The corresponding leg is slung over Sue’s hip, which Sue is sure must be awkward.) “What?” she demands.
Sue just smiles and shakes her head. She reaches towards Pam’s free hand and laces their fingers together, before leaning up and putting her lips against Pam’s without otherwise moving.
They sit there for a while, just feeling each others’ presence, breathing each others’ breath.
viii. the first date.
Their first official date is at a small café near the bakery that Sue works at.
It’s a little awkward, at first, seeing as Pam is still wearing the clothes she wore to walk Sue home the night before and Sue can't look at Pam's neck without remembering what she sounded like moaning, but the conversation drifts towards familiar topics - a love of theater, and movies, and incredibly unhealthy baked goods.
By the end of their lunch, they’re holding hands and leaning over their coffees to be closer to each other.
xi. the end
It’s inevitable, really. Their days are numbered, and the best they can hope for is a matter of years. Eventually, one of them will get sick, and the other will watch her fade.
But there are moments (the frisson of heat when their palms touch, or sitting with their heads each other’s shoulders in Central Park) when the weight is lifted and the death rushing at them like an oncoming train just seems like the light at the end of the tunnel.
There are moments.
And that’s enough.