- Drifting (Star Trek XI, Uhura/Gaila, drabbletag - comfort)
Title: Drifting
Prompt: Drabble Tag 4 - Comfort
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Uhura/Gaila
Rating: PG
Word count: 250
Even on this world, desert mornings are cold.
Nyota wakes tangled in thin sheets, blinking away the remnants of sleep as the pale light of an unnamed star filters in through woven curtains. There is no central heating here, only the dimming embers of the firepit in the room's center, and she is grateful for the warmth and weight of Gaila in bed beside her. She closes her eyes and breathes in the clean scent of her, resting in the comfortable halfway state between sleep and full alertness. Time brings consciousness, the sense of displacement that comes from waking on a strange world - unfamiliar light, unfamiliar gravity, the need to reorient herself after so many years to ground beneath her and sky above. Nyota isn't accustomed yet to unfiltered atmosphere, unregulated temperature, and she is caught off guard by the thought that if she wanted to, she could walk and keep walking for as long as her legs would carry her, and not have to double back along the way she came.
Instead, she shifts closer, reaching up to brush her fingers through the tangle of curls that falls across Gaila's forehead. It's rare to wake and find her there, still half-sleeping; seeing her now is... startling, almost, like a familiar place approached from an unfamiliar angle. Then Gaila stirs, stretches, languid and unguarded, and Nyota doesn't want time to start working again just yet. So she doesn't speak, doesn't move, just feels clean alien sunlight wash them both.
Prompt: Drabble Tag 4 - Comfort
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Uhura/Gaila
Rating: PG
Word count: 250
Even on this world, desert mornings are cold.
Nyota wakes tangled in thin sheets, blinking away the remnants of sleep as the pale light of an unnamed star filters in through woven curtains. There is no central heating here, only the dimming embers of the firepit in the room's center, and she is grateful for the warmth and weight of Gaila in bed beside her. She closes her eyes and breathes in the clean scent of her, resting in the comfortable halfway state between sleep and full alertness. Time brings consciousness, the sense of displacement that comes from waking on a strange world - unfamiliar light, unfamiliar gravity, the need to reorient herself after so many years to ground beneath her and sky above. Nyota isn't accustomed yet to unfiltered atmosphere, unregulated temperature, and she is caught off guard by the thought that if she wanted to, she could walk and keep walking for as long as her legs would carry her, and not have to double back along the way she came.
Instead, she shifts closer, reaching up to brush her fingers through the tangle of curls that falls across Gaila's forehead. It's rare to wake and find her there, still half-sleeping; seeing her now is... startling, almost, like a familiar place approached from an unfamiliar angle. Then Gaila stirs, stretches, languid and unguarded, and Nyota doesn't want time to start working again just yet. So she doesn't speak, doesn't move, just feels clean alien sunlight wash them both.