Pulp Fiction #20 - The Other Side Of Love
Title: The Other Side Of Love
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Renee/Kate
Prompt: Lesbian Pulp Fiction #20
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 198
They’re not in love.
It depends on the day, the mood, the latest fight, whether they’ll admit they ever were.
But whatever Kate and Renee’s past together may be, it’s not love.
Not now. Not anymore.
It’s not love when they seek each other out after a bad day, burying hurt and frustration and pain in each other’s arms.
It’s not love when they stay wrapped around each other, whispering things about their secret lives they can’t share with anyone else.
It’s not love when they instinctively know what the other needs without a single shared word.
It’s not love when Kate laces their fingers together, when Renee kisses that spot on Kate’s neck, when they trace each other’s scars. When their bodies move together as if they were always meant to be one.
It’s not love when the arguments start, when fear for each other’s safety turns into cruel words, when everything bubbling beneath the surface remains unsaid because they’d rather curse and shout and aim to hurt.
And they may ache in the aftermath, may long to hold each other, to help each.
But they’ll still tell you that it’s not love.
Not now.
Not anymore.
Fandom: DCU
Pairing: Renee/Kate
Prompt: Lesbian Pulp Fiction #20
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 198
They’re not in love.
It depends on the day, the mood, the latest fight, whether they’ll admit they ever were.
But whatever Kate and Renee’s past together may be, it’s not love.
Not now. Not anymore.
It’s not love when they seek each other out after a bad day, burying hurt and frustration and pain in each other’s arms.
It’s not love when they stay wrapped around each other, whispering things about their secret lives they can’t share with anyone else.
It’s not love when they instinctively know what the other needs without a single shared word.
It’s not love when Kate laces their fingers together, when Renee kisses that spot on Kate’s neck, when they trace each other’s scars. When their bodies move together as if they were always meant to be one.
It’s not love when the arguments start, when fear for each other’s safety turns into cruel words, when everything bubbling beneath the surface remains unsaid because they’d rather curse and shout and aim to hurt.
And they may ache in the aftermath, may long to hold each other, to help each.
But they’ll still tell you that it’s not love.
Not now.
Not anymore.