(no subject)
Title: One Among Many
Author: apohdiopsis
Pairing: Lily/Alice
Rating: PG
Word Count: 571
Prompt: Day 8
Warnings: Femmeslash
Summary: Lily and Alice steal a pregnant moment on Christmas morning.
Author's Notes: First time femmeslash. Just sayin'. (Would one of the mods be a dear and add a relationship tag for me, please?)
"I missed you," she murmured surrender as I crawled into her bed with the same unself-conscious assurance I had when we were younger. She was still in her pajamas, ridiculously frilly things, her eyes still crusted with sleep. She tilted her head back like a little girl asking for a kiss, and I acquiesced gently, lips closed. "Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas. How do you feel?" I folded down her comforter and brushed my fingertips over the slight swell of her belly, like testing a bruise. It had been a hard pregnancy for her, I knew. She was pale and wan with it. Her blonde hair was dirty, plastered with sweat to her broad forehead. Yet her smile came with surprising ease, and that reassured me, if only slightly.
"I'm fine, Lily, really," she said, and her voice was still strong. Her fingers followed mine across her stomach, then moved to explore the mirroring bulge of my pregnancy. "How are you?"
"Oh, you know." My laughter sounded brittle and too loud, compared to the softness of her tone. "James and his mates are always hovering around me like I'm made of glass, speaking in whispers, careful not to upset me. I can't decide if they're worried about my health or theirs. Peter's convinced them that pregnancy hormones can make a woman go mental."
"Well, can't they?" Her hand brushed mine. I laced our fingers together loosely, just at the tips. It was too delicate a touch to be anything but suggestive, and I did not miss the ghost of a flush that crossed her cheeks.
"There are worse things, Alice," I said, "about pregnancy than the hormones. The bitter cold, for instance."
"Which will give way to intolerable heat, soon enough."
"If it isn't the stillness, it's the worry." Her smile faltered at that.
She said, "After the births ..."
"Our sons will play together," I finished. It was almost an admonition.
"You love James very much, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, firmly. "And you love Frank."
"Yes," she admitted, but not without hesitation, "as much as can be expected. There is always so much talk, so many explanations."
"He is a man," I reminded her.
"Yes," she agreed, "and he isn't ... He isn't part of me."
"That was a long time ago, Alice," I told her.
She pulled me down for another kiss. It was absurd how innocent a kiss could be, lips parted, tongues caressing, the opening scene of what might have been sodomy or adultery or both. "Not so very long," she said when we parted. "I wish I could have been your first love, or your last. I'm just one of many."
"Isn't it enough that I still love you?" I asked, but gently. I disentangled our hands and stroked her hair back from her face.
Her mouth quirked up, suddenly wry. "No, Lily. There is no such thing as enough of you."
"I never could have given you a child," I insisted, and she relented at last.
"There is that," she agreed. When she said, "Neville," I knew she was more enraptured with that unborn son that she could ever have been with me. I pressed my hand over my own stomach, and wished for once to feel that sort of love, unencumbered by guilt. I could not shake the notion that, if I really loved Harry, I should not be bringing him into this world.
Author: apohdiopsis
Pairing: Lily/Alice
Rating: PG
Word Count: 571
Prompt: Day 8
Warnings: Femmeslash
Summary: Lily and Alice steal a pregnant moment on Christmas morning.
Author's Notes: First time femmeslash. Just sayin'. (Would one of the mods be a dear and add a relationship tag for me, please?)
"I missed you," she murmured surrender as I crawled into her bed with the same unself-conscious assurance I had when we were younger. She was still in her pajamas, ridiculously frilly things, her eyes still crusted with sleep. She tilted her head back like a little girl asking for a kiss, and I acquiesced gently, lips closed. "Happy Christmas."
"Happy Christmas. How do you feel?" I folded down her comforter and brushed my fingertips over the slight swell of her belly, like testing a bruise. It had been a hard pregnancy for her, I knew. She was pale and wan with it. Her blonde hair was dirty, plastered with sweat to her broad forehead. Yet her smile came with surprising ease, and that reassured me, if only slightly.
"I'm fine, Lily, really," she said, and her voice was still strong. Her fingers followed mine across her stomach, then moved to explore the mirroring bulge of my pregnancy. "How are you?"
"Oh, you know." My laughter sounded brittle and too loud, compared to the softness of her tone. "James and his mates are always hovering around me like I'm made of glass, speaking in whispers, careful not to upset me. I can't decide if they're worried about my health or theirs. Peter's convinced them that pregnancy hormones can make a woman go mental."
"Well, can't they?" Her hand brushed mine. I laced our fingers together loosely, just at the tips. It was too delicate a touch to be anything but suggestive, and I did not miss the ghost of a flush that crossed her cheeks.
"There are worse things, Alice," I said, "about pregnancy than the hormones. The bitter cold, for instance."
"Which will give way to intolerable heat, soon enough."
"If it isn't the stillness, it's the worry." Her smile faltered at that.
She said, "After the births ..."
"Our sons will play together," I finished. It was almost an admonition.
"You love James very much, don't you?"
"Yes," I said, firmly. "And you love Frank."
"Yes," she admitted, but not without hesitation, "as much as can be expected. There is always so much talk, so many explanations."
"He is a man," I reminded her.
"Yes," she agreed, "and he isn't ... He isn't part of me."
"That was a long time ago, Alice," I told her.
She pulled me down for another kiss. It was absurd how innocent a kiss could be, lips parted, tongues caressing, the opening scene of what might have been sodomy or adultery or both. "Not so very long," she said when we parted. "I wish I could have been your first love, or your last. I'm just one of many."
"Isn't it enough that I still love you?" I asked, but gently. I disentangled our hands and stroked her hair back from her face.
Her mouth quirked up, suddenly wry. "No, Lily. There is no such thing as enough of you."
"I never could have given you a child," I insisted, and she relented at last.
"There is that," she agreed. When she said, "Neville," I knew she was more enraptured with that unborn son that she could ever have been with me. I pressed my hand over my own stomach, and wished for once to feel that sort of love, unencumbered by guilt. I could not shake the notion that, if I really loved Harry, I should not be bringing him into this world.