ficlet post: the fluffiest Fred/Kaylee that ever was
No plot, no angst, no backstory, no explanation for why they're here, just Fred and Kaylee and happiness. jennixen-safe (no spoilers). 320 words.
"Come here," Fred beckons with a finger like a shepherd's staff, but Book is in the cargo bay preaching to the crew and the only God Kaylee worships is the heaven of Fred's kisses. She comes, demands her kiss. Fred puts a finger to her lips and Kaylee teaches her the sky, spreads her arms and shows her where the sun is. Things they do: making love, dirty with grime, on the floor of the in the engine room, the grind of the motors as real as their skin, their sweat as hot as fuel that ignites, burns, turns the world. They shop together, sneaking samples of fruit and lips, sharing a strawberry in a kiss, always eating. They remember a childhood where the sky was endless and tall and all they wanted was to escape. They escape together. They have a storyword for this -- happyending. This is the happyending of Winifred Burkle and Kaylee Frye:
They are ugly duckling and the frog princess in Fred's poetic vocabulary, and before they met they were Shroedinger's cat, neither alive nor dead, existing in limbo, until they observed each other, and with observation came life for both of them. They are the story of The Tallest Tree In The Verse That Learned To Shrink When It Fell In Love With A Flower and the legend of the very lastmost outpost before Reaver space (Fred knows this story and calls it Rivendell, the Last Homely House.)
Kaylee has never been happier; her face hurts with smiling, she didn't know she needed rescuing until she found someone to play dress-up with, who collapses onto their bed with her legs all askew with exhaustion and laughter and brought with her from the place-that-was enough rouge to last both pairs of cheeks three years if they're sparing and careful.
There's no need to be sparing of affection, no need to keep kisses to herself, just tall afternoons when they stretch up to heaven with the words "I will never let you go."
"Come here," Fred beckons with a finger like a shepherd's staff, but Book is in the cargo bay preaching to the crew and the only God Kaylee worships is the heaven of Fred's kisses. She comes, demands her kiss. Fred puts a finger to her lips and Kaylee teaches her the sky, spreads her arms and shows her where the sun is. Things they do: making love, dirty with grime, on the floor of the in the engine room, the grind of the motors as real as their skin, their sweat as hot as fuel that ignites, burns, turns the world. They shop together, sneaking samples of fruit and lips, sharing a strawberry in a kiss, always eating. They remember a childhood where the sky was endless and tall and all they wanted was to escape. They escape together. They have a storyword for this -- happyending. This is the happyending of Winifred Burkle and Kaylee Frye:
They are ugly duckling and the frog princess in Fred's poetic vocabulary, and before they met they were Shroedinger's cat, neither alive nor dead, existing in limbo, until they observed each other, and with observation came life for both of them. They are the story of The Tallest Tree In The Verse That Learned To Shrink When It Fell In Love With A Flower and the legend of the very lastmost outpost before Reaver space (Fred knows this story and calls it Rivendell, the Last Homely House.)
Kaylee has never been happier; her face hurts with smiling, she didn't know she needed rescuing until she found someone to play dress-up with, who collapses onto their bed with her legs all askew with exhaustion and laughter and brought with her from the place-that-was enough rouge to last both pairs of cheeks three years if they're sparing and careful.
There's no need to be sparing of affection, no need to keep kisses to herself, just tall afternoons when they stretch up to heaven with the words "I will never let you go."