Fic: If You Should Fall
Sep. 29th, 2009 03:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withthepilotTitle: If You Should Fall
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/Uhura
Notes: 455 words. One more ficlet written for the Poor Man's Sinfest v. 3, in which![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
1297 provided David Bowie's "Let's Dance" as the prompt.
Summary: Let's dance for fear your grace should fall / Let's dance for fear tonight is all
He's pondering just how many of these blue drinks he can force down his gullet when she shows up—in red shoes, no less. It's always been her color. Practically every member of Starfleet he's ever met is here, and yet she's found him, swirling his straw in a cocktail with ingredients he's never even heard of before.
"It's not like you to sit on the sidelines," she says. She tilts her head and with it goes that pendulous ponytail. The ballroom lights sprinkle over the crowd, revealing the shadows her cheekbones cast, the soft edges he's sure would make perfect resting spots for his fingertips. For his lips. "Or to wait for something to happen."
"You're right," he says. "Let's dance."
Like this, he's never known her. Her cheek is warm as it rests against his, and these are old-fashioned dances to music made by singers long dead and gone, but it all suits her. She infuses an ageless, fluid grace into every movement, and his fingers explore the lengths of hers, too entranced to simply hold on. It's in his nature to explore, to search unchartered territory, and she knows that. She lets him do what he needs to do.
It's by sheer luck that he's able to steer them away from the crowd and find a secluded spot on the terrace. The stars in this sky belong to a distant galaxy with a name he can't remember now. She gazes up at them, as if they're sending her secret transmissions.
"Let's hide here for the rest of the night," she whispers.
"You want to hide with me?"
Her eyes sparkle. "Is that so wrong?"
She knows he never looks before he leaps, and he can feel the vibration of her laughter against his mouth when he kisses her. And it's just like her to fall into his arms, to annihilate all his previous notions and daydreams about her, about this very moment. But none of that matters now—not here, where they're alone and the stars are a comfort rather than a threat. Where they don't have to put up shields.
He kisses her like tonight is all there is, as if to grant her permission to break his heart. When she disappears, it's not a surprise, but there are still tears brimming in his eyes and a hungry gasp stuck between his lips, a rose's thorn.
The empath, flanked by the rest of his enemy squadron, lifts his terrible, prying hand from his captive's slick and throbbing temple, and looks down upon the human with something akin to pity.
"Are you ready to provide us with the answers we seek, Captain Kirk?"
He searches for the words, but they feel stolen.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/Uhura
Notes: 455 words. One more ficlet written for the Poor Man's Sinfest v. 3, in which
1297 provided David Bowie's "Let's Dance" as the prompt.Summary: Let's dance for fear your grace should fall / Let's dance for fear tonight is all
He's pondering just how many of these blue drinks he can force down his gullet when she shows up—in red shoes, no less. It's always been her color. Practically every member of Starfleet he's ever met is here, and yet she's found him, swirling his straw in a cocktail with ingredients he's never even heard of before.
"It's not like you to sit on the sidelines," she says. She tilts her head and with it goes that pendulous ponytail. The ballroom lights sprinkle over the crowd, revealing the shadows her cheekbones cast, the soft edges he's sure would make perfect resting spots for his fingertips. For his lips. "Or to wait for something to happen."
"You're right," he says. "Let's dance."
Like this, he's never known her. Her cheek is warm as it rests against his, and these are old-fashioned dances to music made by singers long dead and gone, but it all suits her. She infuses an ageless, fluid grace into every movement, and his fingers explore the lengths of hers, too entranced to simply hold on. It's in his nature to explore, to search unchartered territory, and she knows that. She lets him do what he needs to do.
It's by sheer luck that he's able to steer them away from the crowd and find a secluded spot on the terrace. The stars in this sky belong to a distant galaxy with a name he can't remember now. She gazes up at them, as if they're sending her secret transmissions.
"Let's hide here for the rest of the night," she whispers.
"You want to hide with me?"
Her eyes sparkle. "Is that so wrong?"
She knows he never looks before he leaps, and he can feel the vibration of her laughter against his mouth when he kisses her. And it's just like her to fall into his arms, to annihilate all his previous notions and daydreams about her, about this very moment. But none of that matters now—not here, where they're alone and the stars are a comfort rather than a threat. Where they don't have to put up shields.
He kisses her like tonight is all there is, as if to grant her permission to break his heart. When she disappears, it's not a surprise, but there are still tears brimming in his eyes and a hungry gasp stuck between his lips, a rose's thorn.
The empath, flanked by the rest of his enemy squadron, lifts his terrible, prying hand from his captive's slick and throbbing temple, and looks down upon the human with something akin to pity.
"Are you ready to provide us with the answers we seek, Captain Kirk?"
He searches for the words, but they feel stolen.
