when fiction runs long
Sep. 14th, 2005 02:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
chanter1944This's what happens when you start out to write a drabble and it runs way, way long. :)
Title: Second Time Charmed
Author: Chanter
Series: TNG, between series’ end and the movies
Pairings: Geordi/Leah, past-tense Leah/Richard
Rating: PG13 for reference to domestic abuse and intimacy
Summary: Written for the clean hands challenge but it ran over. Leah’s POV. We get into everything. But we’re cleaner.
506 words
We get into everything. Literally *everything*. Crazy things, routine ones, the everyday random surfaces that come with the line of our duty... everything.
The clay was Data’s idea, something to do with exploring humanity through self-expression. By the end of it all three of us looked like little kids, wrist deep in the art supplies.
The cookies were a midnight whim of mine... the replicator didn’t have a clue, the cook didn’t exist, so I went to the holodeck and turned the safeties off and by the end of the night we were covered in sugar and flour, but eating chocolate chip creations when they’re still warm and watching the sun come up through a holographic window... almost worth it. And totally worth us both being late to shift.
The rest comes with the territory, iron and energy and electricity, if current had a smell and some days I swear it does when we fall in to bed at the end of another shift and he’s just about to brush the hair out of my eyes, I’m just about to let him, our hands meet and it’s there on our skin.
He’s never hurt me. He’s argued with me, yelled at me as much as I’ve ever yelled at him, verbally dueled it out over design schematics or duty rosters or that trivial little holo-me years ago that started it all... but he’s never hit me. He wouldn’t.
And come on Leah, it’s not like that first attempt ever beat you... and he didn’t. It was one time. Just once on the arm and forget about the ring.
But I can’t forget it... not when the imprint’s under my sleeve.
I rolled it up, after a shift one day standing in the doorway to his quarters. I let the panel close, and then I just rolled it up and showed him. No pretense, no explanation, just here we go, I’m bearing my forearm and my soul now take it or leave it. And what I saw in his eyes then was something his visor couldn’t hide, unreadable as it outwardly makes him.
Righteous anger.
He wouldn’t hit me. Ever.
Richard only did it once, anyway--but it was enough. There’s such a difference, ebony and ivory... one sullied and one not. Second time’s the charm, I guess.
Blood doesn’t become Geordi. He hides it well, but he can hardly stand the sight of his own let alone anyone else’s. There’s no blood he’s wearing. His hands are clean. He’s a man and I’m a woman, we both have flaws but he knows about gentle, he knows how to listen, how to learn me and what that scar under my uniform means. There’s no blood he’s wearing. His mouth is clean.
And we’re both human. We’re fallible, we’ve both made some huge foul-ups before and there’s no doubt in my mind we’ll do it again... and again, and again ad infinitum. But we’re clean... cleaner.
So I guess this is congratulations Leah: You actually did it right.
Title: Second Time Charmed
Author: Chanter
Series: TNG, between series’ end and the movies
Pairings: Geordi/Leah, past-tense Leah/Richard
Rating: PG13 for reference to domestic abuse and intimacy
Summary: Written for the clean hands challenge but it ran over. Leah’s POV. We get into everything. But we’re cleaner.
506 words
We get into everything. Literally *everything*. Crazy things, routine ones, the everyday random surfaces that come with the line of our duty... everything.
The clay was Data’s idea, something to do with exploring humanity through self-expression. By the end of it all three of us looked like little kids, wrist deep in the art supplies.
The cookies were a midnight whim of mine... the replicator didn’t have a clue, the cook didn’t exist, so I went to the holodeck and turned the safeties off and by the end of the night we were covered in sugar and flour, but eating chocolate chip creations when they’re still warm and watching the sun come up through a holographic window... almost worth it. And totally worth us both being late to shift.
The rest comes with the territory, iron and energy and electricity, if current had a smell and some days I swear it does when we fall in to bed at the end of another shift and he’s just about to brush the hair out of my eyes, I’m just about to let him, our hands meet and it’s there on our skin.
He’s never hurt me. He’s argued with me, yelled at me as much as I’ve ever yelled at him, verbally dueled it out over design schematics or duty rosters or that trivial little holo-me years ago that started it all... but he’s never hit me. He wouldn’t.
And come on Leah, it’s not like that first attempt ever beat you... and he didn’t. It was one time. Just once on the arm and forget about the ring.
But I can’t forget it... not when the imprint’s under my sleeve.
I rolled it up, after a shift one day standing in the doorway to his quarters. I let the panel close, and then I just rolled it up and showed him. No pretense, no explanation, just here we go, I’m bearing my forearm and my soul now take it or leave it. And what I saw in his eyes then was something his visor couldn’t hide, unreadable as it outwardly makes him.
Righteous anger.
He wouldn’t hit me. Ever.
Richard only did it once, anyway--but it was enough. There’s such a difference, ebony and ivory... one sullied and one not. Second time’s the charm, I guess.
Blood doesn’t become Geordi. He hides it well, but he can hardly stand the sight of his own let alone anyone else’s. There’s no blood he’s wearing. His hands are clean. He’s a man and I’m a woman, we both have flaws but he knows about gentle, he knows how to listen, how to learn me and what that scar under my uniform means. There’s no blood he’s wearing. His mouth is clean.
And we’re both human. We’re fallible, we’ve both made some huge foul-ups before and there’s no doubt in my mind we’ll do it again... and again, and again ad infinitum. But we’re clean... cleaner.
So I guess this is congratulations Leah: You actually did it right.
