A short snippet of a Bride of Loki draft, for both @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt of "Unbridled Rage" and @ockissweek's prompt of "Stolen"
"That is-"
Siv breathed out, refusing to let the ash of frustration leak out, before she walked up to Alpha One, rising up on her tiptoes to cup their face. A faint blue flush rushed across their face before she yanked them down.
She pressed her lips to their forehead, trying to resist the revulsion of a stolen kiss.
Their skin, or what passed as skin, felt cold and eerily smooth under her lips. They smelled sterile, with the undertone of copper, much like the Gate. Her stomach churned at the memory, allowing her to step back.
Alpha looked dazed.
"I-"
She slammed a fist into their chest.
The door, thankfully, opened before Alpha went flying through, a smoking print of her knuckles left on their chest. The remote clattered to the floor, leaving Siv to pick it up.
Her rage tasted like ash, like lava, but she couldn't explode.
For @1lostsoul0fishbowl, to whom I owe a K&M kissie. 😘
Karveth was glaring at the PADD in his hands when Monica got home and she had to chuckle a little, because the indignant set of his chin was really just too cute. "What's got your antennae all grumpy?” she asked, hanging up her jacket.
"I've been researching human marriage traditions to get a sense of what our wedding might entail, but there are so many variations!"
She smiled as she sat beside him on the couch. "Sorry about that. If it helps, most of those variations aren't anything we'll have to worry about. Unless something you ran across something in your reading that just strikes you as a really good idea."
"You said you wanted simple," he said, holding up the PADD as it had personally offended him. "Very little of this is simple."
"The nice thing about human weddings," Monica said, trying not to laugh at his disgruntlement, "is that they're pretty customizable. We only have to do the parts we want." She reached for him, stroking his nearer antenna with a soft, caressing hand. "And the only part that matters to me is getting to stand up in front of our friends and say 'This is what I want. He is what I want.'"
He inhaled deeply, and to her surprise, there was a quivering catch at the end of the breath. "I'd started to think that I would never have this," he said quietly. "That choosing Starfleet, choosing humans, had a price, and that price was a… a solitary life. I knew I would have friends and comrades, but beyond that…" He swallowed. "And then I met you."
"No solitary life here," she said softly, and smiled. "Not on my watch."
He sucked in another breath, his eyes squeezing shut. A tear splashed down onto his hand, and Monica took it, raised it to her lips and kissed it gently. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you too. And that's the only part of getting married that matters."
We're a lil late for Valentiones BUT OCKISSWEEK ISN'T OVER!
Qestir loves his bunboy, he needs to show it, that is his fluffy bnuuy with a lil kiss (at least he ain't biting this time)
Karveth stretched, smiling to himself at the sensation of the soft body beside his. Monica still slept, and snuggling up against her and luxuriating in her warmth sounded like one of the better ideas he'd had lately, and he frequently had excellent ideas, if he said so himself. But his stomach was informing him he should do something about its current empty state, and it made a compelling counterargument.
So he rolled carefully, not wanting to disturb her, and was sitting up when he felt a gentle but decisive hand on his back.
"Where do you think you're going?"
He glanced over his shoulder, and smiled at her half-closed eyes and mussed hair. "I was going to get something to eat."
"Hmmmm." She propped herself on her elbow, pressing a kiss to the edge of his shoulder blade, then another, angling herself up to kiss the base of his neck. He exhaled, enjoying her lips on his skin.
"Is that a problem?" He turned, and she reached for him, her hand cradling his jaw, pulling his lips to hers. He offered no resistance, because his stomach could say all kinds of things, but having her kiss him like that put him in mind of other sorts of hunger.
"Not if you promise to come right back." She punctuated the statement with another kiss. "And to not put on any more clothes." Another kiss. "And to bring me back something."
"I promise," he said solemnly, kissing her back. "And I promise." Another kiss. "And I promise."
"Thank you." She smiled, kissing him one last time before settling back down on her pillow. "Don't keep me waiting."
He should be resting, according to the doctors, but he was tired of the biobed, tired of being horizontal. So he'd gotten up and was slowly pacing the length and breadth of his small hospital room, trying to get his feet back under him. But Monica had only shifted and murmured when he got up, so he left her to sleep. She'd earned it.
An attendant had entered once, while he was still in bed, Monica beside him, and stopped short at the sight of them, curled together in a biobed meant for one. He simply gazed back at her steadily, and she'd shrugged and closed the door. This was necessary, after all. It was healing.
He took another turn of the room. He was tired, and he ached from a thousand bruises, large and small. His left antenna twinged - the drugs that aided cartilage repair were effective, but it was not a painless process. The pain felt good, though, in a way. It was proof that he was alive, still. His enemies had sought his life and been denied. And by the very aliens they hated. He would laugh, but right now, that hurt.
He glanced back at Monica, and the new ache that rose in his chest was no bruise. She hadn't asked for this. It wasn't right that she had had to endure that pain and that fear, even though he knew she had endured it. She was made of the hearts of stars, of mountains and the sea. Her flame could not be easily extinguished. But he hated that it might be dampened, even for a moment.
There was a small red mark on her forehead, a centimeter or so from her hairline. "My battle scar," she'd called it, and warned him not to trouble Tucker for its existence. And he wouldn't, because he had trusted Tucker with all their lives, and that trust had, yet again, been rewarded.
She took a deep breath in her sleep, and he leaned down, carefully minding his ribs, and touched his lips to the little wound. His valiant r'eyslen, his dauntless beloved. The fire in his heart, the blade in his hand.
She stirred. "Karveth? Everything okay?" she mumbled.
"Everything's fine, sh'tal."
"You're the one who's supposed to be resting," she said, opening one eye to give him a pointed look. He smiled.
"Then make room for me again."
She scooted over to the bed's edge, and he lay back down, opening his arms to let her roll back into them. She sighed softly, her head tucked to his shoulder, and he took a deep breath. The pain felt good, but this was better.
"There," Karveth said from inside the Fat Mo's walk-in cooler, closing a panel beside the door. "An easy fix." Monica, standing in the doorway with her arms hugged around herself, grinned at him.
"You're so good at this. Ever think about going into starship engineering?"
He gave her a dry look, his antennae flicking with amusement as he bent to pack up his tools. "I think," he said, straightening and dusting his hands, "that having completed my charge, I deserve a kiss."
"You know what?" She stepped into the cooler and wound her arms around his neck, shivering for two very different reasons. "I think you do."
He smiled and leaned into her, meeting her upraised lips with his own. They kissed deep and slow, enjoying every sensation, and there was no meaningful way to gauge the time that passed as they savored one another, until an unexpected sound intruded on their attention.
It was the delicate clearing of an apologetic throat, and their heads turned in unison to behold the spare, bearded man in the doorway.
Monica coughed lightly. "Hi, Mo."
"Mr. Abdel." Karveth inclined his head, antennae dipping respectfully.
The corner of Mo's mouth twitched. "Supervising, Monica?" She coughed again.
"Something like that."
"I admire your dedication. May I get some lettuce?" He stepped past them, fetching down a flat of lettuce heads, a smile still lurking at the edges of his mouth.
When he was gone, Monica and Karveth looked at one another and laughed. "Maybe we should take this somewhere more private?" she suggested.
