Post by Shipfish on May 5, 2012 21:45:19 GMT -6
So I am deeply in love with this ship. It involves Kemorabi and Carinate, Kemorabi who is of course Second and Cata's moirail. Carinate is I think Seventh and he is very doctory.
I cannot resist writing fluff for them. Enjoy.
Warning: YAOIS AHEAD.
Written first from Kem's POV and then Cari's.
Everything was wrong, everything was wrong!
The hallway seemed to tilt dizzyingly as he staggered away from Kyachril's quarters. She was deep inside the mental battle playing inside her head, an exact replica of the one playing out a thousand miles below. She could barely spare him a glance in that state, and even that had cost the lives of a company of infantrymen.
Another attack started. The calm grey and white walls became insane sounds in his ears, shrieking and howling, and the fresh smell of filtered air from a nearby vent nearly blinded him with ribbons of pink light. The very feeling of movement, unnoticeable normally, hurt like being frozen, each joint filled with ice-packed gravel. He fell to the floor, curling up in a fetal position, willing the torture to stop. The cold floor was like the taste of sour milk.
As if from very far away, a small mote of light drifted across his closed eyes. Vaguely, he recognized it as the sound of his own name. As much as he wanted to, he could not spare the energy to move, too much of it was being used to keep his sanity.
The warm hands of some friendly troll were a shock, a fanfare across his senses. Opening his eyes, he vaguely recognized a troll of Kyachril's crew, though he was too far gone to understand who he was or what he was saying. Soon, he was being dragged by his hands down the hall, trying very hard not to scream from the horrible, awful confusion of it all.
At the end of that particular journey, he found himself in a dark room that smelled rather pleasant. The attack had faded, so the crossing of his senses was not so acutely painful, but still he felt wrong, unclean. Thankfully, the sure hands that had dragged him, then led him as he got the strength to stand, directed him to a small but clean bathroom. A voice told him to shower. He realized that he was covered in many colors of blood.
The constant pounding of the water helped. Slowly, teasingly, his mind rearranged itself, chasing after half-forgotten flashes of memory. He couldn't remember quite why he had been driven into such a state, but the event would probably return to him eventually. Suddenly tired, his hands fumbled at the handle for turning the shower off, and stumbled out to get a towel that was hanging on a nearby rack. He didn't even look at himself in the mirror, simply hung the absorbent fabric around his hips and found the door.
But his mind was not as clear as he had thought. The semi-darkness, the scent in the room messed with his head, with the way he saw things.
Everything spiraled away from his thoughts. His head was hung low, his hair plastered to his head and water dripped down his face, sliding off to fall until it splattered into the carpet below. The tiniest movement in the corner of his eye brought his head up. A troll faced away from him, shirtless, picking out a new garment from a dresser. Some unknown signal made the troll look up.
He didn't remember getting there, but suddenly he was behind the troll, holding him close. The feeling of their bodies pressed together was intoxicating, intimate. Some distant part of his mind heard the warning whisper of his name. He responded, letting a shhhhh escape his lips. Sliding his fingers over the bare skin of the other troll and planting a warm, lingering kiss on his shoulder, a low gasp was the only answer he needed to continue.
He heard a gentle thunk from an adjoining hallway. Having nothing better to do, and thus investigating, he was concerned to find a troll curled around himself on the floor.
He jogged towards him, observing. He was shivering violently, though it was perfectly warm. He had his hands clutched over his ears, and his eyes were screwed shut. He was covered in blood, all types of troll's blood. The shape of his horns, his height, extremely obvious even as he was laying down, triggered something. This was... this was Second.
Kemorabi he said, loud enough to get past his clenched hands. Second's arms relaxed almost imperceptibly, but Kemorabi barely stirred when he shook him by the shoulder. Only one eye peeked open, but a flash of recognition did not pass his eyes. He was too out of it to recognize him.
What should he do? His first thought was to take Kemorabi to the Catalyst, since she would be able to bring him back to reality, but she was embroiled in the war right now, everyone knew that. Failing that... Well Second obviously needed a good cleaning, and possibly some medication. So he would take him to the infirmary.
But that was three floors down, and Kemorabi may not make it that far without spilling the contents of his stomach on the floor. His rooms were closer, and he would probably have the correct medicines in his personal cabinet anyway. And besides, he could get himself clean in a shower, rather than have the interns sponge him down. A hot shower might help the obvious confusion.
Whispering an apology, he untangled one of his hands from around Second's ear and started dragging him towards his rooms. After a junction, he paused to rest, and Kemorabi had the presence of mind to stand. Still, his head stayed pointed at the ground, and his knees looked weak. He led Kemorabi more easily then.
Arriving in his rooms, he was greeted by the comforting scent of home on the ship. He always kept it a little dark in here, it helped him focus when he needed to. But right now it was good for Second, who seemed more at ease once his visual acuity was diminished. Taking slow steps, he guided Kemorabi to his bathroom, and instructed him twice to use the shower. The second time was the charm, and he began undressing almost before he had closed the door.
Sighing long and deep, he set about collecting the medicine from around his room. Crossing in front of the mirror on his dresser, he saw that he had quite a bit of multi-colored blood soaking his shirt. Snorting in disgust, he pulled it off and tossed it in the dirty-clothes basket.
After he brought the medicine together, and mixed it together in a little applesauce to mask the taste, he stood in front of his dresser to pick out another shirt. As he was rifling through the selection, he heard the shower stop, and started to hurry so Kemorabi would come out right as he had picked out a new garment. But Second opened the door prematurely. He could see through the mirror that he was clad only in a towel draped loosely across his hips.
He froze, completely. Second still didn't look quite right: his head was bowed, and his hair was stuck to his head in such a way that it suggested he had not taken the time to dry his hair. He was so incredibly tall, his torso seemingly stretched, and he cut an elegant figure, even so down-looking as he was.
He glanced up, and Second's eyes focused on him. Quite suddenly, Kemorabi was pressed up against his back, the towel a forgotten heap on the floor by the bathroom. He leaned forward in surprise, but Second formed to his new position unconsciously. In a warning tone, he said Second's name, Kemorabi, to try to snap him out of it, though the attempt was half-hearted at best.
But Kemorabi only said shhhhh and sent his fingers exploring across his bare chest. He would not let himself think of how lovely the touch felt. When Second's lips touched his shoulder, skin on skin, he could not resist giving a low gasp of approval, and more came when Second continued.
I cannot resist writing fluff for them. Enjoy.
Warning: YAOIS AHEAD.
Written first from Kem's POV and then Cari's.
Everything was wrong, everything was wrong!
The hallway seemed to tilt dizzyingly as he staggered away from Kyachril's quarters. She was deep inside the mental battle playing inside her head, an exact replica of the one playing out a thousand miles below. She could barely spare him a glance in that state, and even that had cost the lives of a company of infantrymen.
Another attack started. The calm grey and white walls became insane sounds in his ears, shrieking and howling, and the fresh smell of filtered air from a nearby vent nearly blinded him with ribbons of pink light. The very feeling of movement, unnoticeable normally, hurt like being frozen, each joint filled with ice-packed gravel. He fell to the floor, curling up in a fetal position, willing the torture to stop. The cold floor was like the taste of sour milk.
As if from very far away, a small mote of light drifted across his closed eyes. Vaguely, he recognized it as the sound of his own name. As much as he wanted to, he could not spare the energy to move, too much of it was being used to keep his sanity.
The warm hands of some friendly troll were a shock, a fanfare across his senses. Opening his eyes, he vaguely recognized a troll of Kyachril's crew, though he was too far gone to understand who he was or what he was saying. Soon, he was being dragged by his hands down the hall, trying very hard not to scream from the horrible, awful confusion of it all.
At the end of that particular journey, he found himself in a dark room that smelled rather pleasant. The attack had faded, so the crossing of his senses was not so acutely painful, but still he felt wrong, unclean. Thankfully, the sure hands that had dragged him, then led him as he got the strength to stand, directed him to a small but clean bathroom. A voice told him to shower. He realized that he was covered in many colors of blood.
The constant pounding of the water helped. Slowly, teasingly, his mind rearranged itself, chasing after half-forgotten flashes of memory. He couldn't remember quite why he had been driven into such a state, but the event would probably return to him eventually. Suddenly tired, his hands fumbled at the handle for turning the shower off, and stumbled out to get a towel that was hanging on a nearby rack. He didn't even look at himself in the mirror, simply hung the absorbent fabric around his hips and found the door.
But his mind was not as clear as he had thought. The semi-darkness, the scent in the room messed with his head, with the way he saw things.
Everything spiraled away from his thoughts. His head was hung low, his hair plastered to his head and water dripped down his face, sliding off to fall until it splattered into the carpet below. The tiniest movement in the corner of his eye brought his head up. A troll faced away from him, shirtless, picking out a new garment from a dresser. Some unknown signal made the troll look up.
He didn't remember getting there, but suddenly he was behind the troll, holding him close. The feeling of their bodies pressed together was intoxicating, intimate. Some distant part of his mind heard the warning whisper of his name. He responded, letting a shhhhh escape his lips. Sliding his fingers over the bare skin of the other troll and planting a warm, lingering kiss on his shoulder, a low gasp was the only answer he needed to continue.
He heard a gentle thunk from an adjoining hallway. Having nothing better to do, and thus investigating, he was concerned to find a troll curled around himself on the floor.
He jogged towards him, observing. He was shivering violently, though it was perfectly warm. He had his hands clutched over his ears, and his eyes were screwed shut. He was covered in blood, all types of troll's blood. The shape of his horns, his height, extremely obvious even as he was laying down, triggered something. This was... this was Second.
Kemorabi he said, loud enough to get past his clenched hands. Second's arms relaxed almost imperceptibly, but Kemorabi barely stirred when he shook him by the shoulder. Only one eye peeked open, but a flash of recognition did not pass his eyes. He was too out of it to recognize him.
What should he do? His first thought was to take Kemorabi to the Catalyst, since she would be able to bring him back to reality, but she was embroiled in the war right now, everyone knew that. Failing that... Well Second obviously needed a good cleaning, and possibly some medication. So he would take him to the infirmary.
But that was three floors down, and Kemorabi may not make it that far without spilling the contents of his stomach on the floor. His rooms were closer, and he would probably have the correct medicines in his personal cabinet anyway. And besides, he could get himself clean in a shower, rather than have the interns sponge him down. A hot shower might help the obvious confusion.
Whispering an apology, he untangled one of his hands from around Second's ear and started dragging him towards his rooms. After a junction, he paused to rest, and Kemorabi had the presence of mind to stand. Still, his head stayed pointed at the ground, and his knees looked weak. He led Kemorabi more easily then.
Arriving in his rooms, he was greeted by the comforting scent of home on the ship. He always kept it a little dark in here, it helped him focus when he needed to. But right now it was good for Second, who seemed more at ease once his visual acuity was diminished. Taking slow steps, he guided Kemorabi to his bathroom, and instructed him twice to use the shower. The second time was the charm, and he began undressing almost before he had closed the door.
Sighing long and deep, he set about collecting the medicine from around his room. Crossing in front of the mirror on his dresser, he saw that he had quite a bit of multi-colored blood soaking his shirt. Snorting in disgust, he pulled it off and tossed it in the dirty-clothes basket.
After he brought the medicine together, and mixed it together in a little applesauce to mask the taste, he stood in front of his dresser to pick out another shirt. As he was rifling through the selection, he heard the shower stop, and started to hurry so Kemorabi would come out right as he had picked out a new garment. But Second opened the door prematurely. He could see through the mirror that he was clad only in a towel draped loosely across his hips.
He froze, completely. Second still didn't look quite right: his head was bowed, and his hair was stuck to his head in such a way that it suggested he had not taken the time to dry his hair. He was so incredibly tall, his torso seemingly stretched, and he cut an elegant figure, even so down-looking as he was.
He glanced up, and Second's eyes focused on him. Quite suddenly, Kemorabi was pressed up against his back, the towel a forgotten heap on the floor by the bathroom. He leaned forward in surprise, but Second formed to his new position unconsciously. In a warning tone, he said Second's name, Kemorabi, to try to snap him out of it, though the attempt was half-hearted at best.
But Kemorabi only said shhhhh and sent his fingers exploring across his bare chest. He would not let himself think of how lovely the touch felt. When Second's lips touched his shoulder, skin on skin, he could not resist giving a low gasp of approval, and more came when Second continued.