And then her mouth, more delicate
than the frail wood-anemone,
Brushes my cheek, and deeper grow
the purple shadows.
(18)
It feels like it could be a dream. The sun is falling down; its last rays shining through the trees and illuminating the curves of Spock's face, dark eyes filled with more emotion than she has ever seen in them before. She opens her mouth as if to speak, but no words come out, voice sticking and her eyes dart down again, blinking once or twice as if to hold tears back, as if she would ever cry.
Jamie is standing closer to her than she ever has before, close enough that she can feel the warmth that radiates from Spock's skin, hear the sound of each sob-hitched breath, and see the tears that threaten to fall just beneath her lashes.
She wants to speak, but she can't think of the words. Tomorrow, she knows, there will be action – for now, Spock needs a comfort that Jamie, with all her raging anger and destructive youth, cannot offer. She thinks of calling Nyota, but then Spock reaches a hand out for hers, barely touching skin with skin but close enough that Jamie can feel her hand tremble, and she stops resisting temptation and steps forward to pull her close, enclosing the other girl's body in her arms.
Spock, usually so strong and stalwart, the very embodiment of semi-interested detachment and cool-headedness, is trembling like a leaf in her arms. She leans her head onto Jamie's shoulder and closes her eyes, and Jamie lets her hands settle across her back, holding her close. She wonders, for a second, if this is how her mother felt once, if this was why she sought other men's arms: because when she was alone she could feel sorrow humming under her skin.
She holds Spock tighter and she feels the rise and fall of Spock's chest against hers and the way her eyelashes flutter against her skin, and when Spock leans back she lets her go but holds her close still, keeps their fingers wrapped together as if to anchor to this world.
This wasn't how she wanted it to happen, and yet when Spock leans forward to press a shy, soft kiss to her cheek she lets it happen, holds her close again and in the dying sunlight she counts the kisses Spock leaves against her skin and returns each in favour. Spock, so confident in everything else, is shy in this – with Jamie, so carefree, and she makes sure to keep a firm hold on her, to remind her that it will be okay.
Finally, they break apart again, and Spock's eyes are cast low again, this time not hiding tears but staring at her lips – the final frontier, Jamie thinks with a tiny internal laugh – and it barely takes a breath for Jamie to reach one hand up to her cheek and pull her close to kiss her, once and once again and Spock lets out all her breath in a sigh and pushes them closer together.
Shadows grow, and Jamie curls one hand around Spock's waist and pulls her head closer with the other, closes her eyes and lets the wind blow across her shoulders and Spock's hands settle on her skin, anchoring her to earth.
Translation notes:
The translation I'm using for this is Bliss Carman's translation/reconstruction of Sappho's poems (Sappho: One Hundred Lyrics is the official title). This mean, of course, that it is more likely that my prompt extracts are Carman's rather than Sappho's. I don't really care, because Carman's poems are pretty fucking beautiful.'
Scholarly' cred:
I'm a first year Classics student, have studied both languages for over five years, have group-translated two of Sappho's extracts and decided I never want to look at them in Greek again.
Fic notes:
Yep, it's an extract from That Uni AU Fic.
Happy Femslash February!
