Nothings
by Charis
Disclaimer: Nothing here belongs to me.
Notes: Not really a shippy story at all, except in denial. I have no idea where this came from, but it sprang into being full-form in the period of perhaps fifteen minutes.
Whispered words fill the room; whispered words, and the sound of flesh on flesh. There is nothing gentle in the urgency of motion here, only push and pull and strain --
It does not matter that the names on both their lips, the names they strive not to cry out, are not each other's. Or rather, it matters because those are not their names. It matters because this way they can ignore the rules. Then it is unimportant that he is her patient or she his subordinate, because they are only friends, and this act has nothing of the heart in it.
Release is cathartic; she digs her nails into his hips and arches her back as he thrusts hard into her one last time, voiding deep inside. In the aftermath she lies back and looks up at the ceiling, listening to his rapid breathing slow as he collapses atop her. Before his weight has grown uncomfortable, before the sweat has begun to cool on her skin, he rolls off and gathers his clothes. She watches in silence. It is easier not to speak, and she lacks the impetus to move.
But once he is dressed he comes back to her side and kisses her, and now it is the gentle kiss of a friend, nothing like the hot, hungry ones of earlier. She tilts her head to look at him, unspoken query in her eyes.
He says nothing, only offers a faint smile that does nothing to hide the guilt on his features, echo of the guilt she hides far better. As the door clicks shut behind him, she moves enough to pull the sheet up over her body, and her shiver has nothing to do with the waft of cool air that marks his passing.
It's not what she wants. But, in the end, it's better than nothing.