Work Text:
It’s bright and hot and humid where you are. This planet is lush, tangled with rainforest, and you hate the briny smell that seems to linger wherever you go. The small clearing you’ve chosen to camp in is surrounded by trees taller than you’ve ever seen and the deepest green. The air looks verdant and wet, hazy all the time. But you and Coronabeth have found a sort of rhythm in your days here: wake up, complete your missions for Blood of Eden, cook some sort of meal together, go to bed in the safety of your small shuttle before it gets too dark to see anymore. There’s not much small talk or entertainment to be had, but it suits you.
Coronabeth is in a foul mood today; all bitten back insults and sarcasm, your least favorite type of mood. She asks to spar with you, which isn’t necessarily an odd request, so you agree easily. From the get go, Coronabeth is off. But she is determined as she takes a foolhardy swing at you and it’s bad: bad form, bad footwork, bad everything. You’ve been going like this for a while. She’s ignored all of your coaching, all of your warnings.
Sweat drips down your neck and temples, dampening your clothes. She doesn’t seem to be faring any better. Her hair is in tangles, swinging around her shoulders with every move. Coronabeth’s eyes are glassy with what you suspect are unshed tears and you almost feel sorry for how easy it is for you to step out of the way and knock her main hand to the side, sending her off balance. She glares at you as she comes out of her stumble, righting herself with a curse word that doesn’t seem to fit her sunshine facade, hair sticking to her forehead. You study her calmly, distancing yourself with a short step back.
“Easy,” you say in warning, hoping it will encourage her to stop and think through her next few steps.
Coronabeth ignores you and advances instead. Her next swing is reckless and sloppy and you almost leave yourself open just so she can get a jab in but it would be a disservice to her. You parry again, knocking her arm to the side and advance quickly, taking her by surprise. She just manages to block your swing, your rapier getting uncomfortably close to her. She’s better than this. You know it. She definitely knows it. She recovers and swings again, letting out a bark of anger. You block it, easily. Still, she drives in close to you again.
“Tridentarius,” you say in a low, warning voice as she pushes her blade against yours, her teeth grit together. She won’t meet your eyes and you shove, hard, then retreat, sheathing your blade. “We’re done.”
“No,” she shouts. “Fight me.”
You frown at her. “No. We’re done,” you repeat.
Coronabeth throws her rapier down and crosses the space between the two of you. She reaches up to push you and you angle your body just in time, her hand grazing your shoulder as she falls past you, hitting her knees. She stays there for a long, drawn out moment and you think maybe the fight has left her. Kneeling, you reach out, your hand stopping just short of her shoulder.
“Third,” you said, your voice cautious.
She looks at you then, her eyes angry, and throws her body on top of yours, knocking you to the ground. She’s heavier than you anticipate and the wind is briefly knocked from your lungs. She takes a swing with the side of her fist, catching your forearm as you lift it to defend yourself, and you hiss at the sudden pain. She’s strong, but you’re faster, and you swing your leg over her hips to tip her onto her side, then her back, pinning her.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” you ask, your palms pressing her wrists into the ground. Coronabeth wrestles a hand away and moves to strike you again. You lift your hand to block her and she lets out another burst of sound, a growl of frustration, as her fist meets your wrist.
“Why won’t you fight me?” she snarls, pulling her arm back to hit again.
“Why would I?” you ask. You catch her wrist and pin it once again, holding both her arms over her head. “What would I be fighting you for?”
You can feel her hips lifting, her legs flailing behind you as she struggles to get free. Her voice is harsh and heated, little more than grunts and the occasional yelp. If she thought through her anger long enough, she’d realize she has a clear advantage. Her long legs could wrap around your torso and she’d be able to practically catapult you from her body. Then, suddenly, a strangled sob breaks out of her mouth and you look at her face, really look at it, and realize she’s crying and her body goes still. Tears streak across her temples, dropping into the dark soil beneath her and her chest heaves with great, shaking breaths.
You let go of her wrists and sit up, sliding off her body to kneel beside her. Coronabeth doesn’t move, just pulls her hands down to cover her face, and cries. It’s a painful sound, like her ribs are being knocked free, her body emptied of air, just miserable howls of sorrow and anger and the heaviest grief. Her wrists are red where you held them and you’re sure they’ll bruise. Guilt sweeps through you at the thought. You’re not sure what to do for her, so you just sit and wait, turning your face away to give her some privacy. She cries for what seems like hours, though you’re sure it’s just a few minutes. Then she sniffles and wipes at her face with one hand. You look back at her, just to see if she’s okay.
“Please,” she says, her voice a quiet rasp. “Don’t look at me like that, Hect.” You turn away again. “I’m quite embarrassed,” she continues.
You’ve never known Coronabeth to be embarrassed a day in her life. You stay quiet, letting her gather her composure. She sits up, drawing those long legs underneath herself and you listen to her quiet sniffling. There’s not much you can say to her at this point. It’s been hard on everyone this last year. Lives filled with death and pain and unanswered questions. But where you find solace and purpose in the loneliness, you know she finds misery. After a few minutes, she sighs and looks at you through a veil of curls.
“You find me insufferable, don’t you?”
Her question startles you and you feel your eyebrows pull together. You find that she is many things - Overbearing? Sometimes. Headstrong? She can be. But insufferable?
“No,” you say simply.
She leans forward a bit, brushing her hair from her face. Coronabeth’s knees are grass stained, her shirt partly untucked and the buttons near her throat have all come undone, causing it to gap away from her chest. You force your eyes to hers and her violet eyes are wide and sad, her cheeks flushed and tearstained. She seems very small.
“We’ve lost quite a bit,” she says in a shaky voice. “All of us.”
It’s all stated very matter of factly because it is, simply, a fact. Right now there is nothing for any of you but war and misery and loneliness. Most of the people you know and love are gone. Or you know you won’t see them again any time soon, if ever, and that hurts somewhere you never knew you could hurt before.
“Yes, we have.” Your answer, too, is matter of fact.
“I’m terribly sorry for losing myself just now. Sometimes, I feel quite angry about it,” her voice is even, belying the emotion you know is simmering there under the surface. Her cheeks flush as she says it and she glances away for a moment, just staring at nothing. Then her eyes move back to yours and you nod. You feel the same way.
In the silence that falls between you, Coronabeth’s eyes are searching yours, as if answers can be found there. It’s unnerving and makes your stomach twist in ways you’ve tried valiantly to ignore in the past. Not unpleasant, but certainly not something you’ve felt you had even the slightest chance of exploring. It’s never been the time, not now, not ever, to figure out what you feel when she looks at you a bit too long, or a bit too directly, or when her fingers brush your hand as you’re passing BOE briefs to her. Sometimes, she insists on laying down in the cool, shaded grass with you after long duels, and talks to you about everything she can think of, and your hands lay side by side, close enough you feel the energy from her skin like a buzz in the air between your fingers.
This is what you could never confront.
Coronabeth is still staring at you. “Where did you go?” she asks.
You take a deep breath and steady yourself. “Nowhere.”
Her eyes narrow and she leans in a bit closer. You feel hard pressed to breathe with her so close. “You’re a good liar to everyone but me, Sixth.”
Maybe it’s Coronabeth’s honest, open question, or the crying, or the bruises starting to show on her wrists that you deeply regret, or the way her face looks when she says Sixth like she’s about to kiss someone, but suddenly you are very aware of her, all of her. She’s just so beautiful, a bold and vibrant presence that you can’t ignore and you really don’t want to.
So when she tucks her hair behind her ears and leans very deliberately into your space and presses her lips to yours, you don’t have any desire to stop her. Her mouth is soft, her lips gentle as she kisses you. You sit and let her kiss you and you enjoy it, though you’re not sure if you should. Maybe it would be better for you - better for her - if you gently pushed her away, denied that you wanted her to keep kissing you. Coronabeth makes the decision for you when she tentatively sweeps her tongue against your lips like a whisper and you part them and let her in. She is undemanding and you are far too cautious to even lift your hands and touch her shoulders, despite what you may actually want. You sit and kiss, just your mouths pressed together, your bodies angled like a pair of steepled fingers. It’s all surprisingly chaste and gentle but it makes your stomach clench in a wonderful way and the blood rushes from your head and you imagine that you can feel her mouth everywhere. And for the first time in your life, you admit to yourself how much you like and want Coronabeth Tridentarius.
When Coronabeth breathes a sigh into your mouth, it feels like fire and you don’t want to sit back and do the honorable thing. The next decision happens without much thought behind it, but it is full of want . You move forward and you put your hands on her waist and pull her close to you. She gasps at the sudden movement and you go still, analyzing, waiting to see how she feels. Her mouth doesn’t move from yours, though, and then she wraps her arms around your shoulders and presses a hand up the nape of your neck into your hair. And you’re kissing her in earnest, all tongues and teeth and lips, tasting the way her beautiful mouth tastes. It’s better than you’d imagined and, for some reason, that makes you feel a little sad.
Her hand is moving from your back to your shoulders and her fingers are dragging against your collarbone and you’re worried that maybe you should stop her, so you reach up and loosely hold her wrist in your hand.
“Third,” you whisper, breaking the kiss for the first time.
Coronabeth’s eyes are dark as she stares at you and whispers in return, “Say my name.”
It’s an informality you’ve never afforded yourself, or her, and it feels foreign to say it out loud but you do. You close your eyes and say her name, Coronabeth , and it sounds like a prayer. She almost cuts you off with how quickly she kisses you again, her lips moving more insistently, a moan breaking from between your mouths. Her fingers graze your collarbone again through your shirt and then she lifts herself up and over you, straddling your lap, pushing you back down onto the grass. You see the symmetry in her actions from earlier and it’s oddly pleasing.
Coronabeth stretches out across your body, one leg wedged between yours, and her weight is comfortable. She rests on her elbows, brushing your hair back from your face as she kisses you slowly, moving her mouth against yours almost lazily, while one hand cups your cheek. She slides her tongue against your lips again and you willingly part them, your tongues meeting. You lift your hands and place them on Coronabeth’s back, your fingertips pressed to the curve of her spine, and you feel her smile against your mouth. She is surprisingly muscular, strong and sturdy. Her hair is like a curtain, hanging low on either side of your face, obscuring your vision. There’s a part of you that feels unsettled at being so vulnerable - unable to see if anyone should come upon you - but the larger part, the part that belongs to these miniscule spaces between your bodies, tells you quietly Stay , and you do. You drag a hand down her body, touching the gentle dip of her lower back. It’s as far as you dare go. Her thigh also presses very pleasantly between your legs and you make a sound without meaning to, something resembling a moan. You close your eyes and will your heart to stop racing. It doesn’t listen. You open them again.
A moment later, Coronabeth pulls away and looks at you and you at her and her lips pull into that brilliant smile of hers. “Oh,” she says, as if being presented with the answer to a very long and complicated equation.
You want her to do it again. You want to lose yourself in it and in her and together forget about everything else that’s happening around you - planets dying and the Blood of Eden and Lyctorhood and bloodshed and God - but you can’t. As she shifts her leg deliberately against you again, you press one hand to her hip to still her and the other to the side of her neck and shake your head. She looks a little crestfallen and you lift your head to kiss her, open-mouthed, fully giving yourself over to it for the few moments you can afford to. It’s all you can do right now. But you hope it speaks what words cannot. You break the kiss and she drops her head gently, touching her forehead to yours, her beautiful violet eyes shut tight. Her fingers brush through your hair again. They’re gentle where they meet the skin of your cheeks and throat and you wish you could just stay here.
Coronabeth pulls her hands away eventually and kneels, still straddling you. Your hands are resting lightly on her thighs now and you’re taken, again, by how strong she truly is. She looks around the clearing as if seeing it for the first time that day. The green light turns her skin a sickly olive and you want to pull her back down, see her again through the light that had filtered through her curtain of curls. But she stands, extending a hand to you, and helps you up. As you turn to walk away, unsure of where to go next, she pulls your hand - the hand she’s still holding - and kisses you one last time, ducking down to meet your lips with hers.
“To remember me by,” Coronabeth says with a false cheeriness as she pulls away, winking. Her knees are stained worse than before, her shirt completely untucked, her hair mussed beyond repair, and she looks beautiful. She walks towards the ship and you sense she wants to be alone so you stay where you are as she disappears into the small shuttle. Standing alone then, in the quiet clearing, surrounded by trees, your heart thuds in your chest, painfully reminding you that you’re real and you’re here and she is too but the timing is off by a million years and you wonder how long you’ve known that you love her.