steelartisan | (no subject)

(no subject)

Serenity is a very nice ship. Cozy. The room Kate and Piotr inhabit is small, but it's comfortable, and Mal and his crew are both kind and generous to let them live there for so long.

But small passenger bunks on a small spaceship, however cozy, do not have lots of extra room for easels. And it's generally considered rude to accidentally smudge oil paint on your host's floor and walls.

Which is why Piotr is out by the lake, taking advantage of the morning sun to work on a new canvas.

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Her face softens, a little.

Only a little but it's there as she shifts--not quite on his lap, but the best she can in this position.

"You're a jerk. And I'm angry at you," she says first, calmly, before sighing and lifting a hand to his cheek.

"And you're Piotr. You're mine. I've lost you more times than I can count, and I refuse to lose you again."

And then her face softens a little more as she leans in to kiss him, gently. "You always take care of me. Even when I don't want you too. Remember the Brood?" Her smile's crooked. "We both wished I was older. But you wanted to take care of me and love me best you could. So you made us wait.

"I'm older, now. And I'm going to take care of you. Like it or not, bub." The second kiss is a little longer, if just as gentle as the first. "It's not just you. We're an endangered species, sweetie. And in a perfect world there not being many mutants wouldn't be an issue and your great-grandfather wouldn't have a chance of taking over your body. But we've never lived in one. And they're reasons that matter. And," she murmurs against his mouth, "I want your children, Piotr Nikolievitch Rasputin. There's that too. And I don't know if this will work. I don't know if I can go that long without phasing, and I don't know that it won't be hard to conceive anyway. But I'm not going to take my pill tonight. And we're going to see a doctor, to start this off right, as soon as we can. And you're going to fuck me and make love to me many," and there's a kiss to break the words up, "many," and another, "many times, tovarisch. And we're going to make this work if we can."

"Я тебя люблю, Катя." I love you.

He's shifted by now to cradle her more comfortably in his lap, and he cups her cheek with a broad hand, runs his fingers gently through her hair.

(The paint on his hands has dried by now. Which is a good thing, as he's not especially noticing it any more.)

Another kiss, and longer, before he whispers, still in Russian, "Are you certain? I do not -- We both need to be sure."

But he is.

It almost hurts, how much he loves her right now. Almost.

"Da," she says simply, thumb rubbing his cheekbone. "You're stuck with me for life. And that makes me certain enough."

She smiles as she turns her head to kiss his wrist.

"Might not work. Might hurt. But we're going to try it, Peter. Try for me to have your baby. We'll see what happens after that."

There is a question he very nearly asks, right then.

But no. He will do this properly. (But, he thinks, he will be looking at jewelry stores, now.)

So instead he only says "I love you," again, soft and Russian and heartfelt, and kisses her.

It's only when they have to break apart again for breath that he meets her eyes and murmurs, "Our baby. If we can." So many ifs -- but he doesn't know how much his face lights up at just those words.

She does, though, and it makes her want to laugh, her own smile small and very, very, very happy.

"If we can," she murmurs back, and knows saying it that way won't keep them from having high hopes.

"Little you and me. Like that thought," Kate smiles again as she presses kisses to his neck, one after another.

"I love you, Piotr." Her arms are firm around his neck as she whispers. "You'll be such a good father. Little girl or boy Pryde-Rasputin will be very lucky."

"You will be a wonderful mother."

It is, to him, just fact.

He kisses her temple, wraps his arms around her and smiles against her hair, and feels as if his skin is too small for the love inside him, as if the summer sunshine is just an echo of the warmth between them.

There are ifs and maybes and complications. But he loves her, and this is something he's been hoping for for eleven years.

"Maybe," she whispers, smiling more.

"We'll ask our baby when he's old enough to talk what he thinks." Kate mouths slowly at Piotr's jaw before murmuring into his ear, "You're the only one I'd do this with."

In many ways, they know each other very, very well.

"My beautiful Katya," he whispers into her neck, low and a little husky, and takes his time with kissing his way back up to her mouth.

It's not perfect. It's not certain. It's not all either of them could want.

But this, here, the two of them and this decision and this hope in the summer sunlight, is so much more than enough.

"Yeah, well. If you ever keep something like that from me again for this long I'll be you're ready to kill you Katya instead.'

Still, she's smiling into his skin and breathing slowly and contentedly.

"We're also totally going to start trying tonight," she adds after a moment.

For one very nice reason.

Trying can be fun.

"You will still be beautiful."

What? It's true!

"I didn't want you to feel... obligated," he adds, softer. "Or guilty."

"And I did not know how to talk about it. I didn't want to."

"Well, I hope so." That's dry, as she kisses his neck very softly.

And then she kisses him again. "I know. S'why I didn't push. But you should have this time before this. It doesn't make me feel better to know you were keeping this." It's a very gentle movement as she cups his cheek. "You wanted me crowding you. You got it, Piotr, but that means you being open with me. Especially on the big things."

This kiss is long and deep, and Kate smiles against his mouth without entirely pulling away. "I don't feel obligated. Don't feel guilty. Just feel love for you, Peter. I want this with you. For many reasons. But the love's kinda important."

"All right," he says softly in Russian, and it's to all of that. Both halves.

He's smiling just a little, small and lopsided and very warm, and he cradles the back of her head with a hand.

"You are so good for me, Katya."

"And don't you forget it."

The tone is gentler than the words, as she shifts in his lap to face him more easily, hold him that much closer.

"You're going to be a good daddy," she murmurs again, and this time she lets herself believe, a little more, that this is going to work out.

"Any more secrets?"

Piotr thinks carefully -- it matters, and he is a thoughtful man anyway -- before he shakes his head.

And holds her just as close as she's holding him, their foreheads just inches apart.

"Good," she whispers, leaning in enough for their foreheads to meet.

"How badly do you want to finish your painting right now?"

"The light is wrong now," Piotr says gravely, after a moment's solemn consideration. Or pretense thereof.

"It would probably be best to leave it for tomorrow."

Kate smiles.

And tilts her head to mouth very, very deliberately, under his ear, scraping her teeth along his skin after a moment and whispering, "What would you like to do instead?"

...Kate is getting unceremoniously scooped up.

"I think," he murmurs, setting out towards the easel, "that we can think of something."

With a small grin down at her, "Maybe board games. Da? There is that one you like."

"I was thinking more strip poker," she says innocently, wrapping her legs around his waist.

Kate has, for the record, marked the deck.

"Or," she murmurs against his ear, just as innocently, "you could fuck me through the bed. Though hopefully not literally."

One arm supporting Kate; the other scooping up easel and paints. It's a little precarious, but Piotr really has other priorities at the moment than the precise sturdiness of his canvas.

"One of those," he agrees comfortably, though the flush spreading across his cheekbones may give the lie to the placid tone he's managing. "Da."

A room in the bar is closer, larger, and involves less carrying of easels through narrow corridors. Isn't that handy.

"Good plan," she murmurs and kisses the flushed cheeks with a grin.

And then they do, in fact, do one of those, and lie curled together afterwards, Piotr's hand stroking Kate's hair, Kate listening to his heart beat under her head on his chest.

Later, though, Kate wakes up and sees her hand resting through the pillow and feels her stomach drop out beneath her. She thought--she knew, of course she knew, but she'd hoped that maybe this time she--

It doesn't matter. (It's all that matters right now.) She phased, either way.

She takes her pill that night after a murmured explanation to Piotr.

It's just a delay. All she has to do is remember that. Just a delay.

For a little while.

She just doesn't know how long that might be.

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