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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"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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