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BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - DRAMA
Red plus blue equals purple, but red, blue, and green make music. [R/S, R/J, S/R/J]
CATEGORY: FICTION TIMES READ: 966 RATING: 9 SERIES: FIREFLY
Title: Color of Music
Author: Kari (meinterrupted AT livejournal DOT com)
Word count: 966
Pairing: River/Simon, River/Jayne, Simon/River/Jayne
Prompt: 055. Colorful [joss100 table]
Spoilers/Timeline: Post-movie, but no spoilers
Disclaimer: Not mine, don’t sue.
Summary: Red plus blue equals purple, but red, blue, and green make music.
Warnings: Crazy Space Incest, and Crazy Space Threesome. Vaguely non-con, but not really.
Author's Note: Finally! This is the CS3 fic that has eaten my brain for the past week. Thanks to bugchicklv and cornfields for checking it over for flow and making invaluable suggestions. This started out as a prompt response to "nuance," but it changed quite a bit. Cross posted.
When she's with Simon, it's all about love and touch and family, mental and emotional, never physical. When she kisses him, she can feel the warm heat flowing from his lips to hers, filling her up with his love. She's an empty vessel, filled with the thoughts and voices of others, and now the love of Simon. It starts at her toes, a viscous liquid, clinging to her organs, red like blood, and she can feel her skin grow taut with pressure. The pressure grows with each kiss, each caress, each thrust, until she can't hold it in anymore and she explodes into a million points of starlight. Simon, Simon, Simon, she chants like a mantra, like a penance (hail Mary, mother of grace; forgive us Father, for we know what we do), as parts of her fly out through the whole 'verse.
She can feel his pieces too, red like the love he has for her, bright and sparkling, and she sees through closed eyes as her own stars collide with his. The room is aglow with nuclear fusion as the stars come together, drawn by the undeniable pull of gravity (a force of attraction between objects with mass, the primal force of the universe). She can barely hear his murmured apologies over the crashing of matter, the spawning of nebulas, because in the beginning was love, love, only love, and from that force the entire 'verse was created.
When the 'verse has cooled down, and the nebulas have created galaxies, warm planets where things can grow and evolve, she curls around his body, pressing gentle kisses against his chest as he berates himself for his passion. There is nothing to be guilty for, she wants to tell him, we aren't doing anything wrong. You need me. Instead, she hums a soft lullaby (lavender's blue, lavender's green, when you are King, I shall be Queen) and closes her eyes, remembering the flash of starlight as she drifts off to sleep.
With Jayne, it's the exact opposite; it's about need and anguish, skin and lust. His kisses burn like blue fire, seemingly cold but hotter than the sun. She can feel her flesh crack and turn black under the touch of his lips, the press of his fingers. He pours into her his desperation, his weakness, his fears (the only thing we have to fear is fear ourselves), trying to absorb some of her strength, her courage. He needs her more than he wants to admit, because she still needs him to be strong. With every thrust, every grunt, every moan, she gives him back the control he lost when she arrived on Serenity.
The feeling of pressure is similar as he fills her, but instead of exploding, she burns, burns from the inside out, her body consumed by flames, water evaporating until all that exists are the solids (the human female is approximately fifty-five percent water) and she shudders against him, crying out his name. He growls into her neck as he pumps his essence into her, mouthing words only she can hear and understand. She pretends they're sweet nothings, bao bei, xin gan, qin ài de, but she knows he's begging for forgiveness, asking her to stop letting him do this to her, asking her to let him be alone in his guilt.
It never takes long for her body to equalize, pulling moisture from the air and reconstituting itself. Jayne whispers her name, distress on his face as he gently lowers her to the floor, trying in vain to smooth her dress. "You shouldn't come down here, little girl," he mutters, guilty for using her body to heal his own pain (pray for us sinners, now and forever). "I ain't a good man." You don't have to be, she tries to say, because the world isn't made of black and white, or even shades of grey. But instead she merely kisses his naked chest, her fingers gently wiping away the blood she'd drawn. "Colors," she murmurs, looking up into eyes the shade of summer sky. "We're a rainbow."
There can't be a rainbow without rain; there must be a prism to split the light into its separate wavelengths, and just two colors are impossible. She tries to explain this to Jayne when he berates himself for her tears, but he won't listen, can't understand. There is no growth without sacrifice, no beauty without pain, she tries to say. But her voice is broken, and she says nothing.
She next tries to tell Simon, that two voices are only a duet, and triadic harmony is much more melodious. He doesn't understand, and gives her access to the classical music on the Cortex, trying to placate her. She listens, and becomes more convinced that they are a dissonance that must be resolved before the piece can come to a satisfactory end.
Water and fire, love and lust, shame and anger, all sides of different coins, and she is the glue that holds them together. She needs to flip the coins, remove the center, create three separate disks that stack like building blocks. A whispered hint here, a question there, and she's kissing Simon's naked chest when Jayne catches them. Her eyes are wide, shining, threatening to create a rainbow all over again, but he understands for once, his hand sliding up through her hair. "See, we're a rainbow. Blue, red, and green: primary colors. We can create every hue with just the three of us."
Simon shudders under her touch, and Jayne whispers against her neck, and there are no apologies, no admissions of guilt. Tongues and fingers slide across sweat-drenched skin, and River knows she has found her nirvana (Hallelujah, for thou art blessed among women, blessed by the fruit of thy womb).
All of River's misquotes are intentional. The quotes, both correct and incorrect, in order, are the Hail Mary, Luke 23:34, Dilly Dilly (Lavender's Blue), Franklin D. Roosevelt, and the last two are also the Hail Mary. Scientific facts are from Wikipedia and Google. The Chinese translates to sweetheart, darling, and dear.
And now she ded from code.
Saturday, April 08, 2006 8:41 AM
Saturday, April 08, 2006 10:21 AM
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