Amihan (ə-'mi-hən) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
camalyng) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
greenstickered2012-12-27 11:22 pm
camalyng) wrote in greenstickered2012-12-27 11:22 pm
Entry tags:
Uncharted: Better
Title: Better
What: Uncharted fanfiction - oneshot
Rating: PG (driveby mention of sex)
Words: ~500
Summary: After a job gone wrong, Nate and Chloe need a rest. Pre-2.
Alternate links: Tumblr rebloggable link here with the GIF that inspired it
Notes: Inspired by![[tumblr.com profile]](https://www.tumblr.com/favicon.ico)
desiderates's putting her #nate and chloe tag on this Lady and the Tramp GIF. Possibly related to "Chocolate and Flowers".
"That could have gone better," says Chloe.
It's the first full sentence she's said in hours. Since that job started going south, she's barely said more than a handful of words to you at a time: Variations on "Nate, get down" during the fire fight that wasn't supposed to happen, "you idiot" cold and terrified and furious when you explained how it did, "ow" and "a little to the right" as you patched her up, "here?" as she patched you up.
"It could have gone worse," you reply.
She just shakes her head at you before all but falling forward onto the pillow. She's already naked - both of you stripped down to clean your wounds, clothing full of dirt and rips anyway - and you find your eyes drawn to the bandaids and gauze you've stuck to her.
You reach for her.
"Don't," she says, muffled by the pillow.
"What?"
She lifts her head up just enough to say, "Not in the mood, love," and you shake your head, because wow, that wasn't your plan: You'd just wanted to touch, to map out what will probably scar, to memorize each spot for when neither of you are exhausted and you can bring pleasure to this pain.
"Doona?" you offer instead, because she's going to freeze lying on top of rather than under the blankets like that, and her Australian slang amuses you enough to try and pick some of it up, and your attempts at it always amuse her, so even now she manages a small smile as she shakes her head again.
"You can get my hair."
Grateful that you can do something for her (because that fire fight, these wounds, this mutual crash of energy are your fault), you gently tug the elastic from her ponytail, letting her hair fan over her shoulders. She holds her hand up and you put the elastic over her wrist (so she doesn't lose it, you've learnt) before she lets her hand flop down next to her face again.
"I'm sorry," you murmur.
"I know," she says simply, so simply that you're not really sure she gets it.
You lie down at her side, on your stomach just the same, head turned towards her. The pillow case is this light mint that makes her eyes look greener, until she closes them, and it's hard to tell whether she no longer minds letting you in this close (she has this line between sex and intimacy that you're still not always sure how to navigate) or she's just too tired to care.
"No, I mean -"
"I know what you mean," she says, and you could kiss her if you had the energy, but without it, all you can do is gaze over at her fondly (now, while she can't see how stupid you look) and nuzzle closer on the pillow to her, your face by her hand.
There's no reaction. It's very possible that she's fallen asleep, and you'd be okay with that.
What: Uncharted fanfiction - oneshot
Rating: PG (driveby mention of sex)
Words: ~500
Summary: After a job gone wrong, Nate and Chloe need a rest. Pre-2.
Alternate links: Tumblr rebloggable link here with the GIF that inspired it
Notes: Inspired by
"That could have gone better," says Chloe.
It's the first full sentence she's said in hours. Since that job started going south, she's barely said more than a handful of words to you at a time: Variations on "Nate, get down" during the fire fight that wasn't supposed to happen, "you idiot" cold and terrified and furious when you explained how it did, "ow" and "a little to the right" as you patched her up, "here?" as she patched you up.
"It could have gone worse," you reply.
She just shakes her head at you before all but falling forward onto the pillow. She's already naked - both of you stripped down to clean your wounds, clothing full of dirt and rips anyway - and you find your eyes drawn to the bandaids and gauze you've stuck to her.
You reach for her.
"Don't," she says, muffled by the pillow.
"What?"
She lifts her head up just enough to say, "Not in the mood, love," and you shake your head, because wow, that wasn't your plan: You'd just wanted to touch, to map out what will probably scar, to memorize each spot for when neither of you are exhausted and you can bring pleasure to this pain.
"Doona?" you offer instead, because she's going to freeze lying on top of rather than under the blankets like that, and her Australian slang amuses you enough to try and pick some of it up, and your attempts at it always amuse her, so even now she manages a small smile as she shakes her head again.
"You can get my hair."
Grateful that you can do something for her (because that fire fight, these wounds, this mutual crash of energy are your fault), you gently tug the elastic from her ponytail, letting her hair fan over her shoulders. She holds her hand up and you put the elastic over her wrist (so she doesn't lose it, you've learnt) before she lets her hand flop down next to her face again.
"I'm sorry," you murmur.
"I know," she says simply, so simply that you're not really sure she gets it.
You lie down at her side, on your stomach just the same, head turned towards her. The pillow case is this light mint that makes her eyes look greener, until she closes them, and it's hard to tell whether she no longer minds letting you in this close (she has this line between sex and intimacy that you're still not always sure how to navigate) or she's just too tired to care.
"No, I mean -"
"I know what you mean," she says, and you could kiss her if you had the energy, but without it, all you can do is gaze over at her fondly (now, while she can't see how stupid you look) and nuzzle closer on the pillow to her, your face by her hand.
There's no reaction. It's very possible that she's fallen asleep, and you'd be okay with that.