Title: "The Thrust of Grace"
Rating/Classification: 'R', ficlet, angst, Connor POV.
Disclaimer: Grrr.Aaargh. Title from "Lovers in a Dangerous Time" by
Her eyes are huge, blue like the swaying curve of the ocean under a glass-bottomed boat. Sometimes, as he holds himself above her and she winds him close with her long, slender, legs around his hips, he thinks he can see gold and silver fish diving and surfacing, playfully, in her irises. He doesn't share the stupid romance of those visions...simply keeps them to himself, spilling other, more salty, dirty, things inside her.
She likes it when he calls her "Bitch."
She calls him "Asshole" in return.
Here, in the bed they share, they never call each other what the Others
do. Here in, the dark winding bowels of the Hellmouth, is one place where titles have no meaning. Where destiny tastes sharp and heady like sex and is just as fleeting. He licks the ash and blood from the pale hollow of her throat and she pretends not to cry...to have never cried before. And he gives her the same courtesy.
Some day soon, he's going to break her neck.
She'll shatter beneath the harsh, passionate, grip of his hands into a
thousand shards of pure green light and the fish will go belly up in the glittering bowl.
He is, after all the Destroyer.
And she'll slip a stake or a shiv between his ribs as she whispers, "I love you."
She'll give him the same courtesy.
She is, after all, the Slayer.
And it is, after all, the end of the world.
October 7, 2002.