Healing the Galaxy: Endor (Fringe)

[Yasha Cadera]

My hands slide up her arms in time for her to jump down, run. "Ahah..heh… wow. Painting is… I love art." Thankfully, I'm a wastrel. Otherwise I wouldn't fit through the canvas. Do I chase after @[member="Meret Blackmoon"], give in to the heady perfume of her more visceral surround. The fabric of her blouse feels like I'm brushing against the tapestries in Theed, I grab it, a handful on each hip and yank her up toward me.

The staggering oddity, my clear mind lingers in the present singular. I am still Anders, and for a second I falter. Do I have instinct of my own, or had it all come from the surreptitious collapse of my mental surround for the Other's domination? My back is to an abstract painting - dry now, thank the Goddess, although I know it's going to be funny as heck to see how the paint on our faces has smeared around. My arms twine around her body, hands resting up on Meret's back as instinct kicks in and it's mine. As this moment is mine, perilous male - I own it.

The release of hesitation comes with the rustle of the canvases furling and waving, I hear a rip, a tear and know one's coming down. Meret's skin is soft as chersilk, her will is hard as beskar.

 

[Meret Blackmoon]

Rippppppppp, thud, They were on a stack of painted canvases lost in color and the illusion of pigment and emotion. She was consumed by Anders’ energy and had never felt more grounded and yet free. He had no rules or protocols. He had a raw strength and imagination and purity. He was a guardian who looked into her heart and soul. She closed her eyes to make a memory. The texture of his hair on her face, the scent of paint and flowers, the wetness of his lips, the all encompassing embrace, a lattice of flesh, fireworks that shook her very being…She laid next to him and did not say a word but thought about their encounter. From the skylight she watched the Whisties fly above. Sparkles in the clouds.