More memorable scenes from your fic for me are, in no particular order, Kathryn gazing of at Bev with her “wings” in the cockpit of the Fionnula, Laris holding a pose while Beverly looks on, and Laris teaching Beverly how to dance. *shivers* God, time to reread them all.
so... *rifles through your paperwork* it says here you're chronically captivated by moments in which a lover's especially acute gaze transforms its object, in which one woman comes into being through the desiring or demanding gaze of another? well. well, well.
*sets papers aside, sighs wearily, resting reading spectacles on top of head*
well, it appears i am, too.
we're done for, i'm afraid.
nothing for it but to just get the most out of being Like This while we can. excerpts from a perseveration of ten years and counting under the cut:
Then suddenly [Beverly] pulled back. Never breaking her lock on Kathryn’s eyes, she crossed her wrists at her waist and pulled her sweater over her head. She threw it onto the grass. Looking up at her, dumbstruck, Kathryn watched Beverly’s fingers as they carefully unbuttoned and discarded another layer. She settled, fingertips running along Kathryn’s neck, her jaw, her hairline, in just her bluejeans and a Starfleet-issue tank. The chill puckered her bare shoulders, tightened the weathered flesh there, rippled the spill of freckles. The drama of her hair, coming loose, white-streaked falls framing her face. The sudden slenderness of her against the sky, against the brighter grey of Fionnuala’s forward frame. A woman with wings.
‘Topics in Practical Aerodynamics’, 2011
By third position, Laris was sweating, feeling Beverly’s exactitude like a hot spike through the center of her, all the sharper for the stark contrast with Beverly’s natural teacherly demeanor. You asked for this, Beverly’s raptorish gaze seemed to say, and Laris ached to deserve her deliberate, watchful intensity. As she thrust her foot forward into fourth, as her arms swept almost without thought, like the arms of a counterweighted automaton, through the arc of the transition, as she adjusted according to Beverly’s close examination and curt correctives, she felt a need growing in the core of her that made her heart race and her breath come short. Trembling to hold fifth position, she was so aroused that she could smell it, and she was sure Beverly must, too. Her skin burned with effort and awareness of herself, almost with fear, as Beverly stepped close to her, close enough to kiss, and swept her hands gratuitously along her arms to make very fine adjustments in the positions of her wrists, her fingers. Laris clenched her jaw, and schooled her breath, and burned with wanting her.
‘A Sign of Rigor’, 2020
Wine in hand, Laris danced up close to her and placed her free hand on her hip. ‘Well? Let’s see what you can do, m’shiv’na.’ Zhaban hooted. Beverly wondered if it would be wise to look that one up. She mustered her composure and managed a few measures, keeping up well enough to satisfy her dignity, but Laris just shook her head and passed Zhaban her glass.
‘That’s not in any way helpful,’ Beverly said to his laughter.
‘I’m sorry. I’ve been there, Bev. I feel you, I really do.’ But he didn’t stop laughing.
‘Shut up,’ Laris said, all over bright, delighted mischief. The tautness so attractive in her at a distance became in close contact an exhilarating intensity, undeniable demand in every muscle, every movement. She placed both hands on Beverly’s hips, patting the left one. ‘Loosen up, it’ll hurt less if you stop trying to protect it.’ Now, how the hell had she known? But Beverly didn’t have the bandwidth to both dance and argue, not with Laris’s hands on her like that. She loosened up. It wasn’t enough. ‘Get those hips moving and the rest will come,’ Laris encouraged her. She didn’t know what to do with her arms, so she raised them above her head, flexing her fingers to the rhythm. Laris nodded. ‘Just the hips.’ Fully conscious that she was flushing top to toe, conscious of Zhaban’s scrutiny as well as Laris’s, she closed her eyes, measured her breath, and let it all wash right over her. Isolation had never been her strong suit, but she imagined her body as a marionette controlled from the hips, and gradually slipped sideways into that place where all thought reduced itself to body, music, and space. Laris’s firm fingertips were her only anchor points in an empty universe, guiding her to where she was meant to be.
One of those points became a different kind of pressure, and the universe expanded again. The look in Laris’s eyes had changed, and for the first time her breath was coming short. She moved closer, planting one hand firmly on Beverly’s lower back, keeping the other tight on her hip. Beverly mirrored the hold and let Laris’s body instruct her—by the rhythm of her hips, her feet, by the pressure of her hands, the movement of her scapula under Beverly’s palm. Laris added one step, then another. ‘Yeah,’ she breathed at last, ‘there you go. That’s the real thing.’ It was difficult to maintain in its own right, and the intensity of her consciousness of Laris’s hands, her body, her hot, unwavering gaze, her sheer proximity, only made it harder. But the thrill of moving at the very limit of her capacity combined with the thrill of that heavy wonder in Laris’s voice, praising her, inviting her into this thing that was her own, were enough to keep her dancing, possibly, forever.
‘The Smaller Worlds,’ 2020
14 notes · View notes
idk if it's just me (okay i know it's definitely not just me) but i would follow the SHIT out of a iwouldfuckmichaelsheen/iwouldfuckdavidtennant blog. not suggesting you guys run another blog but. i need that in my life
hm. Here’s the thing.
I love these characters. I love these actors in these roles. I do not like the idea of a blog or blogs specifically about sexualizing these actors. I don’t think that’s nice and I don’t think that’s appropriate. David Tennant doesn’t really do social media and I get the impression that the reason is that he’s rather private about his personal life. Michael Sheen is... Michael Sheen. He says embarrassing things about himself and seems like he has no sense of shame, but that doesn’t make it less weird. Michael Sheen could tell me personally he’d be okay with me running a blog called “iwouldfuckmichaelsheen” and I still wouldn’t feel comfortable doing so.
There’s a real problem in online spaces with treating the people who make content as consumable, not to get into anything. And like. I have read and enjoyed some rpf, I know how it is. But there’s just patently a difference between making content meant to be kept to fandom spaces and doing so on a public forum like tumblr. I know y’all think of tumblr as sort of closed and private, a place where you just talk about shit with your friends, and like! I do, too! I post lots of things that are just personal posts for me or meant to be looked at by like six other people! But the truth is anybody could see them, and I find the possibility of David Tennant or Michael Sheen or somebody who actually knows and loves them seeing a blog about wanting to fuck them to be deeply uncomfortable and creepy.
Don’t be creepy to these nice men, y’all. Michael Sheen has been very lovely to this fandom and he doesn’t deserve that, and people who make content for the internet don’t deserve that just in general. Please reserve your thirst for irl human famous people for private spaces, like texts with your friends, or your diary, or a confessional booth.
262 notes · View notes