Fic - Kerri/Merril
Mar. 15th, 2019 10:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lady_mabokay this wasn't one on the kiss prompt list and it got wildly out of hand considering I actually can't remember anything that we might have discussed but Kales suggested that I should write Kerri and Merril and you know what, catch me on my own bullshit
It’s Merril’s last night on the station, and she still doesn’t know why she’s agreed to this meeting.
Kerri arranges it, because of-fucking-course she does. She has to be in control of everything.
Merril thinks, I should stand her up.
She thinks, I should stake the place out all day.
She knows, This is a bad idea.
But she goes anyway. Shows up fifteen minutes to find that Kerri is already at the bar (of course), legs crossed (skirt indecently short), talking to the bartender with a coy smile (fucking flirt).
Kerri catches sight of her as she moves across the room, and her expression brightens in a way that’s unfairly unstaged. Her movements are graceful, languid, speaking of already a few drinks down, as she unfolds herself from the stool and places a splendid kiss on Merril’s cheek. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come.”
“I’m early,” Merril says, because it’s the easiest response.
But Kerri only winks and tucks her arm posessively through Merril’s. “Do you want anything to drink? All on me.”
Merril bites back the sarcastic of course that comes immediately to the tip of her tongue. “Just water, thanks.”
Kerri pouts, and Merril can’t help the fact that she looks. Kerri’s lips are a dusky pink, glossed, and shit, how much effort did she put in to this meeting?
Waving goodbye to the bartender, Kerri scoops up the remainder of her drink (whiskey, neat, which is a surprise), and tugs Merril along behind her to a private booth in the back corner. Her smile never slips from her mouth, and its curled in a playful way, but Merril can see the edges cracking.
She knows that Kerri’s at her wits end, trying to convince her. It would have been easier to just not show up, but Merril knows that she owes Kerri this much at least. A complete refusal of the offer. (Maybe, a small part of her thinks, she’s also hoping that Kerri can manage to convince her, despite everything.)
Kerri slides into the booth and tugs Merril in after her--looking for all the world like a woman who just wants a private moment with a lover away from prying eyes, but Merril knows better.
Knows the moment the change comes over Kerri, when she switches into ‘agent mode’ or whatever she wanted to call it. The booth is strategically placed that she can get a good view of the bar, the front door and the exit and the other guests.
Merril wonders if this place is safe, and just what exactly that word means. Is this UniSol property, or is Kerri breaking some sort of code by being here? Is she worried about fellow agents, or is she keeping an eye on ever ally she has in this place in case Merril decides to run?
“Sweetheart,” Kerri starts, but Merril’s spine stiffens and her hands clench into fists.
“Don’t. The answer is no.”
Kerri’s eyebrows go up, and she does a marvelous job of feigning surprise. “Then why are you even here?”
Why, indeed. “I owed you that much.”
“Oh?” This time, there is a degree of honest surprise, but Merril would be damned if Kerri knew an honest emotion if it smacked her in the face. “After everything I’ve done for you?”
“Don’t sound upset.”
“But you’re dumping me—”
“For fuck’s sake, Kerri, we aren’t dating. I’m not dumping you.” It still doesn't stop the blush (of frustration, nothing else). “You were a useful contact while I was here, but I’ve got to go.”
Kerri’s expression darkens, and Merril knows that too. The anger that simmers just beneath the surface, when she doesn’t get what she wants. “I’m trying to say that I’ll ensure you don’t have to be chased off stations in the future.”
“I’m not being chased off.”
Her long, slender fingers have somehow managed to filch Merril’s phone from her pocket, and Merril has to restrain the growl of frustration. “Several of these communications indicate otherwise—”
“You can’t go through my stuff like that!” A beat, then, “How the fuck did you get access to my phone?”
“You’re a very heavy sleeper, and I have a very light touch,” Kerri teases, her hand dropping to Merril’s thigh--uncomfortably high, and Merril tries to squirm away from the touch in the confines of the booth. It does very little to stop the blush this time.
“Whatever my reasons, they’re not your problem, Kestrel,” Merril spits, and for one bright, victorious moment, Kerri reels back as if physically struck. “I’ve made it this far and this long on my own. I don’t want help, especially not any coming from fucking scum like UniSol, or like you.”
Merril shoves her way out of the booth and storms through the bar, not even bothering to be subtle about it.
A hand grabs her wrist, and she whirls around, ready to punch Kerri (because no one else would be so bold).
The color is high in Kerri’s cheeks for an instant too long before she pulls her expression back under control. “Fine. Have it your way. I was only looking out for you, Merril.”
“I don’t know why you’d bother.”
For some reason, Kerri smiles, and her fingers tease back through Merril’s hair in a way that is aching familiar and too controlling. “I’m fond of you, Darling,” she says before she pulls Merril in for a kiss.
Her lips are soft, but she kisses hard--her tongue stained with whiskey.
Merril finds herself kissing back, allowing herself that moment of weakness, where she gives in to the magnetic pull of the other woman. And for a brief moment, she wonders if she shouldn’t just let herself just agree. To stop having to be on the run, to stop having to hide every time something goes wrong.
But then, she thinks, there’s the fun in that?
Merril jerks back, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as if that could wipe away what just happened.
Kerri laughs, delighted by this reaction, one hand still clenching Merril’s shirt, the other gripping at her hip. “Think about it, hm?” she asks, and lets the tip of one finger tap against Merril’s breastbone, nail on skin, and it feels like a threat.
“If I never see you again, it will be too soon,” Merril snarls, and she leaves the bar.
It’s Merril’s last night on the station, and she still doesn’t know why she’s agreed to this meeting.
Kerri arranges it, because of-fucking-course she does. She has to be in control of everything.
Merril thinks, I should stand her up.
She thinks, I should stake the place out all day.
She knows, This is a bad idea.
But she goes anyway. Shows up fifteen minutes to find that Kerri is already at the bar (of course), legs crossed (skirt indecently short), talking to the bartender with a coy smile (fucking flirt).
Kerri catches sight of her as she moves across the room, and her expression brightens in a way that’s unfairly unstaged. Her movements are graceful, languid, speaking of already a few drinks down, as she unfolds herself from the stool and places a splendid kiss on Merril’s cheek. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come.”
“I’m early,” Merril says, because it’s the easiest response.
But Kerri only winks and tucks her arm posessively through Merril’s. “Do you want anything to drink? All on me.”
Merril bites back the sarcastic of course that comes immediately to the tip of her tongue. “Just water, thanks.”
Kerri pouts, and Merril can’t help the fact that she looks. Kerri’s lips are a dusky pink, glossed, and shit, how much effort did she put in to this meeting?
Waving goodbye to the bartender, Kerri scoops up the remainder of her drink (whiskey, neat, which is a surprise), and tugs Merril along behind her to a private booth in the back corner. Her smile never slips from her mouth, and its curled in a playful way, but Merril can see the edges cracking.
She knows that Kerri’s at her wits end, trying to convince her. It would have been easier to just not show up, but Merril knows that she owes Kerri this much at least. A complete refusal of the offer. (Maybe, a small part of her thinks, she’s also hoping that Kerri can manage to convince her, despite everything.)
Kerri slides into the booth and tugs Merril in after her--looking for all the world like a woman who just wants a private moment with a lover away from prying eyes, but Merril knows better.
Knows the moment the change comes over Kerri, when she switches into ‘agent mode’ or whatever she wanted to call it. The booth is strategically placed that she can get a good view of the bar, the front door and the exit and the other guests.
Merril wonders if this place is safe, and just what exactly that word means. Is this UniSol property, or is Kerri breaking some sort of code by being here? Is she worried about fellow agents, or is she keeping an eye on ever ally she has in this place in case Merril decides to run?
“Sweetheart,” Kerri starts, but Merril’s spine stiffens and her hands clench into fists.
“Don’t. The answer is no.”
Kerri’s eyebrows go up, and she does a marvelous job of feigning surprise. “Then why are you even here?”
Why, indeed. “I owed you that much.”
“Oh?” This time, there is a degree of honest surprise, but Merril would be damned if Kerri knew an honest emotion if it smacked her in the face. “After everything I’ve done for you?”
“Don’t sound upset.”
“But you’re dumping me—”
“For fuck’s sake, Kerri, we aren’t dating. I’m not dumping you.” It still doesn't stop the blush (of frustration, nothing else). “You were a useful contact while I was here, but I’ve got to go.”
Kerri’s expression darkens, and Merril knows that too. The anger that simmers just beneath the surface, when she doesn’t get what she wants. “I’m trying to say that I’ll ensure you don’t have to be chased off stations in the future.”
“I’m not being chased off.”
Her long, slender fingers have somehow managed to filch Merril’s phone from her pocket, and Merril has to restrain the growl of frustration. “Several of these communications indicate otherwise—”
“You can’t go through my stuff like that!” A beat, then, “How the fuck did you get access to my phone?”
“You’re a very heavy sleeper, and I have a very light touch,” Kerri teases, her hand dropping to Merril’s thigh--uncomfortably high, and Merril tries to squirm away from the touch in the confines of the booth. It does very little to stop the blush this time.
“Whatever my reasons, they’re not your problem, Kestrel,” Merril spits, and for one bright, victorious moment, Kerri reels back as if physically struck. “I’ve made it this far and this long on my own. I don’t want help, especially not any coming from fucking scum like UniSol, or like you.”
Merril shoves her way out of the booth and storms through the bar, not even bothering to be subtle about it.
A hand grabs her wrist, and she whirls around, ready to punch Kerri (because no one else would be so bold).
The color is high in Kerri’s cheeks for an instant too long before she pulls her expression back under control. “Fine. Have it your way. I was only looking out for you, Merril.”
“I don’t know why you’d bother.”
For some reason, Kerri smiles, and her fingers tease back through Merril’s hair in a way that is aching familiar and too controlling. “I’m fond of you, Darling,” she says before she pulls Merril in for a kiss.
Her lips are soft, but she kisses hard--her tongue stained with whiskey.
Merril finds herself kissing back, allowing herself that moment of weakness, where she gives in to the magnetic pull of the other woman. And for a brief moment, she wonders if she shouldn’t just let herself just agree. To stop having to be on the run, to stop having to hide every time something goes wrong.
But then, she thinks, there’s the fun in that?
Merril jerks back, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as if that could wipe away what just happened.
Kerri laughs, delighted by this reaction, one hand still clenching Merril’s shirt, the other gripping at her hip. “Think about it, hm?” she asks, and lets the tip of one finger tap against Merril’s breastbone, nail on skin, and it feels like a threat.
“If I never see you again, it will be too soon,” Merril snarls, and she leaves the bar.
