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[sharselune.livejournal.com]

You know what's great about finals week? Doing whatever possible to avoid writing my final papers!

Title: Untitled
Author: sharselune
Rating: hard R
Pairing: femmeslash, Margaret/OFC
Summary: Summertime in Korea


Her skin was slick as a spilled drink under the vermouth illumination of the hanging lamps in Rosie's. It was so hot that sound didn't travel, just sat drunk and heavy inside your mouth and you had to take another drink to wash away the words you hadn't said.

Even the prostitutes were tired tonight. Filmy shawls dragged in the dust. A bare leg peeked from a too-short skirt. Margaret would have said something but the words were bitter and it was too hot. Let the enlisted get their diseases. It just meant they wouldn't be bothering her nurses tonight. Though her nurses wouldn't mind the company--they didn't mind anyone's company save Margaret's own.

It was hot and she was alone. In the winter, days without casualties were taken up by staying warm, huddling together, never mind with whom. But in the summer, everything stretched out, hot slick flesh splayed out over cots to take advantage of every faint gasp of air. Hot groins met, sole points of contact, pulsing, and the whole night was your lover, gripping you in a sweaty embrace. You could sit in Rosie's, close your eyes and almost imagine you weren't alone. The cold drink in her hand was the only thing that anchored her to this point in time.

The knotted points of a shawl dragged over her arm, leaving dark trails of dust on her skin. Margaret pulled away, annoyed at this unnecessary intrusion of body heat. "Excuse me..." Irritated.

"Major," said the prostitute, eyeing the stars and bars on her arm.

Startled, Margaret jerked back. "No thank you!"

She and the prostitute stared at each other and Margaret realized there had been no proposition save the one in Margaret's head. The prostitute smiled, twitched her shawl. "Major," she said again. Her entire vocabulary probably consisted of Army ranks. At least she wasn't calling Margaret 'Joe'.

"No thank you," Margaret said again, and then added "No," stronger, without the thank you, because that was what the prostitute would understand and why did Margaret feel the need to thank her anyway? She turned and fled to the door, taking her drink with her, anchoring her to the world.

The air was no cooler outside. Her glass was sweating. She rolled it against her forehead, feeling it drip down her cheeks. She closed her eyes.

"Major," said the prostitute, who had followed her out. Margaret's eyes jerked open. The prostitute smiled at her coyly, blinking long, narrow brown eyes, holding her shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Then, quite abruptly, she turned and walked away, around the corner of Rosie's.

The gap between them yawned wide and empty. Margaret's arm hung at her side, glass held between thumb and forefinger. In one long slide the glass fell from her hand and the shattering was the sound of her last contact with the world.

It was all shadows behind Rosie's but she could find the Korean woman almost by scent, by sound. A light hand guided her to the back wall of the bar and she pressed her back against it. Thin fingers unbuttoned her pants and then slid into the warm crevasse between her legs, palming the hard bone of her pubis and then delving between her lower lips.

Margaret pushed her hips foreward, her shoulders still pressed against the wall. She chewed on her lip and stared blindly into the darkness. Nothing but the one hand touched her, peeled her like a fruit and consumed her. She was lost.

The hand withdrew as the sagged back agaist the wall, gasping. A sound told her the woman was ready to leave. She reached forward and roughly grabbed hold of the body, pulling it against her. Small, hard breasts pressed against her own and hot breath gasped across her cheek. Margaret wrapped her arms around this woman of dust, perfume and alcohol and closed her eyes against the night.