[identity profile] kat-lair.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] unmarked_place

Title: there’s a fallow heart and it’s waiting on a sowing hand
Author: Mistress Kat / [livejournal.com profile] kat_lair 
Pairing/Characters: OFC/Pete
Rating: PG
Word count: 299
Disclaimer: See Community Introduction Post
Warnings/enticements: d/s dynamic, see Community Introduction Post for further information
Summary: Pete with his first Mistress. Takes place several years before the 'verse proper.

Author notes: This too is a [livejournal.com profile] help_pakistan ficlet for [livejournal.com profile] pushkin666 and one she was very specifically asked for. She tells me it makes her cry every time, so I'm not sure whether I should consider it a success or apologise... Beta awesomeness by [livejournal.com profile] dreamersdare. Title from Tether by Indigo Girls.




Pete breathes in slowly, holding it for the count of three before exhaling. The house smells of Chinese takeaway, candle wax, and the faint Jasmine of Bea’s perfume. It’s quiet and he can clearly hear the rustle of paper as Bea turns a page in her book. She’d given him the permission to put on the TV or music, but Pete had opted to sit at her feet in silence, content to just be.

It had been one of the hardest lessons to learn, but after a year he can finally settle into stillness that isn’t about waiting for something to happen, it just is. Moments like these are to be valued for their own right; every second and every touch cherished like a gift.

Bea’s hand comes down to caress Pete’s head, fingers carding through his hair absently. He hums and pushes back into the touch, eyelids heavy with pleasure. She strokes the nape of his neck, hooking two fingers under his collar. The gesture is expected and familiar, and, like always, it makes Pete want to turn around and bury his face in Bea’s lap and cling like a lost child, found.

He doesn’t move though, telling himself that it’s fine, it’s okay. Something else Pete has learned this year is that he doesn’t need to hold on so tightly anymore, he can trust Bea not to let go. Gradually, the instinctual flare of panic fades and Pete settles back down, tipping his head sideways to rest it on Bea’s knee.

His Mistress. His. Letting himself believe that he can have this has been another difficult lesson, but it too is taking root with time. Outside, rain drums against the window pane and Pete yawns, snuggling closer, sleepy and safe. This is what happiness must feel like.


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