Stargate Atlantis Triple-Drabble: Root of the Matter

[kat_lair]

HAI FLIST, I'M DRUNK! trialia complained that I don’t write enough femmeslash, so I promised to write her some if she gave me a pairing and a prompt. Which she did. And really, with a prompt like that, there was only one possible outcome... SEX-POLLEN FUCK YEAH!!


Root of the Matter – Stargate Atlantis – Cadman/Weir – PG-13
Prompt: Flowers

DVD Commentary: There is now a DVD commentary for this fic, available here.


Root of the Matter


“Garden of Life, we call it,” the guide says, grinning proudly.

Elizabeth suppresses a yawn, keeping her face schooled to a mask of attentive interest. It’s clear that this is the pinnacle of the otherwise boring tour. Making nice with the locals means smooth trade negotiations, which hopefully means that no one on Atlantis is going hungry for a while.

Cadman steps smoothly in front of her, just as they are about to enter. Elizabeth waits for the imperceptible nod that tells her it’s safe before following her under the imposing stone arch.

The scent hits her immediately; sweet and somehow primal. It’s like the first breath of the first day, and Elizabeth thinks this is what her ancestors must have smelled when they set foot on Earth, still new and unspoiled by human hand.

It’s beautiful. There are flowers everywhere; individual flowers standing tall and royal, creeping vines and trees and bushes of every shape and size, all of them covered in a riot of colour.

“M’am!” Cadman sounds worried. “I don’t think you should touch the...”

Elizabeth blinks, confused. Why would anyone be worried in a place as lovely as this? Nearby, a group of marines are kissing, slow and languid, their clothes in disarray. Elizabeth smiles indulgently. They look happy.

“It’s okay,” she says. And it is. Everything is fine. Her hands are full of flowers, their broken stems bleeding over her skin.

“It’s okay, Laura.” The name tastes like treacle, sickly-sweet against the roof of her mouth and she can’t think of a single reason she shouldn’t use it.

Elizabeth reaches out. Her fingertips are wet with sap when she trails them across Laura’s face, her mouth, inside it.

When they fall, the ground rises up to meet them, gently like the upswing of a cradle.