[Dragon Quest VIII - Angelo/Jessica] #58 - Sword Dance
Title: Sword Dance
Author: rgbrobbie
Pairing: Angelo/Jessica
Fandom: Dragon Quest VIII
Themes: #58 - Sword Dance
Rating: At very least a "hard" R, verging on NC-17, depending on your sensibilities.
Notes: Double-drabble (200 words exactly, not counting title)
Disclaimer: These toys are the property of Square Enix and Akira Toriyama, but I like to play with them.
SWORD DANCE
Naked, he dances for her before the fireplace, neither waltz nor gavotte nor jig, but a battle dance, his best blade balanced in strong, sure hands.
As she crouches, trembling, waiting, watching, at her request he demonstrates his art. It was his idea to do it undressed, to show her - he says - the play of taut muscles, how sinew becomes one with steel, the flex of thigh and biceps as he lunges, then parries, at the shadows painting the walls.
He moves bright and agile as reflected flame, sharper than the shamshir’s edge. Sweat beads on his torso, trickles down over the etched planes of his belly, following a curved path like a lover’s wandering, intimate kiss.
He spins, and his loosened fan of silver hair ripples like a river.
At last he stops. He extends the sword to her, barely dimpling one soft breast with the weapon’s lethal tip. Her breath catches in surprise at this startling contact, but she does not move, trusting him now as she’s come to trust him in all things.
His lips move, half smile, half whispered word. “Touché.” He drops the blade, drops to his knees beside her, and now, they dance together.
~fin~
Author: rgbrobbie
Pairing: Angelo/Jessica
Fandom: Dragon Quest VIII
Themes: #58 - Sword Dance
Rating: At very least a "hard" R, verging on NC-17, depending on your sensibilities.
Notes: Double-drabble (200 words exactly, not counting title)
Disclaimer: These toys are the property of Square Enix and Akira Toriyama, but I like to play with them.
SWORD DANCE
Naked, he dances for her before the fireplace, neither waltz nor gavotte nor jig, but a battle dance, his best blade balanced in strong, sure hands.
As she crouches, trembling, waiting, watching, at her request he demonstrates his art. It was his idea to do it undressed, to show her - he says - the play of taut muscles, how sinew becomes one with steel, the flex of thigh and biceps as he lunges, then parries, at the shadows painting the walls.
He moves bright and agile as reflected flame, sharper than the shamshir’s edge. Sweat beads on his torso, trickles down over the etched planes of his belly, following a curved path like a lover’s wandering, intimate kiss.
He spins, and his loosened fan of silver hair ripples like a river.
At last he stops. He extends the sword to her, barely dimpling one soft breast with the weapon’s lethal tip. Her breath catches in surprise at this startling contact, but she does not move, trusting him now as she’s come to trust him in all things.
His lips move, half smile, half whispered word. “Touché.” He drops the blade, drops to his knees beside her, and now, they dance together.
~fin~