May 10, 2010 18:45
One of the rare het pairings I like - Xerxes and Sharon are so cute together ♥
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
He's a man utterly unbefitting to be in the company of a noble lady. She's a girl utterly unbefitting to be in the company of a mass murderer. Yet she extended her hand towards him, and he took it.
Her hand is small - the skin pale and smooth, like porcelain - but pulsing with warmth when he wraps his own hand around hers. He feels the warmth spreading like wildfire and the sensation is maddening and addictive. He tightens his grip, but not too rough, because he knows he must be careful with this porcelain hand. For it belongs to a porcelain girl that had been entrusted to his care, so he must never let her break.
She's not suited for him, he knows. She's born to wear elaborate, elegant dresses with trims that dangle dangerously near her feet, but she never stumbles, never falls. She's raised for quiet afternoons in a garden full of roses and lilacs with a tea cup clutched in her hands. She's born and raised to be what she is, the picture of a perfect young lady.
However - he chuckles - he knows that picture is flawed. He knows the perfect young lady has flaws of her own. He's seen her slip out of her porcelain shell many times - she'd yell, scream, fall down and cry in a completely unladylike manner - and only he knows the little girl beneath the porcelain doll. And always, he'll be there to soothe her, comfort her, and slip the ladylike covering back onto her shoulders.
He's utterly unbefitting to be her servant, trusted and depended upon. She's utterly unbefitting to be his lady, precious and protected. But hand in hand, they walk together, away from the whisperings of a social crowd. Time lies crumpled in their path, and he crosses it with one stride, then carefully lifts her up to step across it - faces flash by, faces of dear family and close friends, and still they walk while the lights along their path are dimming.
The two, lady and servant, are wrapped in dull darkness and they wouldn't want it any other way. Her warmth still radiates from where their fingers are entwined and he knows she's smiling as she lifts her face up to him. He lowers himself onto his knees, bending to kiss her hand like a gentleman would, though they both know he's no such thing. And then they continue to walk, hand in hand.
He's always with her, watches over her, watching to make sure no cracks appear in her porcelain shell, because if she breaks, he surely would too.