Drabble: 'Disgust in the Afternoon' (J/E - PG13)
A sequel to Encomium, this one is 130 unbetaed (but hopefully acceptable) words for the current drabble challenge prompt, 'Disgust'. pearlseed, I promise I'm working on your Jack/Harry birthday fic! And florencia7, thank you so much for the virtual picnic basket! Tall ship fans, check out this display of beautiful sterns at Dark Roasted Blend (with references to PotC!), and the one on figureheads, too! And lastly, everyone should go read honorat's latest chapter of Crossing the Bar -- it's great!!
And now, without further ado...
- La Rochefoucauld'>
~ Disgust in the Afternoon ~
It is much easier to extinguish a first desire than to satisfy all of those that follow it.
- La Rochefoucauld
Disgusting.
He'd known what would come to him on surrendering to her wiles. Though it hadn't felt like surrender. More like a heady mix of revenge and (God help him) blessing. And now, of course, he's well and truly caught, like a fish on a line. Like some callow and helplessly priapic boy.
He'd known what she was.
But then she knew him as well.
She's stirring now, beauty's self, gold hair streaming over his shabby pillows.
(New linens at the first opportunity. Finest to be had.)
The glint of sleepy eyes; a rueful smile to match his own. She raises her arms, beckoning.
He strips again, and comes to her, and disgust suddenly seems sacrilege. The word's treasure, pure and simple, silver and gold.
He'd known it all along.
~.~
And now, without further ado...
- La Rochefoucauld'>
~ Disgust in the Afternoon ~
It is much easier to extinguish a first desire than to satisfy all of those that follow it.
- La Rochefoucauld
Disgusting.
He'd known what would come to him on surrendering to her wiles. Though it hadn't felt like surrender. More like a heady mix of revenge and (God help him) blessing. And now, of course, he's well and truly caught, like a fish on a line. Like some callow and helplessly priapic boy.
He'd known what she was.
But then she knew him as well.
She's stirring now, beauty's self, gold hair streaming over his shabby pillows.
(New linens at the first opportunity. Finest to be had.)
The glint of sleepy eyes; a rueful smile to match his own. She raises her arms, beckoning.
He strips again, and comes to her, and disgust suddenly seems sacrilege. The word's treasure, pure and simple, silver and gold.
He'd known it all along.
~.~