The usual (promises broken and the like)
So--not doing anything that I should, this week. I even skipped class (twice). We can pretend I said the 'idk what's happening to me' speech and you can pretend to be understanding.
Moving on to something slightly more interesting, I wrote a short. Well, two, but only one in a digital context. (It's so much easier for me to come back to already written stories... it's sad, like I don't have any more imagination or something.)
It's silly and unnecessary, and its subject is something I sort of vowed to myself not to touch because I knew that I would screw it. But anyway, now I know for sure. Unbetaed it, except that lin looked it over and pointed out a couple of things for me, particularly that I had to stop pussyfooting around, so thanks...
(Also, the ending sort of sucks even more than the other parts--so as like everything else posted in the journal, read at your own risk.)
They were laying on their sides, facing each other.
He felt content just looking at her; the length of her legs; her sex like a secret under the twisted sheet; the slight curve of her hips leading his eyes to her waist; the lay of her arms, one folded beneath her head, one extended in the brief empty space between them, unmoving, obscuring and framing her breasts; the gentle slope of her shoulders; her graceful neck; her mouth, smiling at him; the line of her nose; her wide, expressive, intelligent eyes.
Their gazes met, and she lowered hers. "It would make this moment uncomfortable if I ask you when you fell in love with me, would it not?" There was a hint of playfulness in her tone.
"That is a distinct possibility."
"I think I will risk it."
Darcy looked away.
"When, then?" Her voice was soft but insistent.
"Would you believe me if I tell you... the first time I saw you at Pemberley?"
Elizabeth caught his gaze and raised her brow. "Is it the truth?"
Darcy opened his mouth, and closed it. He doubted, but finally said, "I am not sure I know."
"If it is the truth?"
"When I--fell for you."
She said almost immediately, "I did not mean to--you do not have to tell me."
"That is a relief," he said, his dry tone grating to his ears, and turned onto his back to stare at the canopy.
Neither spoke for a long moment--until Darcy, closing his eyes, felt compelled to say, "I would like to be able to say that I suspected it."
He did not move, did not open his eyes to search her inquiring gaze. He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. He heard her breathing--slow and calm--under the thumping of his heart. "I did not know." Again he waited, but no word came from her. "I do not know how to feel about that."
"You could not have known."
He felt her hand draw a long line over his arm, and turned his hand palm up. "I do not mean--I know."
Her hand continued to move, sure and soothing. She said nothing, and he knew she would not insist, would not ask again--would not question him about his meaning--but he wanted, incongruously, to tell her.
"I did not know you were a woman when I fell for you."
He lay, still, unsure, wanting to retract the words. He had known it, he had refused to deceive himself about it--but had managed to ignore it. For the longest time the best curse of action had been to ignore it, and then she was a woman and unattainable still, and in any case it was something of a moot point. Except--afterwards, he had known the question would be posed--how could it not?
Her hand stilled. It lay over his shoulder, warm, and then continued its soft caress to his neck, the side of his face, over his ear, in his hair.
It moved pensively, and Darcy felt himself calming.
"I cannot imagine--" she interrupted herself and her hand stilled again and went away. "You suffered a great deal because of me."
He opened his eyes, turned to her. Her face was transformed by sudden misery--all playfulness gone. He could do no less than bridge the gap between them with his arms. His hands went to her shoulders of their own volition and he hugged her to him.
"I fell for you before I knew it, that is the truth--but I did not realize what was happening. I had no occasion, no time, for worry. I was a fool. Still today, I do not know how it began, or how I followed the path not knowing where I was going, but it was no long after I knew what my feelings were that you told me."
She kissed his chest over his heart, still serious, and then laid her head over it, listening for its pumping. "I am glad--I would not have you suffering, when it is out of my power to stop it."
He allowed his hand to wander over her shoulders to her back, and down. He felt lighter. With her against him he could not remember what he felt just moments before--could not remember what he feared just moments before. "It would have passed by now, in any case."
She spoke to his chest, her warm breath caressing him. "All the same. I do not like to imagine you despairing of me when I--"
He let his hand skim over her leg until he hooked her knee and brought it over him. "You? Were you feeling the same?"
"Not exactly," she said, distractedly, and begun to trail kisses to his neck.
Moving on to something slightly more interesting, I wrote a short. Well, two, but only one in a digital context. (It's so much easier for me to come back to already written stories... it's sad, like I don't have any more imagination or something.)
It's silly and unnecessary, and its subject is something I sort of vowed to myself not to touch because I knew that I would screw it. But anyway, now I know for sure. Unbetaed it, except that lin looked it over and pointed out a couple of things for me, particularly that I had to stop pussyfooting around, so thanks...
(Also, the ending sort of sucks even more than the other parts--so as like everything else posted in the journal, read at your own risk.)
They were laying on their sides, facing each other.
He felt content just looking at her; the length of her legs; her sex like a secret under the twisted sheet; the slight curve of her hips leading his eyes to her waist; the lay of her arms, one folded beneath her head, one extended in the brief empty space between them, unmoving, obscuring and framing her breasts; the gentle slope of her shoulders; her graceful neck; her mouth, smiling at him; the line of her nose; her wide, expressive, intelligent eyes.
Their gazes met, and she lowered hers. "It would make this moment uncomfortable if I ask you when you fell in love with me, would it not?" There was a hint of playfulness in her tone.
"That is a distinct possibility."
"I think I will risk it."
Darcy looked away.
"When, then?" Her voice was soft but insistent.
"Would you believe me if I tell you... the first time I saw you at Pemberley?"
Elizabeth caught his gaze and raised her brow. "Is it the truth?"
Darcy opened his mouth, and closed it. He doubted, but finally said, "I am not sure I know."
"If it is the truth?"
"When I--fell for you."
She said almost immediately, "I did not mean to--you do not have to tell me."
"That is a relief," he said, his dry tone grating to his ears, and turned onto his back to stare at the canopy.
Neither spoke for a long moment--until Darcy, closing his eyes, felt compelled to say, "I would like to be able to say that I suspected it."
He did not move, did not open his eyes to search her inquiring gaze. He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. He heard her breathing--slow and calm--under the thumping of his heart. "I did not know." Again he waited, but no word came from her. "I do not know how to feel about that."
"You could not have known."
He felt her hand draw a long line over his arm, and turned his hand palm up. "I do not mean--I know."
Her hand continued to move, sure and soothing. She said nothing, and he knew she would not insist, would not ask again--would not question him about his meaning--but he wanted, incongruously, to tell her.
"I did not know you were a woman when I fell for you."
He lay, still, unsure, wanting to retract the words. He had known it, he had refused to deceive himself about it--but had managed to ignore it. For the longest time the best curse of action had been to ignore it, and then she was a woman and unattainable still, and in any case it was something of a moot point. Except--afterwards, he had known the question would be posed--how could it not?
Her hand stilled. It lay over his shoulder, warm, and then continued its soft caress to his neck, the side of his face, over his ear, in his hair.
It moved pensively, and Darcy felt himself calming.
"I cannot imagine--" she interrupted herself and her hand stilled again and went away. "You suffered a great deal because of me."
He opened his eyes, turned to her. Her face was transformed by sudden misery--all playfulness gone. He could do no less than bridge the gap between them with his arms. His hands went to her shoulders of their own volition and he hugged her to him.
"I fell for you before I knew it, that is the truth--but I did not realize what was happening. I had no occasion, no time, for worry. I was a fool. Still today, I do not know how it began, or how I followed the path not knowing where I was going, but it was no long after I knew what my feelings were that you told me."
She kissed his chest over his heart, still serious, and then laid her head over it, listening for its pumping. "I am glad--I would not have you suffering, when it is out of my power to stop it."
He allowed his hand to wander over her shoulders to her back, and down. He felt lighter. With her against him he could not remember what he felt just moments before--could not remember what he feared just moments before. "It would have passed by now, in any case."
She spoke to his chest, her warm breath caressing him. "All the same. I do not like to imagine you despairing of me when I--"
He let his hand skim over her leg until he hooked her knee and brought it over him. "You? Were you feeling the same?"
"Not exactly," she said, distractedly, and begun to trail kisses to his neck.