A MEME? again? lady.

[ironfall]

I'm still, honest to God, working on babbymeme responses, but these can be QUICK AND ADORABLE. Or quick and...LESS ADORABLE, depending on who you give me.

three kisses.
❤ give me one of my characters and one of yours. [or several of either and I will mix & match]
❤ i will write three short snippets.
❤ each snippet will feature a kiss.

Comments

[ironfall]

you are a dream among the sharks, beautiful and terrifying

Her mouth never quite knows how to soften, not at first, reminding him of a river smoothed pebble, the heel of a hand, things that resist by their nature and not necessarily inclination--or this is what he hopes, anyway, every time he tries to kiss her and comes up against a wall. There's history in everything, and he doesn't know what to do with the years that hold them apart. She makes him feel young and stupid and useless, and then she makes him want to change that.

It's not as though he wants to treat her like any other girlfriend; the point is that she's not any other girlfriend, or any other girl, but that she's her, and he's not doing enough to be right for her. He can't put his arm around her shoulders in public or get her to talk about the TV shows she likes, and there's only so much feedback he can give on a plan she'd been working on before his grandfather was born.

This is the kind of thing that preoccupies him at work when he runs out of internal commentary on the patrons and new ways to stack glasses, and he carries it all the way back to the motel, letting himself in silently. He takes his jacket off before he realizes he's not actually alone, and then he's surprised enough to just stay still, because he's never pictured Anna as someone who'd let herself fall asleep on her work, but--there she is, facedown in a sea of old books at the desk. There aren't a lot of options; if he leaves her there and Noah sees her, she'll never forgive him, but if she's that tired he doesn't want to wake her up.

She's so light it does something fragile and irredeemable to his chest, and he cradles her against his shoulder as he eases her into his arms, holding his breath against disaster.

What he gets is her hand flat on his shoulder as her eyes open blurrily, and he hushes her before he can remind himself not to, stroking her hair. She looks at him blankly, then with slow comprehension, wariness, and then--he can almost feel her shrug as she accepts it, grudging, closing her eyes again. So he takes her to bed and unties her shoes, undoes her belt, and folds the blanket over her. He doesn't think about how small she looks, or how helpless that makes him, how if she asked him for anything (God help him) he thinks he'd do it.

He leans in and touches his lips to hers, lightly, but he was expecting resistence, and in its absence he sinks in longer than he means to. And he stays.

scissor-shaped across the bed, you are red, violent red

"Ben, we really don't have time for this--"

"Five minutes," he says, nuzzling her neck, and Anna sighs like she is just so put upon as he unbuttons his shirt and tucks his hand inside it, stroking his fingers over cool and pliant skin. Outside, the sun is going down, and they have places to be, things to do, but in the shadowy and relieved quiet of a room now holding only two he feels like he can take this time, and the time after it, and-

"I'm counting," she tells him, closing her eyes, and he grins as he presses a kiss to the sharp hinge of her jaw, throwing in a gentle squeeze that comes back to him in the tightening of her throat. She smells like cherries and their faint, strange sweat, but mostly she smells like herself, like nothing he's ever had before; he'd know her anywhere, just by that, before he saw the ash-and-grey-glass smudges of her eyes or the wild iron spirals of her hair.

"Four minutes," he promises. It's more like twenty, and they're both late, so she bites him in the shower--and then they're really late, but it's okay, just this once.