FanFic100-Dracula-038. "Touch"
Title: None.
Fandom: Dracula: General Novel
Characters: Lucy Westenra (with reference to Seward, Morris, and Holmwood)
Prompt: 038. Touch
Word Count: 381
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: LTD here. Okay, this was supposed to be a slight delving into Lucy's psyche, not poorly attempted erotica. But then again, it's Lucy. Her mind could easily be poorly attempted erotica: after all, she's a Victorian.
She was the sort who longed for physical contact. She needed to touch others, to be touched. It was an ache, a yearning, an absolutely necessary part of her life. She could not explain it, she just felt it deep within herself.
She was aware that she had to be careful not to seem wanton. That would never do for a young lady of good breeding and reputable family. Still, she needed to touch and be touched. Perhaps it was a sort of reassurance that she was not sleepwalking, as she sometimes did, or simply daydreaming, as she was notorious for.
She felt a sort of thrill whenever Doctor Seward pressed her hand to his lips like a knight of old. His sad eyes and overly courteous manners made him seem better suited to another time, or perhaps another world. She often wondered if perhaps he was from the Round Table, come through time to sweep her off her feet and carry her away to some medieval castle. He would shower her with sonnets, she imagined, or more importantly, gentle kisses everywhere.
The room seemed to freeze when Mr. Morris would laugh and pat her cheek after she would try on his hat. He was a wild heart, the kind who might carry her off to one of his jungles or forests that he sometimes spoke of. He would fight vicious beasts for her sake as she clung to him, then pull her into a embrace almost as fierce at the animal he had slain to protect her.
Of course, nothing could compare to the heat she felt all over when her dearest Arthur stole a sweet kiss. He was a lover like those in the books which young ladies bought and hid from their mothers to read under to covers at night. When she closed her eyes she could think what he would be like, stroking her hair and holding her close.
Of course, she kept all these fantasies to herself. It would never do for any of these fine, respectable gentlemen to ever find out her most secret thoughts. She had to content herself with the touches on the back of the hand, the pats on the cheek, the stolen kisses, and allow herself more only in her dreamings.
Fandom: Dracula: General Novel
Characters: Lucy Westenra (with reference to Seward, Morris, and Holmwood)
Prompt: 038. Touch
Word Count: 381
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: LTD here. Okay, this was supposed to be a slight delving into Lucy's psyche, not poorly attempted erotica. But then again, it's Lucy. Her mind could easily be poorly attempted erotica: after all, she's a Victorian.
She was the sort who longed for physical contact. She needed to touch others, to be touched. It was an ache, a yearning, an absolutely necessary part of her life. She could not explain it, she just felt it deep within herself.
She was aware that she had to be careful not to seem wanton. That would never do for a young lady of good breeding and reputable family. Still, she needed to touch and be touched. Perhaps it was a sort of reassurance that she was not sleepwalking, as she sometimes did, or simply daydreaming, as she was notorious for.
She felt a sort of thrill whenever Doctor Seward pressed her hand to his lips like a knight of old. His sad eyes and overly courteous manners made him seem better suited to another time, or perhaps another world. She often wondered if perhaps he was from the Round Table, come through time to sweep her off her feet and carry her away to some medieval castle. He would shower her with sonnets, she imagined, or more importantly, gentle kisses everywhere.
The room seemed to freeze when Mr. Morris would laugh and pat her cheek after she would try on his hat. He was a wild heart, the kind who might carry her off to one of his jungles or forests that he sometimes spoke of. He would fight vicious beasts for her sake as she clung to him, then pull her into a embrace almost as fierce at the animal he had slain to protect her.
Of course, nothing could compare to the heat she felt all over when her dearest Arthur stole a sweet kiss. He was a lover like those in the books which young ladies bought and hid from their mothers to read under to covers at night. When she closed her eyes she could think what he would be like, stroking her hair and holding her close.
Of course, she kept all these fantasies to herself. It would never do for any of these fine, respectable gentlemen to ever find out her most secret thoughts. She had to content herself with the touches on the back of the hand, the pats on the cheek, the stolen kisses, and allow herself more only in her dreamings.