[Wild Roses] Some Kind of Love Song
Title: Come, we'll go dancing--
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Takashi, Arianhrod
Prompt: 50D "breaking the rules"
Word Count: 1033
Notes: She thought it was over.
(This was one of a set of three pieces I did with Takashi back in April. It's expanded from 682 words and shifted to first person past. Original is locked to the Wild Roses babble filter.)
She knew me when our eyes met, though I was wearing a new face, dark hair and a good extra head of height. She narrowed her eyes at me, glanced at the buffet like she was going to go for a cheese knife again, but something held her still, her mouth tight. She'd gotten thin while I'd left her alone, her wrists more sharply prominent but her tailoring still perfect, skirts brushing the floor and no gap at the curve of her breasts.
I nearly got a snarl in reply when I asked her to dance, in a voice higher than my own, a young man's tenor to match my current face, but she ground her teeth instead, and accepted my hand, let me lead her into open space. Her feet were fox soft, softer than mine in the hard soles we both wore, and she followed me like she was floating in her skirts. I spun her out, half experimentally, and her skirt flared up to her knees, exposing an extremely distracting length of unfreckled calf and the fact that her feet were firmly on the floor.
I caught myself inanely thinking that she had nice taste in shoes, then looked up at her face and noticed that that braid hadn't budged, though it should've. She was half-glaring at me, but under the irked was an amused gleam, quiet challenge.
I grinned at her, my own grin instead of the one that went with this face, and spun her again, this time the other way. Her glare intensified, hard green eyes trying to push me into submission, but if I were inclined to take it I wouldn't be here, dancing with her, only just barely not leading with my hips touching hers. She's still following, for all the glare, her feet dodging in and around mine, all expertly reined in and controlled grace.
Oh, she's angry, doesn't want me here, doesn't want me around at all to go by her words, but she's not willing to fight, not in public with an apparent stranger.
When the song ended I bowed over her hand, didn't kiss it. She was staring down at me, when I glanced, like she'd expected me to keep dancing, keep pushing and she hadn't a damn clue what to do now, when I've stopped.
I smiled at her as I straightened, one of mine but not one that was anything but warm, and brought her back to the spot I'd found her in.
When she was settled, I slipped past her without touching, walked towards the tall glass doors that led to the gardens, and disappeared into the twilight.
Her turn.
I'd hoped. Hadn't expected, which was why I was still wearing the borrowed skin when she stepped out of the lights and into the garden, her eyes narrowed to see through dusk, barely slits of colour even to my acclimated eyes.
She found me easily enough, her feet still fox-soft as she crossed the slate tiles and stopped by the stone bench I was sitting on, pretending to look at the only barely visible stars.
"I almost expected you to have gone over the wall," she said, quiet enough not to be accusing, inclining her head to the border-wall, well above my head even in this skin.
I didn't laugh, just ran my hands through my hair as I took off the skin, let my own shape show. I flicked the hairs I'd pulled loose away from me, onto the ground, pretending disinterest, looking anywhere but at her. "You've faith in my spring, milady."
"I've seen how foxes climb," she told me, dry, but came close enough to reach out and touch, just the same, and didn't back away when I stood up, still taller than her in my own skin but not by nearly so much. She was watching me, eyes still narrowed, but she only barely kept herself from flinching when I reached out, brushed a knuckle gently against her hair.
She was beautiful, here in the dark, carved alabaster statue by the light of brightening stars, but oh, the smell of her. I let my mouth drop open, just a little, tasted the air swirling around her like a lover. Smelled human woman, just a hint of salt, then the sharp crackle of the spells she had layered against her hair, her skin, her clothes. I let the scent coil through my head, my lungs, come to rest as a warm knot in my belly, before I leaned forward, down a little, and kissed her cheekbone, closed-mouth.
I shuddered when she rested a hand against the back in my neck, her nails brushing through the shorter hairs there, and rubbed my hair against hers, as gentle as I could be but unable to stop myself, smelled her scent change, just a little, with mine beginning to touch it.
"I won't break," she whispered in my ear, tightened her hand almost crushing-tight against my neck and relaxed just as fast, effortless.
'No, but you might run,' I thought, mouthing at the edge of her ear until I could tug on an earring with a fang, the taste electric as the spell in it, then kissed down to the corner of her mouth. 'Again.'
"I won't run, either," she said against my mouth, but flinched when I hooked one of my own nails, the real ones, in the braid and pulled it away from her neck, let it fall down her back like a set of intricately twisted tails.
She had a scar on her neck, right where the braid usually rested against her skin. Deep and untidy and by the placement it might have nearly killed her, a long time ago. She hissed through her teeth when I leaned in and kissed it, no language I knew, but she didn't pull away, or call down the lightning coiled in her jewelry.
I mouthed up the side of her neck, nipped at the edge of her jaw, then kissed her mouth, felt her hands tighten on me, hard. Wondered if I'd break, before she bent, until she kissed me back and all my thoughts went scattering like summer fireflies.
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Takashi, Arianhrod
Prompt: 50D "breaking the rules"
Word Count: 1033
Notes: She thought it was over.
(This was one of a set of three pieces I did with Takashi back in April. It's expanded from 682 words and shifted to first person past. Original is locked to the Wild Roses babble filter.)
She knew me when our eyes met, though I was wearing a new face, dark hair and a good extra head of height. She narrowed her eyes at me, glanced at the buffet like she was going to go for a cheese knife again, but something held her still, her mouth tight. She'd gotten thin while I'd left her alone, her wrists more sharply prominent but her tailoring still perfect, skirts brushing the floor and no gap at the curve of her breasts.
I nearly got a snarl in reply when I asked her to dance, in a voice higher than my own, a young man's tenor to match my current face, but she ground her teeth instead, and accepted my hand, let me lead her into open space. Her feet were fox soft, softer than mine in the hard soles we both wore, and she followed me like she was floating in her skirts. I spun her out, half experimentally, and her skirt flared up to her knees, exposing an extremely distracting length of unfreckled calf and the fact that her feet were firmly on the floor.
I caught myself inanely thinking that she had nice taste in shoes, then looked up at her face and noticed that that braid hadn't budged, though it should've. She was half-glaring at me, but under the irked was an amused gleam, quiet challenge.
I grinned at her, my own grin instead of the one that went with this face, and spun her again, this time the other way. Her glare intensified, hard green eyes trying to push me into submission, but if I were inclined to take it I wouldn't be here, dancing with her, only just barely not leading with my hips touching hers. She's still following, for all the glare, her feet dodging in and around mine, all expertly reined in and controlled grace.
Oh, she's angry, doesn't want me here, doesn't want me around at all to go by her words, but she's not willing to fight, not in public with an apparent stranger.
When the song ended I bowed over her hand, didn't kiss it. She was staring down at me, when I glanced, like she'd expected me to keep dancing, keep pushing and she hadn't a damn clue what to do now, when I've stopped.
I smiled at her as I straightened, one of mine but not one that was anything but warm, and brought her back to the spot I'd found her in.
When she was settled, I slipped past her without touching, walked towards the tall glass doors that led to the gardens, and disappeared into the twilight.
Her turn.
I'd hoped. Hadn't expected, which was why I was still wearing the borrowed skin when she stepped out of the lights and into the garden, her eyes narrowed to see through dusk, barely slits of colour even to my acclimated eyes.
She found me easily enough, her feet still fox-soft as she crossed the slate tiles and stopped by the stone bench I was sitting on, pretending to look at the only barely visible stars.
"I almost expected you to have gone over the wall," she said, quiet enough not to be accusing, inclining her head to the border-wall, well above my head even in this skin.
I didn't laugh, just ran my hands through my hair as I took off the skin, let my own shape show. I flicked the hairs I'd pulled loose away from me, onto the ground, pretending disinterest, looking anywhere but at her. "You've faith in my spring, milady."
"I've seen how foxes climb," she told me, dry, but came close enough to reach out and touch, just the same, and didn't back away when I stood up, still taller than her in my own skin but not by nearly so much. She was watching me, eyes still narrowed, but she only barely kept herself from flinching when I reached out, brushed a knuckle gently against her hair.
She was beautiful, here in the dark, carved alabaster statue by the light of brightening stars, but oh, the smell of her. I let my mouth drop open, just a little, tasted the air swirling around her like a lover. Smelled human woman, just a hint of salt, then the sharp crackle of the spells she had layered against her hair, her skin, her clothes. I let the scent coil through my head, my lungs, come to rest as a warm knot in my belly, before I leaned forward, down a little, and kissed her cheekbone, closed-mouth.
I shuddered when she rested a hand against the back in my neck, her nails brushing through the shorter hairs there, and rubbed my hair against hers, as gentle as I could be but unable to stop myself, smelled her scent change, just a little, with mine beginning to touch it.
"I won't break," she whispered in my ear, tightened her hand almost crushing-tight against my neck and relaxed just as fast, effortless.
'No, but you might run,' I thought, mouthing at the edge of her ear until I could tug on an earring with a fang, the taste electric as the spell in it, then kissed down to the corner of her mouth. 'Again.'
"I won't run, either," she said against my mouth, but flinched when I hooked one of my own nails, the real ones, in the braid and pulled it away from her neck, let it fall down her back like a set of intricately twisted tails.
She had a scar on her neck, right where the braid usually rested against her skin. Deep and untidy and by the placement it might have nearly killed her, a long time ago. She hissed through her teeth when I leaned in and kissed it, no language I knew, but she didn't pull away, or call down the lightning coiled in her jewelry.
I mouthed up the side of her neck, nipped at the edge of her jaw, then kissed her mouth, felt her hands tighten on me, hard. Wondered if I'd break, before she bent, until she kissed me back and all my thoughts went scattering like summer fireflies.