As requested by V...
Transferring a write-up from 'fic chat this week to an entry for her enjoyment.
Prompt was this, courtesy of teh awesome that is Thalia. The key line for me was "Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase."
He came out of a study reverie to find a blinking light on his phone. He blinked back at it for a moment, then thumbed to the message..
"Guess which douchebag left his gym bag at his girlfriend's?"
Jem could see where the entire conversation was about to go, but gamely he tapped back, "The one texting me?"
"Bingo. Can you get it? My lady swears roomie won't be a problem."
Jem wasn't sure which part to roll his eyes at harder. "Still studying," he texted back.
"You can go in an hour." Quickly followed by, "It's a quick walk for you," and then, after a minute of desperation, "Please Jade."
Yeah, he'd already known where this conversation was gonna go. Childhood friendship did that to you.
He closed the book in front of him, losing the music to the pages again, and sent back, "Yeah, I'll go."
Jeremy, who was called Jem and sometimes Jade, did not want to run into his lady's roomate. He'd already done that before, and come away from the confrontation--only thing it could and should be called--with a bruised arm and aching ego. His ambitions of being a proper lady's man, as he had been around so many others, had been shot to pieces by one dark eyed look.
She was 5'5 if she was an inch, but never without heels to look down on him. Her hair was free-roaming, silken shadow that consented to sit on her head, and her eyes were some malevolent gorgeousness chipped out of Brazilian amethyst. She had a way of looking down her nose that said exactly where you placed in the circle of her little world, and for him it was at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of the muck feeders.
Jeremy, who was called Jem and sometimes Jade, sometimes wondered if he thought about his lady's roomate a little too much.
Wasn't that how it always went?
His lady--err, Carmen, who was exactly the opposite of every musical Carmen ever...in looks--met him at the door with an apologetic look. "You don't mind waiting a little, do you?" she said in a stage whisper. "I'm putting in a surprise."
He gamely shook his head. Why the hell not? He'd already trudged this far.
"Thanks," she said, moving away and leaving the door open for him to follow.
He recentered his backpack and gamely did so. He kept his head down, little blond hairs wisping over his eyes, just in case.
But She did not make her presence known.
Rather, the goddess had descended to the mortal plane, and had chosen to do it in the form of a college girl, napping on the couch.
He cocked his head at her. Hair still living shadow. Heels still there, just on the floor. Feet overlapping in some sort of Golden Ratio, legs pulled in stiff, body tucked in tight...around a pillow...
He frowned. What was wrong with this picture?
Were Black Witches allowed to cuddle pillows? Was a Dark Goddess supposed to have her face buried in the top of one, toes curled up as if sleep were some sort of stress? She looked like someone had rolled her out and then rolled her up around the pillow, so tightly did she hold it.
Experimentally, he reached down and squeezed the couch pillow in front of him. It was not made of surprise stuffed animal softness. It was just a pillow, one a little larger than most throws but one she had chosen to curl up around. No blanket, just a pillow.
He found himself looking around for a way to fix that.
No throw on the couch or the other chair. He'd forgotten his jacket. The rug was probably out of the question, though he suspected Zin would've been all over that one. He knew from experience that the girls kept dishclothes in their drawers, no miraculous fold out giant towel. And Carmen, for all her sunny temperment, would probably go a little Rom on him if he started looking for a linen closet.
So nothing doing. Possibly her fiery black heart, powered by the deepest fires of torment, kept her warm?
/Perhaps you want to keep her warm./
The thought was black lightning, the kind that froze one in granite thoughts, because he could see it. He could so easily see it, the two of them lying together, that shadow mass of hair pushed to the side yet still tickling his face, the gentle bump of her ankle and instep along his shin, the carefully manicured hands pale and soft over his life broken ones. She would be ever so slightly warm and smell of cloves. She would arch her head as she slept, and he would rest his forehead against the back of her neck, forming a loop of chain with her body.
He could see it. He could feel it. And he--wanted it, desperately, hungrily, fiercly needy, fiercly possessive of that gentle heat that would lay between them. Nothing of sex. Not even a smooch. Just the gentle heat of sleep.
"Big difference, isn't it?"
Carmen's voice, soft and knowing.
--and now he wasn't sure if he could look at her roommate, the one who might not be look like Carmen or be like Carmen but could still pull Carmen's tricks from time to time. But the only other recourse was to continue to stare at the Devil Wrapped Pillow. So he looked, and he nodded.
"She does this once a week or so," she said, holding out the bag to him. "Just curls up on the couch like that and falls asleep. She does it more when it's not quite spring, something about the weather, I think."
"Like SAD?" he offered, taking the bag.
"Nah, I don't think she's sad," Carmen replied, missing the acronym. "She's just--" Her lips furled and pursed, like the word wouldn't stop rattling her mouth to get on her tongue and go. "Melancholy, I guess? A little lonely, maybe."
He looked back at her. "She's got a boyfriend," he said, in hollow words from a tongue a hundred miles away. "How's that lonely?"
Carmen chuckled, and it was warm and far too knowing, like the nicest evil villain laugh he'd ever heard. "She's got twenty boyfriends," she replied. "But some boys are jewelry, and some boys are pants. I think all her boys so far are jewelry, and she won't be better until she finds her pants."
It was a testament to how much time His Lady spent on their couch that Jem didn't even bat an eye at that explanation. He didn't understand it, but he didn't bat an eye, either.
Suddenly he realized he was standing in his roomate's girlfriend's living room, looking at her roommate, and talking about pants. It was time to go home.
"Thanks, Carmen," he said, making a pathetic gesture at the bag.
She smiled in that most un-Carmen way. "Anytime, Jade!"
Which was really only Her Lord's way of addressing him, but in his need to leave, he'd let it slide.
He had a campus to walk across, after all.
He had music to think about, music to chase, music to pull at his dreams until the black velvet curtain came down and a pair of Brazilian--
No. No. No.
...but the problem was, music was emotions translated into math.
And that black fire of hers stirred a lot of emotions in him.
Especially, interestingly, stupidedly, when he'd seen it sleep.
This is one of those "dunno where it came from, dunno what it means, but it ATE MY BRAIN so I'll run with it" sorts of things.
Prompt was this, courtesy of teh awesome that is Thalia. The key line for me was "Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase."
He came out of a study reverie to find a blinking light on his phone. He blinked back at it for a moment, then thumbed to the message..
"Guess which douchebag left his gym bag at his girlfriend's?"
Jem could see where the entire conversation was about to go, but gamely he tapped back, "The one texting me?"
"Bingo. Can you get it? My lady swears roomie won't be a problem."
Jem wasn't sure which part to roll his eyes at harder. "Still studying," he texted back.
"You can go in an hour." Quickly followed by, "It's a quick walk for you," and then, after a minute of desperation, "Please Jade."
Yeah, he'd already known where this conversation was gonna go. Childhood friendship did that to you.
He closed the book in front of him, losing the music to the pages again, and sent back, "Yeah, I'll go."
Jeremy, who was called Jem and sometimes Jade, did not want to run into his lady's roomate. He'd already done that before, and come away from the confrontation--only thing it could and should be called--with a bruised arm and aching ego. His ambitions of being a proper lady's man, as he had been around so many others, had been shot to pieces by one dark eyed look.
She was 5'5 if she was an inch, but never without heels to look down on him. Her hair was free-roaming, silken shadow that consented to sit on her head, and her eyes were some malevolent gorgeousness chipped out of Brazilian amethyst. She had a way of looking down her nose that said exactly where you placed in the circle of her little world, and for him it was at the bottom of the ocean with the rest of the muck feeders.
Jeremy, who was called Jem and sometimes Jade, sometimes wondered if he thought about his lady's roomate a little too much.
Wasn't that how it always went?
His lady--err, Carmen, who was exactly the opposite of every musical Carmen ever...in looks--met him at the door with an apologetic look. "You don't mind waiting a little, do you?" she said in a stage whisper. "I'm putting in a surprise."
He gamely shook his head. Why the hell not? He'd already trudged this far.
"Thanks," she said, moving away and leaving the door open for him to follow.
He recentered his backpack and gamely did so. He kept his head down, little blond hairs wisping over his eyes, just in case.
But She did not make her presence known.
Rather, the goddess had descended to the mortal plane, and had chosen to do it in the form of a college girl, napping on the couch.
He cocked his head at her. Hair still living shadow. Heels still there, just on the floor. Feet overlapping in some sort of Golden Ratio, legs pulled in stiff, body tucked in tight...around a pillow...
He frowned. What was wrong with this picture?
Were Black Witches allowed to cuddle pillows? Was a Dark Goddess supposed to have her face buried in the top of one, toes curled up as if sleep were some sort of stress? She looked like someone had rolled her out and then rolled her up around the pillow, so tightly did she hold it.
Experimentally, he reached down and squeezed the couch pillow in front of him. It was not made of surprise stuffed animal softness. It was just a pillow, one a little larger than most throws but one she had chosen to curl up around. No blanket, just a pillow.
He found himself looking around for a way to fix that.
No throw on the couch or the other chair. He'd forgotten his jacket. The rug was probably out of the question, though he suspected Zin would've been all over that one. He knew from experience that the girls kept dishclothes in their drawers, no miraculous fold out giant towel. And Carmen, for all her sunny temperment, would probably go a little Rom on him if he started looking for a linen closet.
So nothing doing. Possibly her fiery black heart, powered by the deepest fires of torment, kept her warm?
/Perhaps you want to keep her warm./
The thought was black lightning, the kind that froze one in granite thoughts, because he could see it. He could so easily see it, the two of them lying together, that shadow mass of hair pushed to the side yet still tickling his face, the gentle bump of her ankle and instep along his shin, the carefully manicured hands pale and soft over his life broken ones. She would be ever so slightly warm and smell of cloves. She would arch her head as she slept, and he would rest his forehead against the back of her neck, forming a loop of chain with her body.
He could see it. He could feel it. And he--wanted it, desperately, hungrily, fiercly needy, fiercly possessive of that gentle heat that would lay between them. Nothing of sex. Not even a smooch. Just the gentle heat of sleep.
"Big difference, isn't it?"
Carmen's voice, soft and knowing.
--and now he wasn't sure if he could look at her roommate, the one who might not be look like Carmen or be like Carmen but could still pull Carmen's tricks from time to time. But the only other recourse was to continue to stare at the Devil Wrapped Pillow. So he looked, and he nodded.
"She does this once a week or so," she said, holding out the bag to him. "Just curls up on the couch like that and falls asleep. She does it more when it's not quite spring, something about the weather, I think."
"Like SAD?" he offered, taking the bag.
"Nah, I don't think she's sad," Carmen replied, missing the acronym. "She's just--" Her lips furled and pursed, like the word wouldn't stop rattling her mouth to get on her tongue and go. "Melancholy, I guess? A little lonely, maybe."
He looked back at her. "She's got a boyfriend," he said, in hollow words from a tongue a hundred miles away. "How's that lonely?"
Carmen chuckled, and it was warm and far too knowing, like the nicest evil villain laugh he'd ever heard. "She's got twenty boyfriends," she replied. "But some boys are jewelry, and some boys are pants. I think all her boys so far are jewelry, and she won't be better until she finds her pants."
It was a testament to how much time His Lady spent on their couch that Jem didn't even bat an eye at that explanation. He didn't understand it, but he didn't bat an eye, either.
Suddenly he realized he was standing in his roomate's girlfriend's living room, looking at her roommate, and talking about pants. It was time to go home.
"Thanks, Carmen," he said, making a pathetic gesture at the bag.
She smiled in that most un-Carmen way. "Anytime, Jade!"
Which was really only Her Lord's way of addressing him, but in his need to leave, he'd let it slide.
He had a campus to walk across, after all.
He had music to think about, music to chase, music to pull at his dreams until the black velvet curtain came down and a pair of Brazilian--
No. No. No.
...but the problem was, music was emotions translated into math.
And that black fire of hers stirred a lot of emotions in him.
Especially, interestingly, stupidedly, when he'd seen it sleep.
This is one of those "dunno where it came from, dunno what it means, but it ATE MY BRAIN so I'll run with it" sorts of things.