Springking Roundup Part 2
Second batch of Springkink stories, and the last for that challenge. Everything Short That's Not Kingdom Hearts. :D
liquid animal quickness
He's never seen anyone like her.
FF7: Advent Children, Loz/Tifa. 300 words.
Worksafe.
He's never seen anyone like her
(before now he has known only his brothers, and the dreams of Mother, and of the Reunion-Sephiroth-silver-hair-dark-wings, but that doesn't make it any less true that he's never seen anyone like her)
with her long hair that is dark and not silver, black as water, and her body with its curves and her leather clothes that reveal her skin.
When she moves it is not with the not-human grace of his brothers, where you see one movement and then another but not the intervening steps. She moves with liquid animal quickness, so that he can see her muscles and tendons and the flex of her thighs. She moves like she's real, like she has weight, like she's part of the world.
When she springs off from the wall in a deadly dive toward him, scattering flower petals in her wake, even though he knows she means to hurt him (because he knows she means to hurt him) he knows that she's beautiful. He didn't know anyone else could be beautiful.
He gets his hands in the leather of her clothes, warmed where they touch her skin just as his gloves are warm from the touch of his skin, and something about the creak of the leather and the pinging sound of her zipper giving just a little fills him with delight, it's such a real thing, so physical.
He has no intention of losing to her, of course. That would be wrong. But when she springs back out of his grip, in flight, muscle and sinew and bone and yet defying the earth's pull, and when he sees the fury in her dark eyes (dark eyes, has he seen dark eyes before?) he feels light, as though she had made him defy gravity too.
Situation Critical
If Prithivi gets free it will go badly for him.
Digital Devil Saga, Argilla/Cielo. 300 words.
Probably not worksafe for implied sex and off-screen cannibalism.
There is blood still cooling on her hands when she resumes her true form, and Prithivi humming with satisfaction but also with a continued low growl of hunger -- she is never not hungry, it never stops.
The need that claws at her is not Prithivi's, though -- it is her own (although she thinks sometimes that she is the only one to separate them like that). It comes after they've been fighting, when they've returned to the base, in the scant breathing-time between one battle and another, with the fight still in her muscles and full to bursting with pleasure at survival, despite herself. She doesn't know who she expected to slake this need with her; she is pretty sure she didn't expect Cielo.
His braids coil between her fingers, and her grip catches on the beads in them as she rolls him over onto his back -- he goes willingly, but his mouth finds her collarbone and his teeth scrape there, not hard enough to break the surface but hard enough that she can feel Prithivi's interest.
"Don't," she says, "don't." His cheek presses close to her breast -- if Prithivi gets free it will go badly for him, so close and so challenging it will be hard for her to control herself.
"Don' worry," he says. "I trust you, ja?"
She wishes she trusted herself so well, or that she had reason to. "Really," she says, her chest tight and she can't tell whether that's Prithivi or her own fear at losing control. Her vision swims with spots and she can hear howling in her inner ear.
He rocks back suddenly, tilting his chin up and exposing his throat, and that makes Prithivi hiss. "Go on," he says. "It's not de same thing."
She leans down and bites him on the pale line of his throat, but not hard enough to break the skin and get a taste of blood as she rucks up her skirt. Prithivi is confused, and to be honest so is she, but it doesn't matter. This is her own hunger, not her demon's.
She keeps telling herself that.
Enthusiasm
Balthier, Penelo, and the value of skill -- or kindness.
FFXII, Balthier/Penelo. 500 words.
Worksafe.
It was a pity, Balthier thought, that their first chance to relax without Imperials or Ba'gamnan's crew breathing down their necks was in this desert. Not that he had a problem with deserts in theory: he could admire the stark landscape for a good while, from the comfort of his cockpit. It was on the ground, with sand getting in all his clothes and the sun so hot and close it seemed he ought to be able to reach up and touch it, that he had a problem.
At least there was some cool in the deep shadows of the rock formations, and plenty of water from a hidden spring, and at the advice of the Dalmascans they slept during the day and worked and mended gear and took stock in the cool evening.
It was in the evening that he heard the report of a gun, and went to find Penelo.
Penelo had armed herself with a flintlock; while Basch did his best to teach Vaan the finer points of swordplay, Penelo lined up small rocks on the back of a boulder and shot them off -- or tried to. He watched in silence as she loaded, fired, and made annoyed noises at her success rate.
"You're pulling up," he said. She jumped and whirled around, gun clutched in her hand.
"How long have you been watching?" she demanded, turning pink with what he suspected wasn't sunburn.
"Not long. You're jerking up right after you fire, and it throws your aim off."
She was trying to look skeptical of him, and failing, miserably -- she was blushing even more, and her eyes were getting wider and wider. Had he been so innocent at her age? ...Surely not. But then, at her age, he had been --
"Show me?" she asked, trying at nonchalant and failing. She had the same warm, slightly wobbly look she had when she'd returned his handkerchief.
"Of course," he said.
It would have been too much to do the cliche thing -- to stand behind her and put his hands over hers to show her the grip. At any rate, the direction she needed wasn't so extensive. He adjusted her hands a little, and said, "Now. Hold steady, and -- fire."
She didn't knock the rock off the wall, but she did clip it. She whirled to grin at him. Carefully, with one fingertip, he pointed the muzzle of the gun away from him.
"Practice," he said. "You have more than enough enthusiasm, but that's not enough. You need to develop the skill, too."
"Is that your advice for sky piratery?" she asked.
"It's my advice for everything," he said. She was looking up at him in a way she probably wasn't even aware of, her eyes huge and so young. She was a sweet girl; she would get over her crush -- but it would do him no harm to be kind to her, in the meantime.
He bent to brush a kiss to her forehead, heard her muffle a squeak, and smiled to himself.
liquid animal quickness
He's never seen anyone like her.
FF7: Advent Children, Loz/Tifa. 300 words.
Worksafe.
He's never seen anyone like her
(before now he has known only his brothers, and the dreams of Mother, and of the Reunion-Sephiroth-silver-hair-dark-wings, but that doesn't make it any less true that he's never seen anyone like her)
with her long hair that is dark and not silver, black as water, and her body with its curves and her leather clothes that reveal her skin.
When she moves it is not with the not-human grace of his brothers, where you see one movement and then another but not the intervening steps. She moves with liquid animal quickness, so that he can see her muscles and tendons and the flex of her thighs. She moves like she's real, like she has weight, like she's part of the world.
When she springs off from the wall in a deadly dive toward him, scattering flower petals in her wake, even though he knows she means to hurt him (because he knows she means to hurt him) he knows that she's beautiful. He didn't know anyone else could be beautiful.
He gets his hands in the leather of her clothes, warmed where they touch her skin just as his gloves are warm from the touch of his skin, and something about the creak of the leather and the pinging sound of her zipper giving just a little fills him with delight, it's such a real thing, so physical.
He has no intention of losing to her, of course. That would be wrong. But when she springs back out of his grip, in flight, muscle and sinew and bone and yet defying the earth's pull, and when he sees the fury in her dark eyes (dark eyes, has he seen dark eyes before?) he feels light, as though she had made him defy gravity too.
Situation Critical
If Prithivi gets free it will go badly for him.
Digital Devil Saga, Argilla/Cielo. 300 words.
Probably not worksafe for implied sex and off-screen cannibalism.
There is blood still cooling on her hands when she resumes her true form, and Prithivi humming with satisfaction but also with a continued low growl of hunger -- she is never not hungry, it never stops.
The need that claws at her is not Prithivi's, though -- it is her own (although she thinks sometimes that she is the only one to separate them like that). It comes after they've been fighting, when they've returned to the base, in the scant breathing-time between one battle and another, with the fight still in her muscles and full to bursting with pleasure at survival, despite herself. She doesn't know who she expected to slake this need with her; she is pretty sure she didn't expect Cielo.
His braids coil between her fingers, and her grip catches on the beads in them as she rolls him over onto his back -- he goes willingly, but his mouth finds her collarbone and his teeth scrape there, not hard enough to break the surface but hard enough that she can feel Prithivi's interest.
"Don't," she says, "don't." His cheek presses close to her breast -- if Prithivi gets free it will go badly for him, so close and so challenging it will be hard for her to control herself.
"Don' worry," he says. "I trust you, ja?"
She wishes she trusted herself so well, or that she had reason to. "Really," she says, her chest tight and she can't tell whether that's Prithivi or her own fear at losing control. Her vision swims with spots and she can hear howling in her inner ear.
He rocks back suddenly, tilting his chin up and exposing his throat, and that makes Prithivi hiss. "Go on," he says. "It's not de same thing."
She leans down and bites him on the pale line of his throat, but not hard enough to break the skin and get a taste of blood as she rucks up her skirt. Prithivi is confused, and to be honest so is she, but it doesn't matter. This is her own hunger, not her demon's.
She keeps telling herself that.
Enthusiasm
Balthier, Penelo, and the value of skill -- or kindness.
FFXII, Balthier/Penelo. 500 words.
Worksafe.
It was a pity, Balthier thought, that their first chance to relax without Imperials or Ba'gamnan's crew breathing down their necks was in this desert. Not that he had a problem with deserts in theory: he could admire the stark landscape for a good while, from the comfort of his cockpit. It was on the ground, with sand getting in all his clothes and the sun so hot and close it seemed he ought to be able to reach up and touch it, that he had a problem.
At least there was some cool in the deep shadows of the rock formations, and plenty of water from a hidden spring, and at the advice of the Dalmascans they slept during the day and worked and mended gear and took stock in the cool evening.
It was in the evening that he heard the report of a gun, and went to find Penelo.
Penelo had armed herself with a flintlock; while Basch did his best to teach Vaan the finer points of swordplay, Penelo lined up small rocks on the back of a boulder and shot them off -- or tried to. He watched in silence as she loaded, fired, and made annoyed noises at her success rate.
"You're pulling up," he said. She jumped and whirled around, gun clutched in her hand.
"How long have you been watching?" she demanded, turning pink with what he suspected wasn't sunburn.
"Not long. You're jerking up right after you fire, and it throws your aim off."
She was trying to look skeptical of him, and failing, miserably -- she was blushing even more, and her eyes were getting wider and wider. Had he been so innocent at her age? ...Surely not. But then, at her age, he had been --
"Show me?" she asked, trying at nonchalant and failing. She had the same warm, slightly wobbly look she had when she'd returned his handkerchief.
"Of course," he said.
It would have been too much to do the cliche thing -- to stand behind her and put his hands over hers to show her the grip. At any rate, the direction she needed wasn't so extensive. He adjusted her hands a little, and said, "Now. Hold steady, and -- fire."
She didn't knock the rock off the wall, but she did clip it. She whirled to grin at him. Carefully, with one fingertip, he pointed the muzzle of the gun away from him.
"Practice," he said. "You have more than enough enthusiasm, but that's not enough. You need to develop the skill, too."
"Is that your advice for sky piratery?" she asked.
"It's my advice for everything," he said. She was looking up at him in a way she probably wasn't even aware of, her eyes huge and so young. She was a sweet girl; she would get over her crush -- but it would do him no harm to be kind to her, in the meantime.
He bent to brush a kiss to her forehead, heard her muffle a squeak, and smiled to himself.