Degrees of Seperation-NejiTen
This is for burnishedvelvet for the gift exchange over at nejiten.
Title: Degrees of Seperation
Characters/Pairings: Neji/Tenten
Rating: PG13 or soft R for sexuality.
Length: long drabble
Notes: This turned out, like most of my NejiTen work, almost abstract and very poetic. It's not exactly what I intended, but I am for the most part, pleased with it. It's not long, but a lot of work went into the creation. I hope you enjoy!
degrees of seperation
Neji tries too hard not to hurt. He is gentle, mild as the dove, making Tenten feel too big, too clumsy, too careless. He is like the morning, skin smooth and white as ivory, hair thick and soft as gossamer threads beneath her fingers. If he is the morning, she is the evening, eyes dark, smoldering beneath fringed lashes, limbs long and tanned, body warm and alive and moving.
They will burn down their house, let the walls around them crackle and fall. They will stare into each other’s eyes and see the flames dance and sing. They will find each other’s lips, each other’s bodies and he will still be cold and she will be burning.
Then they will snap out of it, heat vanishing in an instant as she takes his hand and pulls him out, running through the snow and feeling it burn the soles of her bare feet, a numb tingle flashing up her legs.
----------->
Soon he overtakes her, hand tightening around hers as he pulls her down a familiar path, somewhere far from home, where the snowflakes fall from the sky like glittering powder. He is smiling, now, as they run. Truly smiling, and she can see the warmth on his face now, shining in the snow. She laughs, and her voice shakes in the cold, and pulls him in for a kiss that warms her to the core. His arms are up, around her, pulling her in, sliding up under her top and pressing his fingers into the small of her back. She arches against him, but his fingers aren’t cold, they are warm, warm enough to spread a dull heat up her back. But the snow keeps falling, and while Neji seems to defy the cold she cannot.
He leads her back the way they came, running even faster then they had on the way there. The house is still there, not consumed by fire and she has to look again, to be sure that they had indeed imagined the flames.
They lay in a bed that was too small, long limbs tangling and breathing in each other’s faces, lips coming together, warm and wet. Her body is still tingling from the cold, defrosting rapidly against his. She wants to be beautiful enough for him, but she knows that she isn’t, so she goes down on him instead, on her knees on the hardwood floor, his hands threading through her hair.
She wishes half-heartedly(because she doesn’t know how she would react if this were to actually happen) that his fingers would claw, instead of glide. That pain would spiral and shiver down her neck as his fingernails dug into her scalp. She wishes that he wouldn’t treat her like something that might break. She wants him to know, wants him to feel, that she is a human. She is warm and living and breathing. Flesh, bone and blood just like him. She is not some golden statue, some holy sacrament.
But to him, she is. So his fingers stroke and glide and twine, gentle all the way up to his climax.
Later, he tells her that he loves her almost too softly for her to hear. She doesn’t know if she believes him. She misses the flames and the ice, they were gone too fast for her to catch. She buries her face in white linen, lightly scented of sex and green tea, and falls asleep in his moon-white arms.
She dreams that she drowns under a frigid morning sun and runs under the stars. She dreams that he tells her that he loves her, that he holds her. She dreams that they meet in the afternoon, under a flaring, burning sun and that he kisses her and tells her that he will never let her go.
And then she wakes up, and he is gone. Not far though, she can hear his gentle footsteps, soft, as though he was afraid to wake her. She wants to sneak up behind him, to pounce, to laugh. But he comes into the bedroom first, before she even gets the chance to get out of bed.
He tells her he made breakfast and she smiles and stands and kisses him on the cheek. They are so happy, so loving. The night magic is gone, whatever enchantments they pulled out of the thick, dark air are gone now. It is the morning and the morning, like Neji, is only straightforward and gentle and caring.
She doesn’t know which is better. The pale mornings, not yet kissed by a burning sun, so happy and easy, or the nights. Fire and ice and love and hate and sex and a sun that has been extinguished. He is there for both though, so she thinks that that could be enough.
Yes, that will be enough. That and the fact that later, when the air is closer and the sky is dimmer, later they will watch the walls around them burn once more.
end
thanks for reading!
-tallah
Title: Degrees of Seperation
Characters/Pairings: Neji/Tenten
Rating: PG13 or soft R for sexuality.
Length: long drabble
Notes: This turned out, like most of my NejiTen work, almost abstract and very poetic. It's not exactly what I intended, but I am for the most part, pleased with it. It's not long, but a lot of work went into the creation. I hope you enjoy!
degrees of seperation
Neji tries too hard not to hurt. He is gentle, mild as the dove, making Tenten feel too big, too clumsy, too careless. He is like the morning, skin smooth and white as ivory, hair thick and soft as gossamer threads beneath her fingers. If he is the morning, she is the evening, eyes dark, smoldering beneath fringed lashes, limbs long and tanned, body warm and alive and moving.
They will burn down their house, let the walls around them crackle and fall. They will stare into each other’s eyes and see the flames dance and sing. They will find each other’s lips, each other’s bodies and he will still be cold and she will be burning.
Then they will snap out of it, heat vanishing in an instant as she takes his hand and pulls him out, running through the snow and feeling it burn the soles of her bare feet, a numb tingle flashing up her legs.
----------->
Soon he overtakes her, hand tightening around hers as he pulls her down a familiar path, somewhere far from home, where the snowflakes fall from the sky like glittering powder. He is smiling, now, as they run. Truly smiling, and she can see the warmth on his face now, shining in the snow. She laughs, and her voice shakes in the cold, and pulls him in for a kiss that warms her to the core. His arms are up, around her, pulling her in, sliding up under her top and pressing his fingers into the small of her back. She arches against him, but his fingers aren’t cold, they are warm, warm enough to spread a dull heat up her back. But the snow keeps falling, and while Neji seems to defy the cold she cannot.
He leads her back the way they came, running even faster then they had on the way there. The house is still there, not consumed by fire and she has to look again, to be sure that they had indeed imagined the flames.
They lay in a bed that was too small, long limbs tangling and breathing in each other’s faces, lips coming together, warm and wet. Her body is still tingling from the cold, defrosting rapidly against his. She wants to be beautiful enough for him, but she knows that she isn’t, so she goes down on him instead, on her knees on the hardwood floor, his hands threading through her hair.
She wishes half-heartedly(because she doesn’t know how she would react if this were to actually happen) that his fingers would claw, instead of glide. That pain would spiral and shiver down her neck as his fingernails dug into her scalp. She wishes that he wouldn’t treat her like something that might break. She wants him to know, wants him to feel, that she is a human. She is warm and living and breathing. Flesh, bone and blood just like him. She is not some golden statue, some holy sacrament.
But to him, she is. So his fingers stroke and glide and twine, gentle all the way up to his climax.
Later, he tells her that he loves her almost too softly for her to hear. She doesn’t know if she believes him. She misses the flames and the ice, they were gone too fast for her to catch. She buries her face in white linen, lightly scented of sex and green tea, and falls asleep in his moon-white arms.
She dreams that she drowns under a frigid morning sun and runs under the stars. She dreams that he tells her that he loves her, that he holds her. She dreams that they meet in the afternoon, under a flaring, burning sun and that he kisses her and tells her that he will never let her go.
And then she wakes up, and he is gone. Not far though, she can hear his gentle footsteps, soft, as though he was afraid to wake her. She wants to sneak up behind him, to pounce, to laugh. But he comes into the bedroom first, before she even gets the chance to get out of bed.
He tells her he made breakfast and she smiles and stands and kisses him on the cheek. They are so happy, so loving. The night magic is gone, whatever enchantments they pulled out of the thick, dark air are gone now. It is the morning and the morning, like Neji, is only straightforward and gentle and caring.
She doesn’t know which is better. The pale mornings, not yet kissed by a burning sun, so happy and easy, or the nights. Fire and ice and love and hate and sex and a sun that has been extinguished. He is there for both though, so she thinks that that could be enough.
Yes, that will be enough. That and the fact that later, when the air is closer and the sky is dimmer, later they will watch the walls around them burn once more.
end
thanks for reading!
-tallah