p is for paltry, i is for ink, g is for girdle, c is for collapse
Sneaking in under the deadline, here are my last four alphabetsoup drabbles:
Title: Slightly Awkward
Fandom: Noir
Pairing: Mireille/Kirika
Words: 150
Prompt: p is for paltry
Rating: PG
Kirika goes to the bathroom, opens the door and says "Oh" and "I thought you were finished."
"I am." Mireille, true to her word, stops rubbing at her hair and drops the towel to the floor.
Kirika retreats, moving out of Mireille's way as she exits the bathroom then perches on the end of the bed, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around. She doesn't know she isn't supposed to be watching, and her eyes take Mireille in, hair damp and skin pale, her breasts round. Womanly, Kirika thinks.
"It's so different," she says making Mireille still for just a split second, not as unmindful of her presence as she seems, perhaps. "Being here," she adds.
"Tell me about it," Mireille mutters as she steps into her underwear.
"I'll use the bathroom now," Kirika says and thinks she hears Mireille let out a breath as she passes.
Title: Memento Mori
Fandom: Noir
Pairing: Mireille/Kirika
Words: 250
Prompt: i is for ink
Rating: PG
She was born, and grew up, she was a child for more years than she has been anything else and yet there are only the briefest fragments of memories to hold onto - and most of these are full of pain and blood.
But no matter how she tries to remember her life, before, the blank spaces in Kirika’s mind prevail more often than not.
She tries other ways to fill them up, transcribing the things she sees to paper in watercolour, charcoal and ink, more tangible than the deep, shifting hollows of her mind. The manor comes to life again under her paintbrush, the cemetery in the rain, the cafe where she ate brioche her first morning in Paris. The plant in the windowsill, a study in still life. She draws Chloe's face, and knows she won't ever forget her.
She doesn't mind Mireille shaking her head as she flips through Kirika's sketchbook, nor how her eyes widen, eyebrows lifting at one sketch or another. Intoccabile, Kirika thinks, the sunset over Corsica. A body splayed out on a paved street, blood streaming from a chest wound as he dies.
There are no pictures of Mireille in the book. She doesn't want to imagine a time when she might need something to remember her by.
On the beach one day, Mireille puts her arm around Kirika's shoulder, asks a stranger to take their picture. They put it in a frame made of seashells and it sits on a shelf. It's enough.
Title: Cold December
Pairing: Mireille/Silvana
Words: 100
Prompt: g is for girdle
Rating: PG
Flowers, green grass, fresh salt air, these things fill her mind and she can't escape it, that day on the cliff looking out over the ocean. The memory binds her too tightly: that day, the cliff, Silvana, and her blade.
She can't move, and the kiss is like Silvana herself. Cold. Her eyes, though, stare into Mireille's and there's something like fire there, and she can't help the answering rush of heat.
For once it's not fear alone making her heart pound in her ears.
Silvana's lips move, turning up in the slightest hint of amusement, just before pulling away.
Title: Age of Innocence
Pairing: Mireille/Kirika
Words: 150
Prompt: c is for collapse
Rating: R
There is something child-like about Kirika, but she isn't a child. Mireille has long done away with such preconceptions, knowing exactly what those small hands are capable of.
She has seen those big eyes widen in surprise and wonder, but there is no innocence there when Kirika tastes the inside of Mireille's mouth with her tongue. Kirika's eyes are full of warmth and knowledge instead, a hint of humour as Mireille gasps with the movement of fingers skirting her hip and darting lower. Then Mireille is squeezing her own eyes shut and she can't see Kirika, just feels her nibbling her way from Mireille's lip over her chin.
Kirika suckles till Mireille cries out softly, the nipple slipping wet and sensitive from between her lips. The pad of her thumb circles Mireille's clitoris, her back arching off the bed and yes, in many ways Kirika is wise beyond her years.
Title: Slightly Awkward
Fandom: Noir
Pairing: Mireille/Kirika
Words: 150
Prompt: p is for paltry
Rating: PG
Kirika goes to the bathroom, opens the door and says "Oh" and "I thought you were finished."
"I am." Mireille, true to her word, stops rubbing at her hair and drops the towel to the floor.
Kirika retreats, moving out of Mireille's way as she exits the bathroom then perches on the end of the bed, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around. She doesn't know she isn't supposed to be watching, and her eyes take Mireille in, hair damp and skin pale, her breasts round. Womanly, Kirika thinks.
"It's so different," she says making Mireille still for just a split second, not as unmindful of her presence as she seems, perhaps. "Being here," she adds.
"Tell me about it," Mireille mutters as she steps into her underwear.
"I'll use the bathroom now," Kirika says and thinks she hears Mireille let out a breath as she passes.
Title: Memento Mori
Fandom: Noir
Pairing: Mireille/Kirika
Words: 250
Prompt: i is for ink
Rating: PG
She was born, and grew up, she was a child for more years than she has been anything else and yet there are only the briefest fragments of memories to hold onto - and most of these are full of pain and blood.
But no matter how she tries to remember her life, before, the blank spaces in Kirika’s mind prevail more often than not.
She tries other ways to fill them up, transcribing the things she sees to paper in watercolour, charcoal and ink, more tangible than the deep, shifting hollows of her mind. The manor comes to life again under her paintbrush, the cemetery in the rain, the cafe where she ate brioche her first morning in Paris. The plant in the windowsill, a study in still life. She draws Chloe's face, and knows she won't ever forget her.
She doesn't mind Mireille shaking her head as she flips through Kirika's sketchbook, nor how her eyes widen, eyebrows lifting at one sketch or another. Intoccabile, Kirika thinks, the sunset over Corsica. A body splayed out on a paved street, blood streaming from a chest wound as he dies.
There are no pictures of Mireille in the book. She doesn't want to imagine a time when she might need something to remember her by.
On the beach one day, Mireille puts her arm around Kirika's shoulder, asks a stranger to take their picture. They put it in a frame made of seashells and it sits on a shelf. It's enough.
Title: Cold December
Pairing: Mireille/Silvana
Words: 100
Prompt: g is for girdle
Rating: PG
Flowers, green grass, fresh salt air, these things fill her mind and she can't escape it, that day on the cliff looking out over the ocean. The memory binds her too tightly: that day, the cliff, Silvana, and her blade.
She can't move, and the kiss is like Silvana herself. Cold. Her eyes, though, stare into Mireille's and there's something like fire there, and she can't help the answering rush of heat.
For once it's not fear alone making her heart pound in her ears.
Silvana's lips move, turning up in the slightest hint of amusement, just before pulling away.
Title: Age of Innocence
Pairing: Mireille/Kirika
Words: 150
Prompt: c is for collapse
Rating: R
There is something child-like about Kirika, but she isn't a child. Mireille has long done away with such preconceptions, knowing exactly what those small hands are capable of.
She has seen those big eyes widen in surprise and wonder, but there is no innocence there when Kirika tastes the inside of Mireille's mouth with her tongue. Kirika's eyes are full of warmth and knowledge instead, a hint of humour as Mireille gasps with the movement of fingers skirting her hip and darting lower. Then Mireille is squeezing her own eyes shut and she can't see Kirika, just feels her nibbling her way from Mireille's lip over her chin.
Kirika suckles till Mireille cries out softly, the nipple slipping wet and sensitive from between her lips. The pad of her thumb circles Mireille's clitoris, her back arching off the bed and yes, in many ways Kirika is wise beyond her years.