drabbletag, Blade Runner, Rachel/Pris
Fandom: Blade Runner
Pairing: Rachel/Pris
Prompt: Music
Rating: ...PG?
Length: 250.
Notes: It's been a reaaaally long time since I've seen the movie.
"Can you hear it?" Pris asks, and she sways as she says it, dances halfway around the room before coming back to watch, head tilted to the side as Rachel lights her cigarette.
Sucking in a long breath, Rachel tips her head back and blows the smoke above, lips a perfect ruby O. "I hear it," she admits, though it's a lie.
"Oh, lovely, lovely," clapping, Pris reaches out and touches her, one hand trailing down Rachel's perfectly-tailored arm. Her own is half-covered in patterns of paint and splotches of scars, some self-inflicted. "How is it to hear it? To feel it?" She leans close, eager for the answer. Almost starved.
"I really cannot say," Rachel turns her head, quicker than a blink and kisses Pris, lips open, breathing out. Smoke swirls around them.
Pris coughs as she sucks in a breath, taking the taste of cigarette into her lungs and trying to decipher Rachel from it. "Then sing," she suggests, hand awkward as she tugs at Rachel's collar.
"Don't--you'll tear it." Rachel catches her wrist and almost smiles when she flinches back. "Let me." Her other hand comes up.
Enchanted, Pris leans back on her heels to watch as Rachel unbuttons, slowly, methodically. Until there's nothing but pale-perfect skin and a pile of black and white fabric. The cigarette drifts lazy smoke from one hand. She can learn from this, Pris decides, fingers brushing skin gently. She has to learn. Because if perfection can hear it, too, maybe she can hear perfection.
Pairing: Rachel/Pris
Prompt: Music
Rating: ...PG?
Length: 250.
Notes: It's been a reaaaally long time since I've seen the movie.
"Can you hear it?" Pris asks, and she sways as she says it, dances halfway around the room before coming back to watch, head tilted to the side as Rachel lights her cigarette.
Sucking in a long breath, Rachel tips her head back and blows the smoke above, lips a perfect ruby O. "I hear it," she admits, though it's a lie.
"Oh, lovely, lovely," clapping, Pris reaches out and touches her, one hand trailing down Rachel's perfectly-tailored arm. Her own is half-covered in patterns of paint and splotches of scars, some self-inflicted. "How is it to hear it? To feel it?" She leans close, eager for the answer. Almost starved.
"I really cannot say," Rachel turns her head, quicker than a blink and kisses Pris, lips open, breathing out. Smoke swirls around them.
Pris coughs as she sucks in a breath, taking the taste of cigarette into her lungs and trying to decipher Rachel from it. "Then sing," she suggests, hand awkward as she tugs at Rachel's collar.
"Don't--you'll tear it." Rachel catches her wrist and almost smiles when she flinches back. "Let me." Her other hand comes up.
Enchanted, Pris leans back on her heels to watch as Rachel unbuttons, slowly, methodically. Until there's nothing but pale-perfect skin and a pile of black and white fabric. The cigarette drifts lazy smoke from one hand. She can learn from this, Pris decides, fingers brushing skin gently. She has to learn. Because if perfection can hear it, too, maybe she can hear perfection.