round three: team mae/sin
Title: Sinful Words
Author: khasael
Illustrator: mimicre
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1952
Warnings: Spoiler warning for all of The Demon’s Covenant. Mentions of canon character deaths.
Summary: A few words can change everything
Sin's voice is hypnotic. It’s one of the few things Mae can take comfort in these days when everything else seems to be too much.
She so easily loses herself in the sound. It's sensual enough to almost be like touch-it caresses her, fluttering lightly over her skin. Mae likes to close her eyes and just listen, seeing the words float in her head with lifts and falls, the same way she envisions music. When Sin whispers, it’s like light fingers trailing up her spine. Mae can feel her body respond to the lyrical cadences-relaxing, warming, opening, wanting more. She wants Sin to talk all night, so Mae can lie there and just absorb it all.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Mae's eyes snap open, jolted by the sharpness in Sin's tone. "Of course I was listening." She can't not listen when Sin speaks. Sin's voice lulls her some times, excites her at others. It tugs at her somewhere deep inside, like a Siren's song. She's always listening, yes. But that doesn't mean she's always following the conversation.
"You had your eyes closed. You're sure I'm not boring you?"
Mae isn't sure that’s possible. Sin is capable of a lot of things, but being boring is not one of them. She is extraordinary. Mae will never admit just how much she notices the little things about the older girl, how much of her she envies. "I'm not bored."
Sin looks over at her bed, where Mae is lounging, and sighs. "We can call it a night. You look like you could use some sleep."
"Lost cause," Mae says, hearing the tension in her own voice. "I can't remember the last time I really slept."
Sin shakes her head and moves closer to the bed. "It's hard, I know. I remember."
There is something new in Sin's voice, something low and soft, and it tugs at Mae in a new place. It squeezes her chest and her throat and she tries to ignore it. She isn't sure if it is the new tone or the subject matter, but either way, the place inside her is still too raw to deal with it. "Please. I don't want to talk about it."
"You never want to talk about it," Sin says in exasperated tones. "It's been a week, and you still keep it bottled up. I saw it happen, you know. I saw those last moments. I saw you with your brother the next morning before he left, when I went to see Merris. You look awful when you cry."
Mae turns her head away and pulls her knees into her chest, staring at the lacework on Sin's curtains. She had been unable to stop crying, it seemed, after Annabel had...after. Once Jamie had gone, there had been no one to be strong for. Alan was not there, with his perfect words and reassuring touches, the ones that might be the only thing about him that is true. And Nick…. There is never any real comfort in Nick, with his solid body that is too intimidating to be calming and his voice that is too much like the echoes of nightmares. The only one still here is Sin, and it is a truth Mae cannot escape. “Thanks for that lovely bit of flattery.”
“I don’t do flattery. Not unless I need something or owe someone.” Her voice, always darker than anyone else’s, sounds rough and bitter now. Mae knows she is referring to the act she put on at Alan’s request-no, demand, to pretend to enjoy Nick’s company at the barbecue. “Mae.” She drops the rose petal she's been toying with, the same dark red as her gauzy top, back into the copper basin on the dresser and crosses to the foot of the bed. “Talk to me, Mae.”
Mae’s breath hitches, a weakness she doesn’t want Sin to see. For all their friendship, their similarities, this is still a competition. One of them will still come out the leader of the Market, in three years’ time or less. And the other will have a place that is something less, always wondering what they could have done better. She needs to be strong.
She is setting her jaw, still staring at those curtains as they blow in the breeze, when Sin crawls across the coverlet and sits at her feet. When Mae says nothing, Sin shakes her head. “Fine. Don’t talk.”
Mae takes a deep breath. “It’s still too new. Just. Go over the plan again.”
“No.” Sin shifts, stretching her legs out. There is no Market tonight, no Market for at least two weeks, and instead of flowing skirts that show the soft, lithe thighs and smooth calves, she is wearing old jeans frayed at the knee. Still, nothing hides the dancer. That isn’t part of her performance, like the makeup she wears for the Market, or when she’s out on errands for Merris. It’s a part of what she is. No matter how many times Mae dances at the Market, how many demons she helps to summon, she will never embody that kind of poise. “That’s enough of the plan tonight. Tonight, I'm going to do something I told you I would, once. I'm going to tell your fortune."
Mae laughs in spite of herself, remembering Sin wrapped up in that red shawl, joking about exotic looks and Gypsy fortune tellers.
Sin continues, gesturing theatrically, voice rising in flamboyant oratory. "I can speak the language of trees and druids, passed down to me from my mother and my mother's mother as they passed down their skill at dancing."
Swallowing hard, Mae thinks about Annabel. She doesn’t want to hear about mothers right now. They have both lost theirs, a result of this life, the Market and magic. Sin watched hers die slowly, possessed and her body slowly failing as a demon exhausted its use. All because of one wrong step. At least Annabel’s death had been quick. One day of magic, knowing her son was a Magician and accepting him anyway, ready to protect him in ways she hadn’t done the rest of her life. And then a violent end, run through with Helen’s sword. Mae still sees her blank eyes on the rare occasions she is able to sleep, so much worse than Jamie’s magic-hot ones.
“I don’t want my fortune,” she says thickly. She doesn’t need to know who will be appointed heiress of the Market, who might die a death in the coming months at the hands of demons or Magicians or a plan that goes horribly wrong. “Just talk to me. Tell me a story.” She wants to lose herself in Sin’s husky voice, in words that don’t need to be anything. She just wants the sounds, the notes that come through no matter the language.
Sin doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, with a move that is more graceful than Mae could ever hope to be, she twists and lies down, sliding up so she is right behind Mae, her breath warm on Mae’s cheek. “Whatever you want.”
There is more silence, and then Sin takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “There was once a princess. This princess lived in a magical land, full of both beauty and danger. The danger did not bother the princess. She knew it was real, but she also knew how to take care of herself. She did not let many people in. Sometimes, she pretended to. She gave gifts to those who were special in some way. She gave two gifts to those she wanted to come and visit her land again. She gave three gifts to those who were to come back-only to never be seen again. And to the very special people,” she breathes, shifting once more behind Mae and reaching up for the flower tucked behind her ear, “she gave one gift.”
The fever fruit blossom is placed on the pillow not far from Mae’s nose. She can see the veins in the soft petals. “What does one gift mean?” she asks, eying the flower laid before her. She has received two flowers from Sin before, on the night Gerald marked Toby.
“One gift was for the best people,” Sin whispered in her ear, her voice as sweet and rich as the golden fever fruit they had shared that night. “The ones the princess wanted to spend time with. The ones she wanted to show things. Magical things.”
Sin's hand is resting lightly on her hip, and Mae is intensely aware that the slightest of shifts would bring their fingers into contact. Her own fingers twitch and are then quickly covered with Sin’s long, calloused ones.
“One day,” Sin continues, stroking Mae’s palm like she’s reading the lines there merely by touch, “the princess met a commoner. She looked like a tourist, one of the people who passed through this dangerous land simply to amuse themselves. But then she danced with the princess and caught the attention of the queen.”
Sin’s voice goes darker and Mae shivers. Now Sin’s forehead is pressed against Mae’s shoulder. “The princess didn’t like that at all. This was her land, and one day she was meant to be queen. But despite her jealousy, she liked this commoner. And this commoner, with her strange hair and foolhardy way of barging in, started to seem much less common. And after a long time, after the commoner risked her life so willingly to protect the kingdom, the princess realised she had feelings for the commoner.”
Mae holds her breath for a moment, mesmerised by the easy rhythm of Sin’s words, before she realises what the other girl is saying. Slowly, Mae rolls over, her nose centimetres from Sin’s, and long, slender arms go around her waist. All Mae can do is stare at the wine-red curve of Sin’s mouth and hope she continues the story. When she doesn’t, Mae lets out a small sigh. “And what did she do?” Her voice is high, much too high, and she wishes she could take back the question.
Sin’s answer is a soft laugh, the timbre of her voice filling Mae with warm vibration. “She did what she does best. She acted on it.” She lifts a hand to Mae’s face and brushes back a bit of pink hair, caressing Mae’s suddenly flushed cheek with her thumb. Mae lets out a shuddering sigh and closes her eyes.
There are lips over hers then, soft and so very gentle, and Sin sighs lightly into Mae’s mouth, filling her with the sound that thrums through her. So much of Sin is a challenge: her even, measured looks, the way she holds herself, the way she dances, the way she phrases her questions. But this feels like nothing but an invitation. Mae accepts it gratefully, savouring the way everything in her body speeds up like she’s taken a bite of fever fruit. To her relief, that raw place inside her feels soothed for the moment.
Mae pulls away slowly, her heart pounding in a way that’s actually pleasant for the first time in too long. “And did they have a happy ending?” She isn’t sure she believes in those any more. Nothing in her life has shown her they exist.
Sin looks at her for a long moment before she answers in a voice that sounds so intimate, closer than it has a right to be. That’s all right, Mae thinks to herself. “Perhaps. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
Author: khasael
Illustrator: mimicre
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1952
Warnings: Spoiler warning for all of The Demon’s Covenant. Mentions of canon character deaths.
Summary: A few words can change everything
Sin's voice is hypnotic. It’s one of the few things Mae can take comfort in these days when everything else seems to be too much.
She so easily loses herself in the sound. It's sensual enough to almost be like touch-it caresses her, fluttering lightly over her skin. Mae likes to close her eyes and just listen, seeing the words float in her head with lifts and falls, the same way she envisions music. When Sin whispers, it’s like light fingers trailing up her spine. Mae can feel her body respond to the lyrical cadences-relaxing, warming, opening, wanting more. She wants Sin to talk all night, so Mae can lie there and just absorb it all.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Mae's eyes snap open, jolted by the sharpness in Sin's tone. "Of course I was listening." She can't not listen when Sin speaks. Sin's voice lulls her some times, excites her at others. It tugs at her somewhere deep inside, like a Siren's song. She's always listening, yes. But that doesn't mean she's always following the conversation.
"You had your eyes closed. You're sure I'm not boring you?"
Mae isn't sure that’s possible. Sin is capable of a lot of things, but being boring is not one of them. She is extraordinary. Mae will never admit just how much she notices the little things about the older girl, how much of her she envies. "I'm not bored."
Sin looks over at her bed, where Mae is lounging, and sighs. "We can call it a night. You look like you could use some sleep."
"Lost cause," Mae says, hearing the tension in her own voice. "I can't remember the last time I really slept."
Sin shakes her head and moves closer to the bed. "It's hard, I know. I remember."
There is something new in Sin's voice, something low and soft, and it tugs at Mae in a new place. It squeezes her chest and her throat and she tries to ignore it. She isn't sure if it is the new tone or the subject matter, but either way, the place inside her is still too raw to deal with it. "Please. I don't want to talk about it."
"You never want to talk about it," Sin says in exasperated tones. "It's been a week, and you still keep it bottled up. I saw it happen, you know. I saw those last moments. I saw you with your brother the next morning before he left, when I went to see Merris. You look awful when you cry."
Mae turns her head away and pulls her knees into her chest, staring at the lacework on Sin's curtains. She had been unable to stop crying, it seemed, after Annabel had...after. Once Jamie had gone, there had been no one to be strong for. Alan was not there, with his perfect words and reassuring touches, the ones that might be the only thing about him that is true. And Nick…. There is never any real comfort in Nick, with his solid body that is too intimidating to be calming and his voice that is too much like the echoes of nightmares. The only one still here is Sin, and it is a truth Mae cannot escape. “Thanks for that lovely bit of flattery.”
“I don’t do flattery. Not unless I need something or owe someone.” Her voice, always darker than anyone else’s, sounds rough and bitter now. Mae knows she is referring to the act she put on at Alan’s request-no, demand, to pretend to enjoy Nick’s company at the barbecue. “Mae.” She drops the rose petal she's been toying with, the same dark red as her gauzy top, back into the copper basin on the dresser and crosses to the foot of the bed. “Talk to me, Mae.”
Mae’s breath hitches, a weakness she doesn’t want Sin to see. For all their friendship, their similarities, this is still a competition. One of them will still come out the leader of the Market, in three years’ time or less. And the other will have a place that is something less, always wondering what they could have done better. She needs to be strong.
She is setting her jaw, still staring at those curtains as they blow in the breeze, when Sin crawls across the coverlet and sits at her feet. When Mae says nothing, Sin shakes her head. “Fine. Don’t talk.”
Mae takes a deep breath. “It’s still too new. Just. Go over the plan again.”
“No.” Sin shifts, stretching her legs out. There is no Market tonight, no Market for at least two weeks, and instead of flowing skirts that show the soft, lithe thighs and smooth calves, she is wearing old jeans frayed at the knee. Still, nothing hides the dancer. That isn’t part of her performance, like the makeup she wears for the Market, or when she’s out on errands for Merris. It’s a part of what she is. No matter how many times Mae dances at the Market, how many demons she helps to summon, she will never embody that kind of poise. “That’s enough of the plan tonight. Tonight, I'm going to do something I told you I would, once. I'm going to tell your fortune."
Mae laughs in spite of herself, remembering Sin wrapped up in that red shawl, joking about exotic looks and Gypsy fortune tellers.
Sin continues, gesturing theatrically, voice rising in flamboyant oratory. "I can speak the language of trees and druids, passed down to me from my mother and my mother's mother as they passed down their skill at dancing."
Swallowing hard, Mae thinks about Annabel. She doesn’t want to hear about mothers right now. They have both lost theirs, a result of this life, the Market and magic. Sin watched hers die slowly, possessed and her body slowly failing as a demon exhausted its use. All because of one wrong step. At least Annabel’s death had been quick. One day of magic, knowing her son was a Magician and accepting him anyway, ready to protect him in ways she hadn’t done the rest of her life. And then a violent end, run through with Helen’s sword. Mae still sees her blank eyes on the rare occasions she is able to sleep, so much worse than Jamie’s magic-hot ones.
“I don’t want my fortune,” she says thickly. She doesn’t need to know who will be appointed heiress of the Market, who might die a death in the coming months at the hands of demons or Magicians or a plan that goes horribly wrong. “Just talk to me. Tell me a story.” She wants to lose herself in Sin’s husky voice, in words that don’t need to be anything. She just wants the sounds, the notes that come through no matter the language.
Sin doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, with a move that is more graceful than Mae could ever hope to be, she twists and lies down, sliding up so she is right behind Mae, her breath warm on Mae’s cheek. “Whatever you want.”
There is more silence, and then Sin takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “There was once a princess. This princess lived in a magical land, full of both beauty and danger. The danger did not bother the princess. She knew it was real, but she also knew how to take care of herself. She did not let many people in. Sometimes, she pretended to. She gave gifts to those who were special in some way. She gave two gifts to those she wanted to come and visit her land again. She gave three gifts to those who were to come back-only to never be seen again. And to the very special people,” she breathes, shifting once more behind Mae and reaching up for the flower tucked behind her ear, “she gave one gift.”
The fever fruit blossom is placed on the pillow not far from Mae’s nose. She can see the veins in the soft petals. “What does one gift mean?” she asks, eying the flower laid before her. She has received two flowers from Sin before, on the night Gerald marked Toby.
“One gift was for the best people,” Sin whispered in her ear, her voice as sweet and rich as the golden fever fruit they had shared that night. “The ones the princess wanted to spend time with. The ones she wanted to show things. Magical things.”
Sin's hand is resting lightly on her hip, and Mae is intensely aware that the slightest of shifts would bring their fingers into contact. Her own fingers twitch and are then quickly covered with Sin’s long, calloused ones.
“One day,” Sin continues, stroking Mae’s palm like she’s reading the lines there merely by touch, “the princess met a commoner. She looked like a tourist, one of the people who passed through this dangerous land simply to amuse themselves. But then she danced with the princess and caught the attention of the queen.”
Sin’s voice goes darker and Mae shivers. Now Sin’s forehead is pressed against Mae’s shoulder. “The princess didn’t like that at all. This was her land, and one day she was meant to be queen. But despite her jealousy, she liked this commoner. And this commoner, with her strange hair and foolhardy way of barging in, started to seem much less common. And after a long time, after the commoner risked her life so willingly to protect the kingdom, the princess realised she had feelings for the commoner.”
Mae holds her breath for a moment, mesmerised by the easy rhythm of Sin’s words, before she realises what the other girl is saying. Slowly, Mae rolls over, her nose centimetres from Sin’s, and long, slender arms go around her waist. All Mae can do is stare at the wine-red curve of Sin’s mouth and hope she continues the story. When she doesn’t, Mae lets out a small sigh. “And what did she do?” Her voice is high, much too high, and she wishes she could take back the question.
Sin’s answer is a soft laugh, the timbre of her voice filling Mae with warm vibration. “She did what she does best. She acted on it.” She lifts a hand to Mae’s face and brushes back a bit of pink hair, caressing Mae’s suddenly flushed cheek with her thumb. Mae lets out a shuddering sigh and closes her eyes.
There are lips over hers then, soft and so very gentle, and Sin sighs lightly into Mae’s mouth, filling her with the sound that thrums through her. So much of Sin is a challenge: her even, measured looks, the way she holds herself, the way she dances, the way she phrases her questions. But this feels like nothing but an invitation. Mae accepts it gratefully, savouring the way everything in her body speeds up like she’s taken a bite of fever fruit. To her relief, that raw place inside her feels soothed for the moment.
Mae pulls away slowly, her heart pounding in a way that’s actually pleasant for the first time in too long. “And did they have a happy ending?” She isn’t sure she believes in those any more. Nothing in her life has shown her they exist.
Sin looks at her for a long moment before she answers in a voice that sounds so intimate, closer than it has a right to be. That’s all right, Mae thinks to herself. “Perhaps. We’ll just have to wait and see.”