[Wild Roses] before the wars
Title: the games we play
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Tanith, Giovanni
Prompt: coastal_physics: "'roses, a gentle swell"
Word Count: 678
Notes: Long before the wars.
It was a small boat, the sort two could handle easily for small trading and smuggling runs, and if his story as to how he'd inherited it held any truth at all that was exactly what it had been, not too long ago. Wooden-hulled, built from the ribs outward, and generally powered by intent instead of any kind of motor.
It was his turn, so none of this was a surprise, even that they swung easily in the current, anchored by an invisible chain, boat rocked by gentle swells that threatened to but never quite managed to knock over their drinks. When it was her turn next she'd find them a ship that flew and a lightning storm, one that would leave them both laughing and keyed up, blood singing.
He was warm against her side, near as warm as the sunbeam that curled around her other side, shone on her uncovered hair and her skin, and if he'd been Autumn-born she'd have expected low contented growls near-purring through their skins.
As it was, she could feel his smile though her closed eyes, and when she reached over, ran calloused fingertips down the length of his arm to his own rope-calloused hand, the smile grew brighter.
She sat up, cast a shadow across his face that made him open his eyes, grinned a predatory grin when he did. Stripped off her shirt, her shoes, her trousers--she hadn't bothered with underwear that morning, giving up the quest under the furniture as a bad job when five minutes hadn't sufficed for it to surface--stood, feet automatically shifting to keep her balance on the shifting deck, grinned at him again, and dove into the water.
He'd followed her before she broke the surface for her first breath, a hand brushing her back as she twisted in the water, and she laughed soundlessly, opening her eyes to watch the sunshine angle down into the water, light them up in shifting patterns.
If she'd been purely human, the water would have stung her eyes, the need for air stinging in her lungs, because she wasn't a sailor, had no reason to spend her life on and in the water, but she wasn't, and so it was her lover who broke for the surface first, took a long gasping gulp, then let her pull him back under, kiss him, steal a bit of air from his lips.
Her lover, and there was a surprise, still, after so long, that she had him, and he had her, tall mad mage who loved storms and the sea with a fervour equal to her love for the sky and cheating gravity with motors and power.
He licked her cheek then, deliberately missing her mouth, and she was distracted enough that she found herself dragged to the surface by strong arms and kissed in the air again. The shadow of the boat loomed between them and the afternoon sunlight, but she was held securely, broad hands curled up her back and near-cupping her shoulderblades, the muscles that weren't there right now, felt wet lips, wet tongue, clean teeth and a faint lingering taste of ozone she couldn't resist chasing with her own tongue. His hands tightened on her, kneading at the skin of her back, and she hissed at him, pleased, kissed him again, harder, and felt more than saw the boat's anchor chain snap as he grew too distracted to hold it.
She broke the kiss, laughing, and flexed the wings she wasn't wearing, shoved the boat back through the swells, built an anchor chain of her own, tied it off properly, and only then kissed him again, tease enough that his grip loosened.
Sucked in a breath, nearly from his mouth, and dropped through his arms, curved and coiled and came up again behind him, bit delicately at the place where neck and shoulder joined, her own hands spreading across his belly and lower.
The tighter she wound him--she knew from experience--the better he tasted, and she had all the rest of the day to play.
'Verse/characters: Wild Roses; Tanith, Giovanni
Prompt: coastal_physics: "'roses, a gentle swell"
Word Count: 678
Notes: Long before the wars.
It was a small boat, the sort two could handle easily for small trading and smuggling runs, and if his story as to how he'd inherited it held any truth at all that was exactly what it had been, not too long ago. Wooden-hulled, built from the ribs outward, and generally powered by intent instead of any kind of motor.
It was his turn, so none of this was a surprise, even that they swung easily in the current, anchored by an invisible chain, boat rocked by gentle swells that threatened to but never quite managed to knock over their drinks. When it was her turn next she'd find them a ship that flew and a lightning storm, one that would leave them both laughing and keyed up, blood singing.
He was warm against her side, near as warm as the sunbeam that curled around her other side, shone on her uncovered hair and her skin, and if he'd been Autumn-born she'd have expected low contented growls near-purring through their skins.
As it was, she could feel his smile though her closed eyes, and when she reached over, ran calloused fingertips down the length of his arm to his own rope-calloused hand, the smile grew brighter.
She sat up, cast a shadow across his face that made him open his eyes, grinned a predatory grin when he did. Stripped off her shirt, her shoes, her trousers--she hadn't bothered with underwear that morning, giving up the quest under the furniture as a bad job when five minutes hadn't sufficed for it to surface--stood, feet automatically shifting to keep her balance on the shifting deck, grinned at him again, and dove into the water.
He'd followed her before she broke the surface for her first breath, a hand brushing her back as she twisted in the water, and she laughed soundlessly, opening her eyes to watch the sunshine angle down into the water, light them up in shifting patterns.
If she'd been purely human, the water would have stung her eyes, the need for air stinging in her lungs, because she wasn't a sailor, had no reason to spend her life on and in the water, but she wasn't, and so it was her lover who broke for the surface first, took a long gasping gulp, then let her pull him back under, kiss him, steal a bit of air from his lips.
Her lover, and there was a surprise, still, after so long, that she had him, and he had her, tall mad mage who loved storms and the sea with a fervour equal to her love for the sky and cheating gravity with motors and power.
He licked her cheek then, deliberately missing her mouth, and she was distracted enough that she found herself dragged to the surface by strong arms and kissed in the air again. The shadow of the boat loomed between them and the afternoon sunlight, but she was held securely, broad hands curled up her back and near-cupping her shoulderblades, the muscles that weren't there right now, felt wet lips, wet tongue, clean teeth and a faint lingering taste of ozone she couldn't resist chasing with her own tongue. His hands tightened on her, kneading at the skin of her back, and she hissed at him, pleased, kissed him again, harder, and felt more than saw the boat's anchor chain snap as he grew too distracted to hold it.
She broke the kiss, laughing, and flexed the wings she wasn't wearing, shoved the boat back through the swells, built an anchor chain of her own, tied it off properly, and only then kissed him again, tease enough that his grip loosened.
Sucked in a breath, nearly from his mouth, and dropped through his arms, curved and coiled and came up again behind him, bit delicately at the place where neck and shoulder joined, her own hands spreading across his belly and lower.
The tighter she wound him--she knew from experience--the better he tasted, and she had all the rest of the day to play.