[Witches' Horses] Swallow's Tail
Title: first gifts
'Verse/characters: Swallow's Tail; Helena, Taarstad
Prompt: 96C "clay"
Word Count: 743
Notes: after they're together, before he meets any of her relations.
---------
She was sprawled out across the narrow bed they shared, eyes half-closed in bliss as her lover's rider's fingers played on her scalp, scratched carefully through her loosened hair.
He'd put extra mesh across the outgoing air filters before he'd unbraided her hair, which she appreciated, had combed the dark kinks out carefully enough that it barely bushed out, which she appreciated more, then he started scratching her head and her brain melted. She'd wound up sprawled out with one of her ankles off the edge of the bed, her neck propped against the inside of his right thigh, all but purring and arching into his hands like one of her great-aunt's cats.
"I should do this more often," he said, laughing at her and she growled half-heartedly, tried to poke him.
"Less talk, more scratch," she commanded.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, still laughing, and obeyed.
Some time later--she was nearly asleep--he changed to petting over the top of her hair instead of scratching underneath, leaned down to kiss the top of her forehead.
"Nnnh," she said, dragged herself into a sitting position, reached for the comb. "Can you actually braid, or just undo other people's work?"
"I'm willing to try?" he offered, and she snorted, turned her back so he could reach.
"Braid it tight--does no good if it pulls loose and fuzzes out. Doesn't dread properly but sure makes combing a bastard."
His first attempt was unevenly taut, and he pulled it out again before he reached the base of her skull; the second try was acceptable--only about as tight as she'd expect to hold three or four days, but good enough.
She was reknotting the tie on the end, because that he'd tied too loose, and watching him from the corner of her eye when he remembered something, went scrambling over the edge of the bed in search of the coat he'd shed earlier.
"I'm not quite sure what they were originally meant to be," he confessed as he came back up on the bed and held out cupped-together palms to her, "but I thought you might like them for hair decoration?"
She blinked, finished the knot automatically, then reached over and plucked one of the pieces from his hands to examine it.
Inspection proved it glazed clay, a barrel-shaped bead open at both ends, painted thickly enough that the white of the clay was the accent, instead of the blue of the glaze. The blue varied from true deep cobalt up through the gentle blue of shallow oceans, of glaciers, which pleased her far more than it should. The design was flowers--she thought, hard to tell with the distortion of the shape of the bead--not a firebird or world octagon or any of the dozen other things he might have found in Gzhel blue.
"Why--" she started to ask, and watched him flush.
"I thought about getting you embroidered bands for your boots or your holster, but I was afraid that might be insulting? And I couldn't replace your seals because that might be more insulting, like I thought you didn't take care of your things and you obviously do and--"
She put her hand over his mouth to shut him up, used the hold to lean him down, kissed his nose. "I was going to ask why the flowers," she told him, let go of his chin.
He blushed a little harder as he said "I wanted to get you something pretty, and I thought you liked blue."
She couldn't help it--she laughed, laughed harder when he reached out to flick at the hair-tie, which was indeed blue.
Grinning, she ducked her chin, half-turned her head away to expose the braid. "Thought of a way to attach them?"
He solemnly held up a length of string, one end threaded through a length of blunt-ended wire he'd turned into a needle of sorts. "I think I'd have to help you get them out, though."
She considered that, laughing silently, then had to ask "Think they'd survive a trip through the banya?"
"Well, they survived a kiln, and I didn't get any that were cracked--as long as you don't cold-shock them you'd probably be fine?" he answered seriously, then realised she'd been half-joking and laughed himself.
She scooted closer, turning better away, and let him stitch beads into her hair with only the request that they not dig into her scalp if she needed to go walking outside for guidance.
'Verse/characters: Swallow's Tail; Helena, Taarstad
Prompt: 96C "clay"
Word Count: 743
Notes: after they're together, before he meets any of her relations.
---------
She was sprawled out across the narrow bed they shared, eyes half-closed in bliss as her lover's rider's fingers played on her scalp, scratched carefully through her loosened hair.
He'd put extra mesh across the outgoing air filters before he'd unbraided her hair, which she appreciated, had combed the dark kinks out carefully enough that it barely bushed out, which she appreciated more, then he started scratching her head and her brain melted. She'd wound up sprawled out with one of her ankles off the edge of the bed, her neck propped against the inside of his right thigh, all but purring and arching into his hands like one of her great-aunt's cats.
"I should do this more often," he said, laughing at her and she growled half-heartedly, tried to poke him.
"Less talk, more scratch," she commanded.
"Yes, ma'am," he replied, still laughing, and obeyed.
Some time later--she was nearly asleep--he changed to petting over the top of her hair instead of scratching underneath, leaned down to kiss the top of her forehead.
"Nnnh," she said, dragged herself into a sitting position, reached for the comb. "Can you actually braid, or just undo other people's work?"
"I'm willing to try?" he offered, and she snorted, turned her back so he could reach.
"Braid it tight--does no good if it pulls loose and fuzzes out. Doesn't dread properly but sure makes combing a bastard."
His first attempt was unevenly taut, and he pulled it out again before he reached the base of her skull; the second try was acceptable--only about as tight as she'd expect to hold three or four days, but good enough.
She was reknotting the tie on the end, because that he'd tied too loose, and watching him from the corner of her eye when he remembered something, went scrambling over the edge of the bed in search of the coat he'd shed earlier.
"I'm not quite sure what they were originally meant to be," he confessed as he came back up on the bed and held out cupped-together palms to her, "but I thought you might like them for hair decoration?"
She blinked, finished the knot automatically, then reached over and plucked one of the pieces from his hands to examine it.
Inspection proved it glazed clay, a barrel-shaped bead open at both ends, painted thickly enough that the white of the clay was the accent, instead of the blue of the glaze. The blue varied from true deep cobalt up through the gentle blue of shallow oceans, of glaciers, which pleased her far more than it should. The design was flowers--she thought, hard to tell with the distortion of the shape of the bead--not a firebird or world octagon or any of the dozen other things he might have found in Gzhel blue.
"Why--" she started to ask, and watched him flush.
"I thought about getting you embroidered bands for your boots or your holster, but I was afraid that might be insulting? And I couldn't replace your seals because that might be more insulting, like I thought you didn't take care of your things and you obviously do and--"
She put her hand over his mouth to shut him up, used the hold to lean him down, kissed his nose. "I was going to ask why the flowers," she told him, let go of his chin.
He blushed a little harder as he said "I wanted to get you something pretty, and I thought you liked blue."
She couldn't help it--she laughed, laughed harder when he reached out to flick at the hair-tie, which was indeed blue.
Grinning, she ducked her chin, half-turned her head away to expose the braid. "Thought of a way to attach them?"
He solemnly held up a length of string, one end threaded through a length of blunt-ended wire he'd turned into a needle of sorts. "I think I'd have to help you get them out, though."
She considered that, laughing silently, then had to ask "Think they'd survive a trip through the banya?"
"Well, they survived a kiln, and I didn't get any that were cracked--as long as you don't cold-shock them you'd probably be fine?" he answered seriously, then realised she'd been half-joking and laughed himself.
She scooted closer, turning better away, and let him stitch beads into her hair with only the request that they not dig into her scalp if she needed to go walking outside for guidance.