December Drabbles #12 - Forget, Forget (Black Swan, Nina/Lily, PG-13)
December drabbles #12 - Forget, Forget
Black Swan, Nina/Lily, I swell to think of you inside me
Prompt by me and J-Bomb, word count ~300
Count it out without moving your lips and you have it, the perfect arch of your arms, stretch of your leg, further than the last time, always. You watch her, can't help it. That careless sway, how she falls out of rhythm and steps back in, her mouth open, hair swaying long. He watches her too, when he should be watching you. He should be watching you hit this jump just right, the arch of your back in John's hands, the loose tug of your leotard around your hips.
He calls it off, he angrily cuts the music and stalks across the floor. Leaving you heaving for breath, wondering what you've done. All of the moves feel right, the muscle memory all echoes like it does in your dreams, and the pain in your shoulder throbs with each beat of your heart. "Again!" He is shouting, walking the room in a circle, dodging the bodies of stilled dancers, speaking over their low twitters. "You are stiff, you are practiced. Forget!" He puts his hand on Lily's shoulder, and your stomach drops, twists, pirouettes.
The piano starts again, and you rise to your toes, your mouth in a hard line. The wings struggling against your skin, you catch her look out of the corner of your eye. She sweeps the ground with her fingertips, and you lose your balance, stepping to the ball of your foot, releasing a soft sound, knowing that the lines and shapes of movements have fallen out of alignment. She has pulled you off course, opening that door during your audition, and still, always, fluttering against your skin.
Black Swan, Nina/Lily, I swell to think of you inside me
Prompt by me and J-Bomb, word count ~300
Count it out without moving your lips and you have it, the perfect arch of your arms, stretch of your leg, further than the last time, always. You watch her, can't help it. That careless sway, how she falls out of rhythm and steps back in, her mouth open, hair swaying long. He watches her too, when he should be watching you. He should be watching you hit this jump just right, the arch of your back in John's hands, the loose tug of your leotard around your hips.
He calls it off, he angrily cuts the music and stalks across the floor. Leaving you heaving for breath, wondering what you've done. All of the moves feel right, the muscle memory all echoes like it does in your dreams, and the pain in your shoulder throbs with each beat of your heart. "Again!" He is shouting, walking the room in a circle, dodging the bodies of stilled dancers, speaking over their low twitters. "You are stiff, you are practiced. Forget!" He puts his hand on Lily's shoulder, and your stomach drops, twists, pirouettes.
The piano starts again, and you rise to your toes, your mouth in a hard line. The wings struggling against your skin, you catch her look out of the corner of your eye. She sweeps the ground with her fingertips, and you lose your balance, stepping to the ball of your foot, releasing a soft sound, knowing that the lines and shapes of movements have fallen out of alignment. She has pulled you off course, opening that door during your audition, and still, always, fluttering against your skin.