1k Marathon - Day 2
Pear #26. Forgive & Forget
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1260
Word Count : 1012
Follows Take it or Leave it. This is the end of the series for Lyssa & Rune - I'll have to get to Ski & Tristan later. Yay for wrapping up semi-major plottiness!
Rune stared at the bottle, at his thumb tracing slow, deliberate strokes down its neck, and forced a long breath through his teeth as the heavy thud of boots drew near. He clenched his hand against the glass, turning it this way and that, cold, dark amber bathed in the fading moonlight, ruby liquid swirling round the bottom, and she drew to a halt behind him. She stayed there a long moment, a silence over them both so thick he had to force on himself the thought to breathe again.
“I’m sorry,” said Lyssa.
“Good.” The base of the bottle met the stone between his feet.
She snorted. “Well, that’s about what I expected.”
Rune ventured a glance up at her as she eased herself between the ridges of the parapet. The breeze tugged at the cloak she’d thrown across her shoulders and toyed with her hair. The look she gave him was hard to read, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, as if she were ready for a fight. “Are you really?” he said, as she curled against the stone and he met her dark eyes with his own.
“Hmm?” She frowned, her hands curled tighter around the stone, and he sighed.
“Are you really sorry? Or are you just tired of me being angry?”
“Gods, Rune.” She jerked back to her feet, arms thrown in the air. “Yes. I’m sorry. Really sorry. I- Hey!” Her gaze landed on the bottle. “Is that mine?”
“Yeah.” He coiled his hand back over its neck and dragged it back into his lap.
Lyssa scrunched up her lips, looking slowly over him with a thoughtful squint. “Are you…?” Her fingers did a little teetering wave that might have meant tipsy and might have meant magic.
With a glance and a grin at the scant remains of the liquor, Rune shook his head. “Sober,” he said.
“What a waste.”
Rune tipped the bottle, watched the traces of red roll across the bottom. “Ski drank most of it, actually.”
“Oh?” Lyssa hiked her skirts and folded her legs to settle beside him. He wanted to kick himself as soon as he’d spoken the words. She sidled up to him with her typical disregard for space, until he could feel the aura of heat that always ebbed from her, and he found himself wondering why, after all these years, her proximity should suddenly make him uneasy. She cast him another appraising look as he edged away. “Where is she anyway? Haven‘t seen her all day.”
“I took her back to her room. She’s not-“ The words died. He could have finished off the bottle, sober, no questions asked. He shook his head. “She’s not feeling well,” he finished lamely.
“Drank all that, she won’t be right for a few days,” said Lyssa.
“She was-” He swallowed it. She could tell Lyssa herself. About Tristan anyway, the rest she didn‘t need to hear. “Where have you been all night?”
Lyssa shugged, copper curls shifting across her shoulders as they rolled. “Walking,” she said. “Thinking. Feeling sorry.” She plucked at the cloak that hung well past the low neckline he knew to be beneath it and flashed him a nervous smile he couldn’t help but return. “Yes, really feeling sorry,” she added, as if she expected to be questioned again. Then she sighed and gave the bottle a nod. “There any of that left?”
“A little.” He handed the bottle off to her, closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry too.”
“Good.” She lifted the mouth to her lips.
“You were right.”
The last of the liquor came spurting out of Lyssa’s nose. Coughing and sputtering, she laid the bottle down. She swiped a hand across her lips and swallowed. “I was, huh?”
“It’s…not about whose bed anyone’s in.” He swallowed the thickness in his throat again quickly, hoping it didn’t show. “But it’s not about some silly power struggle either. It’s about both of us…being scared.”
“Rune…” Her hand slid over his own, and he twisted it around to give her fingers a squueze. Suddenly it all seemed so foolish. The rest of the world could disappear, and for a moment it was as if it had, if he could just hold on to that hand… But it was just that sort of thinking that was bound to land them back here faster than anything.
“Lyss,” he said, drawing their joined hands across his leg, “if we can’t even respect each other, what are we doing?” He stared at the mesh of fingers, unable to face her as he swallowed again the urge to tell her everything, telling himself it wasn‘t the details that mattered. “I mean, what’s the point?”
“I-I’m sorry.” Her hand gave his a squeeze and he returned it with force.
She pressed closer, their sides connecting, and he ventured a look up and found her lips approaching. “Me too,” he said, parting his own to meet them.
She clutched his hand as their mouths moved together, soft and gentle, the aftertaste of strawberries playing between them. She left him slowly and laid her brow against his.
“I love you,” said Lyssa, and it was as if the weight fled his shoulders, as if three words could erase the whole night simply because she meant them.
“I love you too.”
He realized he was clinging to the words as hard as he was to her hand, and he sighed, but Lyssa paid it no notice.
“So,” she said, her thumb working over the back of his hand, their noses brushing together. “There room for me in your bed tonight after all? What’s left of tonight, anyway.”
Rune tipped his lips up to graze hers again with a chuckle. Same old Lyssa, same old them. Maybe he was thinking too hard. “Since when is it my bed?” he said.
“Good point.” She leaned in for another kiss.
Rune swung their hands from his lap so he could turn and fit an arm around her, pulled her in, closed his eyes, and returned the kiss full force.
Story : knights
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1260
Word Count : 1012
Follows Take it or Leave it. This is the end of the series for Lyssa & Rune - I'll have to get to Ski & Tristan later. Yay for wrapping up semi-major plottiness!
Rune stared at the bottle, at his thumb tracing slow, deliberate strokes down its neck, and forced a long breath through his teeth as the heavy thud of boots drew near. He clenched his hand against the glass, turning it this way and that, cold, dark amber bathed in the fading moonlight, ruby liquid swirling round the bottom, and she drew to a halt behind him. She stayed there a long moment, a silence over them both so thick he had to force on himself the thought to breathe again.
“I’m sorry,” said Lyssa.
“Good.” The base of the bottle met the stone between his feet.
She snorted. “Well, that’s about what I expected.”
Rune ventured a glance up at her as she eased herself between the ridges of the parapet. The breeze tugged at the cloak she’d thrown across her shoulders and toyed with her hair. The look she gave him was hard to read, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, as if she were ready for a fight. “Are you really?” he said, as she curled against the stone and he met her dark eyes with his own.
“Hmm?” She frowned, her hands curled tighter around the stone, and he sighed.
“Are you really sorry? Or are you just tired of me being angry?”
“Gods, Rune.” She jerked back to her feet, arms thrown in the air. “Yes. I’m sorry. Really sorry. I- Hey!” Her gaze landed on the bottle. “Is that mine?”
“Yeah.” He coiled his hand back over its neck and dragged it back into his lap.
Lyssa scrunched up her lips, looking slowly over him with a thoughtful squint. “Are you…?” Her fingers did a little teetering wave that might have meant tipsy and might have meant magic.
With a glance and a grin at the scant remains of the liquor, Rune shook his head. “Sober,” he said.
“What a waste.”
Rune tipped the bottle, watched the traces of red roll across the bottom. “Ski drank most of it, actually.”
“Oh?” Lyssa hiked her skirts and folded her legs to settle beside him. He wanted to kick himself as soon as he’d spoken the words. She sidled up to him with her typical disregard for space, until he could feel the aura of heat that always ebbed from her, and he found himself wondering why, after all these years, her proximity should suddenly make him uneasy. She cast him another appraising look as he edged away. “Where is she anyway? Haven‘t seen her all day.”
“I took her back to her room. She’s not-“ The words died. He could have finished off the bottle, sober, no questions asked. He shook his head. “She’s not feeling well,” he finished lamely.
“Drank all that, she won’t be right for a few days,” said Lyssa.
“She was-” He swallowed it. She could tell Lyssa herself. About Tristan anyway, the rest she didn‘t need to hear. “Where have you been all night?”
Lyssa shugged, copper curls shifting across her shoulders as they rolled. “Walking,” she said. “Thinking. Feeling sorry.” She plucked at the cloak that hung well past the low neckline he knew to be beneath it and flashed him a nervous smile he couldn’t help but return. “Yes, really feeling sorry,” she added, as if she expected to be questioned again. Then she sighed and gave the bottle a nod. “There any of that left?”
“A little.” He handed the bottle off to her, closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry too.”
“Good.” She lifted the mouth to her lips.
“You were right.”
The last of the liquor came spurting out of Lyssa’s nose. Coughing and sputtering, she laid the bottle down. She swiped a hand across her lips and swallowed. “I was, huh?”
“It’s…not about whose bed anyone’s in.” He swallowed the thickness in his throat again quickly, hoping it didn’t show. “But it’s not about some silly power struggle either. It’s about both of us…being scared.”
“Rune…” Her hand slid over his own, and he twisted it around to give her fingers a squueze. Suddenly it all seemed so foolish. The rest of the world could disappear, and for a moment it was as if it had, if he could just hold on to that hand… But it was just that sort of thinking that was bound to land them back here faster than anything.
“Lyss,” he said, drawing their joined hands across his leg, “if we can’t even respect each other, what are we doing?” He stared at the mesh of fingers, unable to face her as he swallowed again the urge to tell her everything, telling himself it wasn‘t the details that mattered. “I mean, what’s the point?”
“I-I’m sorry.” Her hand gave his a squeeze and he returned it with force.
She pressed closer, their sides connecting, and he ventured a look up and found her lips approaching. “Me too,” he said, parting his own to meet them.
She clutched his hand as their mouths moved together, soft and gentle, the aftertaste of strawberries playing between them. She left him slowly and laid her brow against his.
“I love you,” said Lyssa, and it was as if the weight fled his shoulders, as if three words could erase the whole night simply because she meant them.
“I love you too.”
He realized he was clinging to the words as hard as he was to her hand, and he sighed, but Lyssa paid it no notice.
“So,” she said, her thumb working over the back of his hand, their noses brushing together. “There room for me in your bed tonight after all? What’s left of tonight, anyway.”
Rune tipped his lips up to graze hers again with a chuckle. Same old Lyssa, same old them. Maybe he was thinking too hard. “Since when is it my bed?” he said.
“Good point.” She leaned in for another kiss.
Rune swung their hands from his lap so he could turn and fit an arm around her, pulled her in, closed his eyes, and returned the kiss full force.