Post by Kit on May 27, 2011 0:33:41 GMT 10
Title: Limits
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: 21 -- Games
Summary: ("—Best week-to-ten-days or the worst, do you th—"
"—Niva!") Hearts and Houses -- Chapter 2. Challenge response 2.
“You’ll wear this.”
Yazmin shivered, letting her eyes close, her lashes a familiar small weight against her cheeks from lacquer and kohl, while Berenene’s lips were light and warm behind her ear. The other woman’s hand was light and sure about her waist, finding Yazmin’s hand and pressing her fingers about something strong and cool and slightly damp. She felt tendrils, breathed in a sharp, green smell. Lively and stringent. Soft, ridged petals like thick, starched silk, dense and rich and enough to make her swallow down a sudden taste of Khapik, with its flower sellers and incense stalls and her last goodbyes to a woman who thought in fabrics. She breathed it out, taking bergamot in its place.
The Empress wore that scent well.
“Shall I?” Yazmin opened her eyes. Gasped as Berenene—(“Of course you should call me that, darling. There’s power in names, don’t you think?”)— let her tongue flick between the small hoops spaced along the curve of her ear.
“Yes,” said Berenene. “It’s part of a bargain with you, you see.”
Slowly, the dancer looked down at the orchid still pinned beneath both their hands. Berenene kissed the back of her neck. She laughed. “Not quite.”
“Wear this,” said the Empress, smiling, “And be mine for as long as it lasts, and I’ll even let you leave when it dies.”
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: 21 -- Games
Summary: ("—Best week-to-ten-days or the worst, do you th—"
"—Niva!") Hearts and Houses -- Chapter 2. Challenge response 2.
“You’ll wear this.”
Yazmin shivered, letting her eyes close, her lashes a familiar small weight against her cheeks from lacquer and kohl, while Berenene’s lips were light and warm behind her ear. The other woman’s hand was light and sure about her waist, finding Yazmin’s hand and pressing her fingers about something strong and cool and slightly damp. She felt tendrils, breathed in a sharp, green smell. Lively and stringent. Soft, ridged petals like thick, starched silk, dense and rich and enough to make her swallow down a sudden taste of Khapik, with its flower sellers and incense stalls and her last goodbyes to a woman who thought in fabrics. She breathed it out, taking bergamot in its place.
The Empress wore that scent well.
“Shall I?” Yazmin opened her eyes. Gasped as Berenene—(“Of course you should call me that, darling. There’s power in names, don’t you think?”)— let her tongue flick between the small hoops spaced along the curve of her ear.
“Yes,” said Berenene. “It’s part of a bargain with you, you see.”
Slowly, the dancer looked down at the orchid still pinned beneath both their hands. Berenene kissed the back of her neck. She laughed. “Not quite.”
“Wear this,” said the Empress, smiling, “And be mine for as long as it lasts, and I’ll even let you leave when it dies.”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!