Post by wordy on Apr 12, 2010 9:48:10 GMT 10
Title: We Go Together
Rating: PG13
Summary: Written for the 31_days challenge.
Prompt: #5 - We'll be closer than the stars.
Theme: Tris.
Tris can hear the pounding of her heart in her ears as he leans closer, his hand closing gently over her wrist as his lips meet with hers. She can’t help but shut her eyes and kiss him back, getting lost in the heady feeling of his breath mingling with hers and the way his tongue gently teases its way through her lips. She clutches his arm and he moves closer still, until they are pressed against each other, and a small part of Tris wonders how they got to this point, and is surprised to realise that she doesn’t really care.
The first time they meet, he catches her in the library.
The sound of the door opening startles her, and she almost drops the book she had been slipping back onto the shelf. She turns to see who it could possibly be, because the only other person who used the library was Vedris, and there is no plausible way that it is him.
“What are you doing?” the young man asks, stepping into the room and running his eyes over her quizzically. His hair is dark, his strong jaw line oddly familiar.
“I was just reading,” she says, deciding not to bother lying. Besides, reading is hardly a crime when there is a whole room full of neglected books to be had. Wedging the book back into place, she turns back to the man once more, and pushes her spectacles up her long nose. There’s something about him that she can’t quite place.
He nods at her answer and walks over to slump in one of the armchairs. His finely embroidered shirt is crinkled, and Tris would have mistaken him for a noble if not for his sensible looking boots. There was a small dart of pain in her chest when he had sat down—that was Vedris’s chair—when suddenly, looking at his beak of a nose and the familiar way that he rubbed his hand wearily across his eyes, she realised who he was.
“I suppose I should be going,” Tris said uncertainly. “Sandry has probably been looking for me.”
Franzen looks up at her. “You don’t have to go. Everyone was still talking when I left, I don’t think they’ll be going anywhere for a while. Besides, no one really uses the library since” his voice cuts out and he looks away, swallowing hard. Tris wonders how close he was to his father. He didn’t cry at the funeral, but then neither did his brothers. She looks him over, taking in the details she hadn’t been searching for earlier: the slump of his shoulders, the tight clench of his jaw, the way he seems to be holding himself together by a thread.
“Alright,” she says, turning back to the shelf. “I’ll stay.”
Tris is glad that Sandry is needed at the citadel so much. When the other’s have gone to do whatever it is they do, she makes her way down the long hall to the library and slips inside. Sometime he is there, sometimes he is not. When he isn’t, she browses the shelves and makes her selection before curling up in Vedris’s favourite armchair, legs tucked underneath her. When he is there, she is slightly more wary. He always sits in Vedris’s chair, running his hands through his hair and heaving a silent sigh ever so often. Tris watches him from the corner of her eye as she moves along the shelves. It’s slightly annoying when he is there, but whenever she enters the library to find it silent and empty, the shelves upon shelves of books staring down at her, she feels disappointed.
“Their bickering would drive anyone mad,” he says one afternoon, throwing himself into the chair with more force than usual. Tris remains silent, running her finger along a row of book spines as she browses.
“Gospard just won’t listen to common sense,” he continues, waving a hand in the air, “And then Sandry gets all stubborn and angry. I don’t know how old Erdogun can put up with that mess.”
Tris bites her lip before speaking. “Is Gospard truly that bad a ruler?”
“No,” Franzen sighs. “He does well. But getting him to that point can be quite a struggle sometimes.”
Tris nods. “So you think Vedris was right in making him his heir?” She regrets saying it as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but it has been on her mind for so long that she waits impatiently for his answer.
He looks at her oddly, dark eyes—so similar to his father’s—unreadable. “You’re asking me if I think Gospard was the right choice, rather than me or my brother?”
She shrugs and turns her back to him. While she wonders if he will answer, she picks a book from the row in front of her. Astronomy.
“I think my father knew what he was doing. I trust his decision. Nothing else matters; even if I didn’t agree with his choice, I couldn’t do anything about it,” he says finally. She can still feel his eyes on her back.
“You could,” she says. Which is true, though it would cause a lot of fuss and controversy.
“But I wouldn’t,” he says.
She doesn’t quite realise it is happening. She looks forward to meeting him in the library, even if they don’t speak to each other, or if he falls asleep as soon as he slumps into the chair. She finds herself looking at him more, trying to delve beneath the skin, see what’s inside. Then she finds herself admiring the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders, or the way his dark hair curls slightly around his ears, or the way he just laughs and grins whenever he loses one of their debates, nodding in acquiescence.
She doesn’t quite realise it is happening, but when, one day, she suddenly does, it makes a tiny thrill run through her when she sees him looking back at her the same way.
When they finally break the kiss, and Tris has to unwrap her fingers from his hair, she looks up into his eyes. He smiles at her, softly, runs a finger across her cheek, and Tris knows that she doesn’t need to say anything. So she just smiles back.
Rating: PG13
Summary: Written for the 31_days challenge.
Prompt: #5 - We'll be closer than the stars.
Theme: Tris.
Tris can hear the pounding of her heart in her ears as he leans closer, his hand closing gently over her wrist as his lips meet with hers. She can’t help but shut her eyes and kiss him back, getting lost in the heady feeling of his breath mingling with hers and the way his tongue gently teases its way through her lips. She clutches his arm and he moves closer still, until they are pressed against each other, and a small part of Tris wonders how they got to this point, and is surprised to realise that she doesn’t really care.
***
The first time they meet, he catches her in the library.
The sound of the door opening startles her, and she almost drops the book she had been slipping back onto the shelf. She turns to see who it could possibly be, because the only other person who used the library was Vedris, and there is no plausible way that it is him.
“What are you doing?” the young man asks, stepping into the room and running his eyes over her quizzically. His hair is dark, his strong jaw line oddly familiar.
“I was just reading,” she says, deciding not to bother lying. Besides, reading is hardly a crime when there is a whole room full of neglected books to be had. Wedging the book back into place, she turns back to the man once more, and pushes her spectacles up her long nose. There’s something about him that she can’t quite place.
He nods at her answer and walks over to slump in one of the armchairs. His finely embroidered shirt is crinkled, and Tris would have mistaken him for a noble if not for his sensible looking boots. There was a small dart of pain in her chest when he had sat down—that was Vedris’s chair—when suddenly, looking at his beak of a nose and the familiar way that he rubbed his hand wearily across his eyes, she realised who he was.
“I suppose I should be going,” Tris said uncertainly. “Sandry has probably been looking for me.”
Franzen looks up at her. “You don’t have to go. Everyone was still talking when I left, I don’t think they’ll be going anywhere for a while. Besides, no one really uses the library since” his voice cuts out and he looks away, swallowing hard. Tris wonders how close he was to his father. He didn’t cry at the funeral, but then neither did his brothers. She looks him over, taking in the details she hadn’t been searching for earlier: the slump of his shoulders, the tight clench of his jaw, the way he seems to be holding himself together by a thread.
“Alright,” she says, turning back to the shelf. “I’ll stay.”
Tris is glad that Sandry is needed at the citadel so much. When the other’s have gone to do whatever it is they do, she makes her way down the long hall to the library and slips inside. Sometime he is there, sometimes he is not. When he isn’t, she browses the shelves and makes her selection before curling up in Vedris’s favourite armchair, legs tucked underneath her. When he is there, she is slightly more wary. He always sits in Vedris’s chair, running his hands through his hair and heaving a silent sigh ever so often. Tris watches him from the corner of her eye as she moves along the shelves. It’s slightly annoying when he is there, but whenever she enters the library to find it silent and empty, the shelves upon shelves of books staring down at her, she feels disappointed.
“Their bickering would drive anyone mad,” he says one afternoon, throwing himself into the chair with more force than usual. Tris remains silent, running her finger along a row of book spines as she browses.
“Gospard just won’t listen to common sense,” he continues, waving a hand in the air, “And then Sandry gets all stubborn and angry. I don’t know how old Erdogun can put up with that mess.”
Tris bites her lip before speaking. “Is Gospard truly that bad a ruler?”
“No,” Franzen sighs. “He does well. But getting him to that point can be quite a struggle sometimes.”
Tris nods. “So you think Vedris was right in making him his heir?” She regrets saying it as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but it has been on her mind for so long that she waits impatiently for his answer.
He looks at her oddly, dark eyes—so similar to his father’s—unreadable. “You’re asking me if I think Gospard was the right choice, rather than me or my brother?”
She shrugs and turns her back to him. While she wonders if he will answer, she picks a book from the row in front of her. Astronomy.
“I think my father knew what he was doing. I trust his decision. Nothing else matters; even if I didn’t agree with his choice, I couldn’t do anything about it,” he says finally. She can still feel his eyes on her back.
“You could,” she says. Which is true, though it would cause a lot of fuss and controversy.
“But I wouldn’t,” he says.
She doesn’t quite realise it is happening. She looks forward to meeting him in the library, even if they don’t speak to each other, or if he falls asleep as soon as he slumps into the chair. She finds herself looking at him more, trying to delve beneath the skin, see what’s inside. Then she finds herself admiring the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders, or the way his dark hair curls slightly around his ears, or the way he just laughs and grins whenever he loses one of their debates, nodding in acquiescence.
She doesn’t quite realise it is happening, but when, one day, she suddenly does, it makes a tiny thrill run through her when she sees him looking back at her the same way.
* **
When they finally break the kiss, and Tris has to unwrap her fingers from his hair, she looks up into his eyes. He smiles at her, softly, runs a finger across her cheek, and Tris knows that she doesn’t need to say anything. So she just smiles back.