Post by wordy on Apr 7, 2011 0:01:15 GMT 10
Title: Tattoo
Rating: PG
Word Count: 298
Pairing: Briar/Daja/Sandry/Tris – Team Circlecest
Round/Fight: 1/H
Summary: Maybe he’s rubbing off on them.
Maybe he’s rubbing off on them. Briar will swear later to Rosethorn that it wasn’t his idea.
First was Sandry. He’d caught her admiring his tattoos before, the hypnotic way they’d move and curl across his hands, the buds bursting into flower. For days, he watches her out of the corner of his eye as she works up the nerve to ask him. When she finally does, he sits her down and takes her bare foot in his hand, runs his thumb over the soft instep. She doesn’t make a sound while he’s working, and even though he doesn’t look up he can feel the way that she grits her teeth and forces herself not to move. The flower is small and blue and delicate, the petals curling in gently. She smiles when it’s finished, and he can’t help but smile too.
Daja is next, almost two weeks later. She comes to him fresh from the forge, skin still glowing with sweat, and pulls her shirt over her head. He wipes down the dark canvas of her shoulder and writes a burning vine into her skin, more flame than flower. Afterwards, he sits back and admires his work. It dances and flickers when he looks away, magic of a different sort.
And Tris – Tris does find him, eventually. She scowls a little, and looks as if she wants to roll her eyes, but sits still and calm like the eye of a storm as he sets his needle to her. He chooses the inside of her wrist, because she couldn’t choose, or didn’t want to. The skin there is pale and freckled, and when he’s finished she raises a pale eyebrow but says nothing. He can just make out the sweetness of the honeysuckle in her thin-lipped smile.
QC by: journeycat
Rating: PG
Word Count: 298
Pairing: Briar/Daja/Sandry/Tris – Team Circlecest
Round/Fight: 1/H
Summary: Maybe he’s rubbing off on them.
Maybe he’s rubbing off on them. Briar will swear later to Rosethorn that it wasn’t his idea.
First was Sandry. He’d caught her admiring his tattoos before, the hypnotic way they’d move and curl across his hands, the buds bursting into flower. For days, he watches her out of the corner of his eye as she works up the nerve to ask him. When she finally does, he sits her down and takes her bare foot in his hand, runs his thumb over the soft instep. She doesn’t make a sound while he’s working, and even though he doesn’t look up he can feel the way that she grits her teeth and forces herself not to move. The flower is small and blue and delicate, the petals curling in gently. She smiles when it’s finished, and he can’t help but smile too.
Daja is next, almost two weeks later. She comes to him fresh from the forge, skin still glowing with sweat, and pulls her shirt over her head. He wipes down the dark canvas of her shoulder and writes a burning vine into her skin, more flame than flower. Afterwards, he sits back and admires his work. It dances and flickers when he looks away, magic of a different sort.
And Tris – Tris does find him, eventually. She scowls a little, and looks as if she wants to roll her eyes, but sits still and calm like the eye of a storm as he sets his needle to her. He chooses the inside of her wrist, because she couldn’t choose, or didn’t want to. The skin there is pale and freckled, and when he’s finished she raises a pale eyebrow but says nothing. He can just make out the sweetness of the honeysuckle in her thin-lipped smile.
QC by: journeycat