Post by wordy on May 11, 2012 9:03:32 GMT 10
Series: Provenance
Title: La belle dame sans merci
Rating: PG
Event: Light-hearted long jump
Words: 510
Summary: Briar discovers that he’s not such an expert as he’d once thought.
He came to slowly, blinking the darkness away. A face was hovering above him, a creased brow giving way to a smile.
A shiver rushed through him and Briar realised—remembered—that he didn’t have a stitch on him. She pressed a hand to his chest when he made to rise.
“That,” he said, a little unsteadily, “was unexpected.”
She laughed. She was laughing at him, but somehow he wasn’t bothered. His skin still felt sticky with sweat, and slightly clammy, his back and legs ached, but he really, really wasn’t bothered. He smiled back.
“I should have realised,” she said. “I have known so many young men in my time,dancers,” she added pointedly, when he raised his eyebrows, “that I should have realised.”
“I’m going to blame it on the fact that I’m probably concussed, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled and moved closer to his side. She had put on a robe, he realised stupidly, and the silky material made his skin feel even stickier where she pressed up against him. Reflexively, he somehow managed to move his arm until it was in a position to stroke her back.
“It is a failing I have noticed among young men,” she continued. “So sure of themselves. Willing to take direction, but always in such a hurry. I think it must be some strange sort of male pride. But you are not a dancer, and that I also should have realised.”
He had only been half-listening, really. “What?”
She laughed shortly and pressed her palm against his chest again, firmer than before, her fingertips brushing his throat. “Briar, you do not know how to breathe.”
“I’ve been doing pretty well for the last twenty years or so.”
“A witty remark. How surprising.”
“Sorry, that’s the only kind of remark I deal in,” he said with a grin.
She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling. “In any case, you need to work on your breathing. Meditation may be good for some things, but for, ah, others it is severely lacking.”
“I’ll be sure to let Niko know that.”
She caught his hand in hers, intercepting its path to her cheek. The vines moving beneath his skin looked somehow right alongside her own decorated hand. “You are lucky that I like you,” she said.
“I know,” he said cheekily, and it was not a lie at all.
“As I was saying, meditation can only do so much. Dancers are taught a number of ways to breathe; sometimes you are contorted in such a position that filling your lungs is impossible. Sometimes, you must know when to steal”—she ducked down and kissed him swiftly, too swiftly for his liking—“a breath.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled when he made an unsatisfied sound. “There’s no need to look so pleased with yourself,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, laughing again, allowing him to pull her down on top of him, but Briar was not sorry at all.
Title: La belle dame sans merci
Rating: PG
Event: Light-hearted long jump
Words: 510
Summary: Briar discovers that he’s not such an expert as he’d once thought.
He came to slowly, blinking the darkness away. A face was hovering above him, a creased brow giving way to a smile.
A shiver rushed through him and Briar realised—remembered—that he didn’t have a stitch on him. She pressed a hand to his chest when he made to rise.
“That,” he said, a little unsteadily, “was unexpected.”
She laughed. She was laughing at him, but somehow he wasn’t bothered. His skin still felt sticky with sweat, and slightly clammy, his back and legs ached, but he really, really wasn’t bothered. He smiled back.
“I should have realised,” she said. “I have known so many young men in my time,dancers,” she added pointedly, when he raised his eyebrows, “that I should have realised.”
“I’m going to blame it on the fact that I’m probably concussed, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
A dimple appeared in her cheek as she smiled and moved closer to his side. She had put on a robe, he realised stupidly, and the silky material made his skin feel even stickier where she pressed up against him. Reflexively, he somehow managed to move his arm until it was in a position to stroke her back.
“It is a failing I have noticed among young men,” she continued. “So sure of themselves. Willing to take direction, but always in such a hurry. I think it must be some strange sort of male pride. But you are not a dancer, and that I also should have realised.”
He had only been half-listening, really. “What?”
She laughed shortly and pressed her palm against his chest again, firmer than before, her fingertips brushing his throat. “Briar, you do not know how to breathe.”
“I’ve been doing pretty well for the last twenty years or so.”
“A witty remark. How surprising.”
“Sorry, that’s the only kind of remark I deal in,” he said with a grin.
She rolled her eyes at him, but she was smiling. “In any case, you need to work on your breathing. Meditation may be good for some things, but for, ah, others it is severely lacking.”
“I’ll be sure to let Niko know that.”
She caught his hand in hers, intercepting its path to her cheek. The vines moving beneath his skin looked somehow right alongside her own decorated hand. “You are lucky that I like you,” she said.
“I know,” he said cheekily, and it was not a lie at all.
“As I was saying, meditation can only do so much. Dancers are taught a number of ways to breathe; sometimes you are contorted in such a position that filling your lungs is impossible. Sometimes, you must know when to steal”—she ducked down and kissed him swiftly, too swiftly for his liking—“a breath.”
The corners of her eyes crinkled when he made an unsatisfied sound. “There’s no need to look so pleased with yourself,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, laughing again, allowing him to pull her down on top of him, but Briar was not sorry at all.