Post by Kit on Apr 5, 2010 19:51:55 GMT 10
Title: Flesh
Rating: PG-13
Length: 343
Prompt: 31_days challenge #1: Pink ribbon scars that never forget
Summary: Sometimes, Polyam can only speak in shale.
“You can’t fix them, you know.”
“I know.”
“You do?” the words were strained, her own shattered voice spiking in her ears and making her wince. Wince away from the world that had gone too easy, too soft, to make sense. Daja was looking at her. She held her wrists, the good and the bad with equal weight, thumbs hard on ridge and skin.
"I don’t see anything that needs fixing.”
Madness. Poylam laughed. “Don’t want to bronze this face, lugsha? Not the shoulder?” She spat faults into the silence. “Don’t think you could fashion another breast for me? Wrist. Hip? You gave me a leg, but you haven’t seen—”
“—you’re not frightening me.”
Of all the words in the world, why those?
“Why not?”
Polyam could not read her. Did not understand the tightening of full lips and widening of her eyes, as dark as her own, but deeper set. So strange that such a set woman could be all fluid, now, leaning forward and kissing her, earnest and urgent and patient all at once. Wetness shared, sliding between them, Polyam’s response instinctive and delighted, coaxing a groan from the younger woman deep enough to shiver through both their bodies.
Ease, liquid hot, as Daja’s tongue flicked hers, and her lip, and then up the curve not of her good cheek, flushed and aching, but the bad one, where nerves flickered; guttering lights that sent feeling strange places. Daja’s tongue and lips on this dead spot, and the next, down her throat, and the world was needle sharp and skin soft, as feeling leapt and sparked and she was gasping.
There was everything wrong about Daja’s mouth on these places, but her traces made a ribbon from public-private shame—that knot on her collarbone, the layered, lumpen gash across her throat, marring and unspeakable, spoken to.
“Want,” Daja whispered, low into her skin. She spoke in Tradertalk, a language unused to begging. “All of this, I want. And to forget none of it afterwards.”
Rating: PG-13
Length: 343
Prompt: 31_days challenge #1: Pink ribbon scars that never forget
Summary: Sometimes, Polyam can only speak in shale.
“You can’t fix them, you know.”
“I know.”
“You do?” the words were strained, her own shattered voice spiking in her ears and making her wince. Wince away from the world that had gone too easy, too soft, to make sense. Daja was looking at her. She held her wrists, the good and the bad with equal weight, thumbs hard on ridge and skin.
"I don’t see anything that needs fixing.”
Madness. Poylam laughed. “Don’t want to bronze this face, lugsha? Not the shoulder?” She spat faults into the silence. “Don’t think you could fashion another breast for me? Wrist. Hip? You gave me a leg, but you haven’t seen—”
“—you’re not frightening me.”
Of all the words in the world, why those?
“Why not?”
Polyam could not read her. Did not understand the tightening of full lips and widening of her eyes, as dark as her own, but deeper set. So strange that such a set woman could be all fluid, now, leaning forward and kissing her, earnest and urgent and patient all at once. Wetness shared, sliding between them, Polyam’s response instinctive and delighted, coaxing a groan from the younger woman deep enough to shiver through both their bodies.
Ease, liquid hot, as Daja’s tongue flicked hers, and her lip, and then up the curve not of her good cheek, flushed and aching, but the bad one, where nerves flickered; guttering lights that sent feeling strange places. Daja’s tongue and lips on this dead spot, and the next, down her throat, and the world was needle sharp and skin soft, as feeling leapt and sparked and she was gasping.
There was everything wrong about Daja’s mouth on these places, but her traces made a ribbon from public-private shame—that knot on her collarbone, the layered, lumpen gash across her throat, marring and unspeakable, spoken to.
“Want,” Daja whispered, low into her skin. She spoke in Tradertalk, a language unused to begging. “All of this, I want. And to forget none of it afterwards.”