Post by Rojo on Mar 21, 2009 5:25:54 GMT 10
Title: Cold
Author: Rojo (startingblock )
Rating: PG
Summary: A one-shot of a scene between Beka and Rosto from Pounce's point-of-view
He opened the door inch by inch, mentally pleading with the old hinges not to make a noise. Either the Gods or the door heard his silent prayer because the doors made not a sound. His lungs dared not to release a speck of air as he closes the door behind himself. The sound of the latch clicking shut, normally unnoticeable in daytime hustle and bustle, seemed to echo similar to the one made by the palace gates slamming shut.
As he freezes at the sound, the clouds outside part to reveal the full moon. A strip of moonlight peeks into the room where the shutters do not quite meet. It cuts crosswise across his face. Pale, blonde hair becomes iridescent while his eyes seem to sparkle like precious gemstones.
She stirs slightly in her sleep, though it is not because anything he has done. The illness that has been plaguing her these past three days has disrupted her rest and given her the chills. Goosebumps rise on her arms while her teeth chatter. Empty and half-full bottles litter the table beside her bed in silent testimony to potions and charms that have not made her better.
He has watched her sleep many times before, though she does not know it, and is expert at avoiding the creaky floorboards in her room. The chair makes not a sound as always when he sits in it. Her eyelids flutter briefly. His hand freezes while reaching out to brush a lock of her hair from her face when her eyes open and look into his.
“Rosto,” it is not a question but a statement. A half-whisper, too late in the night for anyone to be about and too quiet for them to have heard had they been about. It is meant for his ears alone.
His eyes are soft and gentle as they meet her dazed, sick ones. “What is it, lovey?”
“Cold. So cold.” She is too cold to complain about him being in her room uninvited at night. Too cold to complain about him calling her “lovey.”
A quick glance around the room reveals that all of her spare blankets are already piled up on her bed. And yet, she is shivering hard enough to shake the bed.
“Well, move over then.” His voice does not quiver even though the thought of what he is going to do scares him.
She does not stop to think but just moves over so he can climb in the bed. It is only meant for one person and they are squashed up next to each other. A sigh escapes her lips and her teeth stop chattering when he wraps his arms around her. Slowly, she drifts off to sleep in his arms, warmer now.
I curl my body into a tighter ball and deepen my purring as I too drift off to sleep. After all, constellations need rest as well.
Author: Rojo (startingblock )
Rating: PG
Summary: A one-shot of a scene between Beka and Rosto from Pounce's point-of-view
He opened the door inch by inch, mentally pleading with the old hinges not to make a noise. Either the Gods or the door heard his silent prayer because the doors made not a sound. His lungs dared not to release a speck of air as he closes the door behind himself. The sound of the latch clicking shut, normally unnoticeable in daytime hustle and bustle, seemed to echo similar to the one made by the palace gates slamming shut.
As he freezes at the sound, the clouds outside part to reveal the full moon. A strip of moonlight peeks into the room where the shutters do not quite meet. It cuts crosswise across his face. Pale, blonde hair becomes iridescent while his eyes seem to sparkle like precious gemstones.
She stirs slightly in her sleep, though it is not because anything he has done. The illness that has been plaguing her these past three days has disrupted her rest and given her the chills. Goosebumps rise on her arms while her teeth chatter. Empty and half-full bottles litter the table beside her bed in silent testimony to potions and charms that have not made her better.
He has watched her sleep many times before, though she does not know it, and is expert at avoiding the creaky floorboards in her room. The chair makes not a sound as always when he sits in it. Her eyelids flutter briefly. His hand freezes while reaching out to brush a lock of her hair from her face when her eyes open and look into his.
“Rosto,” it is not a question but a statement. A half-whisper, too late in the night for anyone to be about and too quiet for them to have heard had they been about. It is meant for his ears alone.
His eyes are soft and gentle as they meet her dazed, sick ones. “What is it, lovey?”
“Cold. So cold.” She is too cold to complain about him being in her room uninvited at night. Too cold to complain about him calling her “lovey.”
A quick glance around the room reveals that all of her spare blankets are already piled up on her bed. And yet, she is shivering hard enough to shake the bed.
“Well, move over then.” His voice does not quiver even though the thought of what he is going to do scares him.
She does not stop to think but just moves over so he can climb in the bed. It is only meant for one person and they are squashed up next to each other. A sigh escapes her lips and her teeth stop chattering when he wraps his arms around her. Slowly, she drifts off to sleep in his arms, warmer now.
I curl my body into a tighter ball and deepen my purring as I too drift off to sleep. After all, constellations need rest as well.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!