Post by Shhasow on Mar 13, 2011 8:08:13 GMT 10
Title: Bottle (1)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 257
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Zahir hides himself in a bottle. Rating for alcohol abuse.
The room spins.
Zahir, though he sits, feels as if the world is turning without him. He stares at his fingers and attempts to count them all, separately. He knows that, theoretically, there must be ten of them, yet he keeps counting nine, eleven, eight, even fourteen once. Only one time in five are there actually ten fingers, and Zahir can’t be positive that he didn’t count his thumb twice and his ring finger at all.
In this state, he hardly thinks about Jon at all. Or, King Jonathan, his knight-master, to be more accurate. Zahir doesn’t think he’s allowed to call Jon, Jon. But Jon can’t prevent him from thinking of Jon as Jon, so Jon is Jon in his thoughts and Sire when he talks to him. Or your majesty.
So much for not thinking about Jon. Zahir takes another swig from the brandy bottle - a terrible way to waste such an excellent vintage - and tries to absorb his mind with the fire, not Jon’s blue eyes that sparkle like a desert sapphire, or his strong hands that masterfully maneuver a delicate quill or the voice that speaks to him and makes delicious tingles run down his spine and gather in a specific place...
Zahir doesn’t notice when a knock sounds on his door, nor when it opens slowly. Instead, the last person he would want to see at this moment walks in to find his squire with one hand clasped around a nearly-empty bottle and the other hand shoved down his pants.
QC by: greenie
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 257
Pairing: Jon/Zahir
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: Zahir hides himself in a bottle. Rating for alcohol abuse.
The room spins.
Zahir, though he sits, feels as if the world is turning without him. He stares at his fingers and attempts to count them all, separately. He knows that, theoretically, there must be ten of them, yet he keeps counting nine, eleven, eight, even fourteen once. Only one time in five are there actually ten fingers, and Zahir can’t be positive that he didn’t count his thumb twice and his ring finger at all.
In this state, he hardly thinks about Jon at all. Or, King Jonathan, his knight-master, to be more accurate. Zahir doesn’t think he’s allowed to call Jon, Jon. But Jon can’t prevent him from thinking of Jon as Jon, so Jon is Jon in his thoughts and Sire when he talks to him. Or your majesty.
So much for not thinking about Jon. Zahir takes another swig from the brandy bottle - a terrible way to waste such an excellent vintage - and tries to absorb his mind with the fire, not Jon’s blue eyes that sparkle like a desert sapphire, or his strong hands that masterfully maneuver a delicate quill or the voice that speaks to him and makes delicious tingles run down his spine and gather in a specific place...
Zahir doesn’t notice when a knock sounds on his door, nor when it opens slowly. Instead, the last person he would want to see at this moment walks in to find his squire with one hand clasped around a nearly-empty bottle and the other hand shoved down his pants.
QC by: greenie