Post by wordy on Apr 27, 2012 12:21:20 GMT 10
Title: Variation on a theme
Rating: PG
Summary: Runaway bride?
"You're not supposed to see the bride before the wedding. It's tradition."
Briar leaned against the doorframe. "That's the groom," he said. He watched as she turned back to the mirror, the short train of her dress slippery and white on the floor. Even with her sitting down and him not getting a look at the whole picture, it was as plain as the nose on her face who had made that dress, every bit of it. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Sandry's cornflower blue eyes met his in the mirror when he raised his head and looked at her again. "I thought you weren't coming," she said. Was that relief in her voice? "I thought you were sulking."
"Oh, I was," he said lightly. "But I couldn't miss this."
She pursed her lips and turned her attention back to her hair, which didn't need any more adjusting at all. He'd grown up with girls, spent enough time with them to know that; if the situation was different, it might have made him laugh.
He crossed the room and stood behind her when the silence grew so loud that he couldn't stand it anymore. "Don't," he said.
"Briar - "
"I'm serious. Don't marry him, Sandry."
She let out a breath and turned to look at him. Even that was too much. He crossed his arms.
"We've talked about this, Briar. I accepted. I made my decision."
His laugh sounded bitter. "Your decision. Somehow, that doesn't sound like the same thing as your choice."
He was making her angry. He could tell by the blush of red that was creeping up her neck. He knew that neck. But he also knew from experience that she was angry because her emotions were slipping.
He uncrossed his arms and took hold of her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, ignoring the ring that was staring right up at him. He knelt beside her chair and searched her face. "Sandry, please. We can work this out. I know I'm not - I'm not asking you to marry me, okay? Just - don't marry him."
She didn't say anything for a long moment. It felt like an eternity. Finally, she bit her lip and looked away. "What am I going to do," she murmured, obviously not for his benefit. His heart clenched in his chest.
She looked back at him and smiled, though her eyes were a little sad. "You idiot. You complete and utter idiot." And then she leaened forward and kissed him, briefly, sweetly, her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.
When she pulled away, he gave her a weak grin. His heart was thumping now, adrenalin stealing over him. "You mean - really?"
She cradled his jaw in her hand and smiled, rolling her eyes a little. Yes; this was his Sandry. "Idiot," she said again. Fondly. "Get me out of here."
A/N: Guys. Guuuuuuys. I have a problem, seriously. I seem to have a fondness for writing this kind of fic, because I know I've written something slightly similar before. Sandry's always doing her hair, and they're always looking at each other in the mirror, and Briar always stops in the doorway. I feel like I'm stuck on repeat or something.But I love it.
Rating: PG
Summary: Runaway bride?
"You're not supposed to see the bride before the wedding. It's tradition."
Briar leaned against the doorframe. "That's the groom," he said. He watched as she turned back to the mirror, the short train of her dress slippery and white on the floor. Even with her sitting down and him not getting a look at the whole picture, it was as plain as the nose on her face who had made that dress, every bit of it. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Sandry's cornflower blue eyes met his in the mirror when he raised his head and looked at her again. "I thought you weren't coming," she said. Was that relief in her voice? "I thought you were sulking."
"Oh, I was," he said lightly. "But I couldn't miss this."
She pursed her lips and turned her attention back to her hair, which didn't need any more adjusting at all. He'd grown up with girls, spent enough time with them to know that; if the situation was different, it might have made him laugh.
He crossed the room and stood behind her when the silence grew so loud that he couldn't stand it anymore. "Don't," he said.
"Briar - "
"I'm serious. Don't marry him, Sandry."
She let out a breath and turned to look at him. Even that was too much. He crossed his arms.
"We've talked about this, Briar. I accepted. I made my decision."
His laugh sounded bitter. "Your decision. Somehow, that doesn't sound like the same thing as your choice."
He was making her angry. He could tell by the blush of red that was creeping up her neck. He knew that neck. But he also knew from experience that she was angry because her emotions were slipping.
He uncrossed his arms and took hold of her hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, ignoring the ring that was staring right up at him. He knelt beside her chair and searched her face. "Sandry, please. We can work this out. I know I'm not - I'm not asking you to marry me, okay? Just - don't marry him."
She didn't say anything for a long moment. It felt like an eternity. Finally, she bit her lip and looked away. "What am I going to do," she murmured, obviously not for his benefit. His heart clenched in his chest.
She looked back at him and smiled, though her eyes were a little sad. "You idiot. You complete and utter idiot." And then she leaened forward and kissed him, briefly, sweetly, her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek.
When she pulled away, he gave her a weak grin. His heart was thumping now, adrenalin stealing over him. "You mean - really?"
She cradled his jaw in her hand and smiled, rolling her eyes a little. Yes; this was his Sandry. "Idiot," she said again. Fondly. "Get me out of here."
A/N: Guys. Guuuuuuys. I have a problem, seriously. I seem to have a fondness for writing this kind of fic, because I know I've written something slightly similar before. Sandry's always doing her hair, and they're always looking at each other in the mirror, and Briar always stops in the doorway. I feel like I'm stuck on repeat or something.
And like kitty said, this feel very realistic.