Post by Kit on Apr 21, 2013 2:56:45 GMT 10
Title: Youth and skill
Rating: R
Word Count: 377
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: Kel wants a home.
It’s a strange creed
the breed that seeks love
through the eye of a needle -- Dessa Darling
Kel is all planes—warm and strong and straight, stained by sun and mud and, in some of the strangest places, with ink. Lalasa laughs, flicking her tongue out over a splatter over the younger woman’s bicep. Presses a kiss to a spot by her wrist. Kel is laughing with her, breathy and embarrassed.
“No clerks on the road. I had to do write my own reports.” Shivering as Lalasa skims her hands up past her breasts, Kel bends to catch her, to kiss her, more laughter sparkling through her as she tastes faint bitter traces of indigo in Lalasa’s mouth.
“I’m sorry I’m so disreputable.”
“Liar.” Lalasa is breathing hard, her smile swollen and shy and perfect. “You love it when you can rush to my home and—”
“—rush home, Lalasa.”
The words are quiet, cutting through the teasing and leaving them both wide-eyed. Kel bites her lip. Swallows. Lalasa watches the pained shift in her throat before slowly returning to her face. She cannot speak. WEill not. Not until she knows.
Kel’s blush has drained away, leaving her white about the edges and her hazel eyes too dark. There are crowsfeet there, etched in by sun and long months outside. The last posting—ogres and giants disagreeing on the definition of personal space—had her away from Corus for a season, and brought her back to Lalasa in a swirl of sparrows, katas, and pent up need. Their first season—the first apart since a kiss Lalasa is still half sure she dreamed, until the next one.
“What I mean is,” Kel says, not quite stammering, “Is that it feels like home here.”
There is nothing dreamlike in Lalasa’s answering kiss. The flick of her tongue over Kel’s lip is sure and skilled and familiar. Her thumb is pressed to Kel’s cheekbone and each can feel the other’s hearbeat through their own skin.
“You know me, my lady,” Lalasa’s voice is hoarse, the use of the old title a deliberate thing that tells Kel more than anything else that she has just been a rather young and a little bit stupid. “I’d hate it if you weren't home here.”
Rating: R
Word Count: 377
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: Kel wants a home.
It’s a strange creed
the breed that seeks love
through the eye of a needle -- Dessa Darling
Kel is all planes—warm and strong and straight, stained by sun and mud and, in some of the strangest places, with ink. Lalasa laughs, flicking her tongue out over a splatter over the younger woman’s bicep. Presses a kiss to a spot by her wrist. Kel is laughing with her, breathy and embarrassed.
“No clerks on the road. I had to do write my own reports.” Shivering as Lalasa skims her hands up past her breasts, Kel bends to catch her, to kiss her, more laughter sparkling through her as she tastes faint bitter traces of indigo in Lalasa’s mouth.
“I’m sorry I’m so disreputable.”
“Liar.” Lalasa is breathing hard, her smile swollen and shy and perfect. “You love it when you can rush to my home and—”
“—rush home, Lalasa.”
The words are quiet, cutting through the teasing and leaving them both wide-eyed. Kel bites her lip. Swallows. Lalasa watches the pained shift in her throat before slowly returning to her face. She cannot speak. WEill not. Not until she knows.
Kel’s blush has drained away, leaving her white about the edges and her hazel eyes too dark. There are crowsfeet there, etched in by sun and long months outside. The last posting—ogres and giants disagreeing on the definition of personal space—had her away from Corus for a season, and brought her back to Lalasa in a swirl of sparrows, katas, and pent up need. Their first season—the first apart since a kiss Lalasa is still half sure she dreamed, until the next one.
“What I mean is,” Kel says, not quite stammering, “Is that it feels like home here.”
There is nothing dreamlike in Lalasa’s answering kiss. The flick of her tongue over Kel’s lip is sure and skilled and familiar. Her thumb is pressed to Kel’s cheekbone and each can feel the other’s hearbeat through their own skin.
“You know me, my lady,” Lalasa’s voice is hoarse, the use of the old title a deliberate thing that tells Kel more than anything else that she has just been a rather young and a little bit stupid. “I’d hate it if you weren't home here.”