Post by Kit on Apr 21, 2013 3:37:31 GMT 10
Title: The best of our small talwnts
Rating: PG
Word Count: 284
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: In which I give grandiose titles to utter fluff, and Kel and Lalasa find they have things to teach each other.
“Please. Please, Kel, just stop.”
Keladry of Mindelan was sweat streaked, stubborn, and bleeding in a dozen places, but she still looked up sharply at her friend’s unusual use of her first name.
Lalasa stood in the doorway, slim brown hands clasped before her, the knuckles white. The hitch in her voice was a laughing betrayal, its echoes sneaking out in hasps even as the older girl bit her lip to keep it in.
Kel sighed. “I can do this.” Lalasa’s shoulders were shaking. “Oh, honestly, Lalasa. Did Neal send you?”
“He was…” Lalasa gasped and gave in, laughter spilling out of her as Kel shook her head, face fluahed. “He was right, oh, here!” Rushing in, Lalasa dropped to her knees before Kel’s chair, gently tugging the hapless, rent shirt from Kel’s grasp. “You don’t have to everything yourself, you know,” she said, holding it up and examining the pinpricks of blood with a mournful expression. “Especially this.”
“It looks so easy when you do it,” Kel muttered. “And I should be able to do it myself. I hate asking you too for every little thing—”
“—this is a big thing. You are so hard on your clothes.” The familiar refrain was a comfort, it let her talk even when distracted by the smudge of lashes against the clean curve of Kel’s cheek, or the impulse to take those scarred, freckled hands in her own smaller ones. Lalasa was well used to ignoring such things. Kel, she was sure, had never even noticed.
Kel was looking at her now, mouth a rueful twist, her chin set. “Could you teach me?” she asked. “If you have time?”
Lalasa stared back at her, and smiled.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 284
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: In which I give grandiose titles to utter fluff, and Kel and Lalasa find they have things to teach each other.
“Please. Please, Kel, just stop.”
Keladry of Mindelan was sweat streaked, stubborn, and bleeding in a dozen places, but she still looked up sharply at her friend’s unusual use of her first name.
Lalasa stood in the doorway, slim brown hands clasped before her, the knuckles white. The hitch in her voice was a laughing betrayal, its echoes sneaking out in hasps even as the older girl bit her lip to keep it in.
Kel sighed. “I can do this.” Lalasa’s shoulders were shaking. “Oh, honestly, Lalasa. Did Neal send you?”
“He was…” Lalasa gasped and gave in, laughter spilling out of her as Kel shook her head, face fluahed. “He was right, oh, here!” Rushing in, Lalasa dropped to her knees before Kel’s chair, gently tugging the hapless, rent shirt from Kel’s grasp. “You don’t have to everything yourself, you know,” she said, holding it up and examining the pinpricks of blood with a mournful expression. “Especially this.”
“It looks so easy when you do it,” Kel muttered. “And I should be able to do it myself. I hate asking you too for every little thing—”
“—this is a big thing. You are so hard on your clothes.” The familiar refrain was a comfort, it let her talk even when distracted by the smudge of lashes against the clean curve of Kel’s cheek, or the impulse to take those scarred, freckled hands in her own smaller ones. Lalasa was well used to ignoring such things. Kel, she was sure, had never even noticed.
Kel was looking at her now, mouth a rueful twist, her chin set. “Could you teach me?” she asked. “If you have time?”
Lalasa stared back at her, and smiled.