Post by Deleted on Apr 21, 2013 8:58:29 GMT 10
Title: Human Anatomy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 352
Pairing: Dedicate Crane/Dedicate Lark/Dedicate Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: The intricacies of the body. Rated for implied sexual acts.
The body is an art form. Muscles and blood vessels and nerves running beneath the body, and if he leans in close, Crane can trace the impatient twitches Rosethorn makes, the vessels running beneath the skin on the back of her hand, and brush his fingers down her back -- from her neck to her hips.
The dip that is her spinal cord, between her shoulders, the spine of her scapula -- just beneath her shoulders. He had known those for years, and yet somehow failed to notice the unusual, angular sharpness there when they returned from Lightsbridge.
(There had been so many parts he hadn't noticed: her ribs just this side of visible after meals and meals without appetite, the hollows in her cheeks, even the spark in her eye -- gone. She had responded in moans and whispers, and he hadn't thought to wonder if it was because he was all she had left there -- the last thing to cling onto. Not until they returned to Winding Circle, and the tumblers came to Summersea.)
Lark's body is longer, even more graceful from her years as a tumbler. She has fingers longer than his, beautifully made and sensitive, and she laughs when he brushes over the tiny blood vessels across her palm. Then, Rosethorn on her side and watching them, he follows them up her arm -- the pulse on the inside of her wrist, the pulse tucked in the crease of her elbow, and he follows them in kisses.
Lark isn't laughing; her breath hitches. A gasp when Rosethorn leans closer and joins in on the other side, kisses up her sides and brushing up her throat.
He hasn't known Lark's body nearly as long. He likes it.
They turn their attention to him. Fingers tracing the structures of his throat, Rosethorn's hand holding his chin in a strong grip, and she turns to Lark:
"Only humans have this," Rosethorn says, gesturing at the angle there. "One of those things you learn."
His throat is suddenly dry, at the feather light touches, and he waits to see what they do.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 352
Pairing: Dedicate Crane/Dedicate Lark/Dedicate Rosethorn
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: The intricacies of the body. Rated for implied sexual acts.
The body is an art form. Muscles and blood vessels and nerves running beneath the body, and if he leans in close, Crane can trace the impatient twitches Rosethorn makes, the vessels running beneath the skin on the back of her hand, and brush his fingers down her back -- from her neck to her hips.
The dip that is her spinal cord, between her shoulders, the spine of her scapula -- just beneath her shoulders. He had known those for years, and yet somehow failed to notice the unusual, angular sharpness there when they returned from Lightsbridge.
(There had been so many parts he hadn't noticed: her ribs just this side of visible after meals and meals without appetite, the hollows in her cheeks, even the spark in her eye -- gone. She had responded in moans and whispers, and he hadn't thought to wonder if it was because he was all she had left there -- the last thing to cling onto. Not until they returned to Winding Circle, and the tumblers came to Summersea.)
Lark's body is longer, even more graceful from her years as a tumbler. She has fingers longer than his, beautifully made and sensitive, and she laughs when he brushes over the tiny blood vessels across her palm. Then, Rosethorn on her side and watching them, he follows them up her arm -- the pulse on the inside of her wrist, the pulse tucked in the crease of her elbow, and he follows them in kisses.
Lark isn't laughing; her breath hitches. A gasp when Rosethorn leans closer and joins in on the other side, kisses up her sides and brushing up her throat.
He hasn't known Lark's body nearly as long. He likes it.
They turn their attention to him. Fingers tracing the structures of his throat, Rosethorn's hand holding his chin in a strong grip, and she turns to Lark:
"Only humans have this," Rosethorn says, gesturing at the angle there. "One of those things you learn."
His throat is suddenly dry, at the feather light touches, and he waits to see what they do.