Post by hawksandfeathers on Apr 7, 2014 11:12:04 GMT 10
Title: Taxi
Summary: Delia's taxi ride goes horribly wrong. Modern!Tortall.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Sexual themes.
Author's Note: For Katty, who requested Delia fic during the group chat. (Also: I found the prompt 'Taxi' here.)
--
Delia gets into a taxi and kicks off her heels. “Hey darling,” she whispers to the seat in front of her.
“Hey,” he whispers back, and keeps driving.
They pass condos, quaint little tudor houses, parks, trees, mountains. Indie music drifts out of the open window, mixing with the harsh bite of the air.
“Well?” She adds a slight growl to her question. “Are you gonna keep talking?”
“I’ll pull over in a moment,” he says, and something in his voice makes her bite her lips.
“Sure, no rush.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, letting it slide audibly over the smooth fabric of her dress. There’s silence. The small rectangular mirror which shows his face is dull, just like his eyes. Did he not hear me? she thinks, almost frantic at the idea.
Suddenly he stops. “I can only take you this far,” he says.
“Oh, that’s alright,” she whispers again, the frenziedness fading away in a moment. “How much?”
“You broke the meter,” he replies, smiling. “Your time’s up.”
For a long while, she remembered his charming back beard, his wry smile, his empty blue eyes. Or, so she thought they were empty.
Back in his small apartment that night, the man held his girl closer, listening to her drowsy whisper. “I can’t stop looking into your eyes…”
Summary: Delia's taxi ride goes horribly wrong. Modern!Tortall.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Sexual themes.
Author's Note: For Katty, who requested Delia fic during the group chat. (Also: I found the prompt 'Taxi' here.)
--
Delia gets into a taxi and kicks off her heels. “Hey darling,” she whispers to the seat in front of her.
“Hey,” he whispers back, and keeps driving.
They pass condos, quaint little tudor houses, parks, trees, mountains. Indie music drifts out of the open window, mixing with the harsh bite of the air.
“Well?” She adds a slight growl to her question. “Are you gonna keep talking?”
“I’ll pull over in a moment,” he says, and something in his voice makes her bite her lips.
“Sure, no rush.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, letting it slide audibly over the smooth fabric of her dress. There’s silence. The small rectangular mirror which shows his face is dull, just like his eyes. Did he not hear me? she thinks, almost frantic at the idea.
Suddenly he stops. “I can only take you this far,” he says.
“Oh, that’s alright,” she whispers again, the frenziedness fading away in a moment. “How much?”
“You broke the meter,” he replies, smiling. “Your time’s up.”
For a long while, she remembered his charming back beard, his wry smile, his empty blue eyes. Or, so she thought they were empty.
Back in his small apartment that night, the man held his girl closer, listening to her drowsy whisper. “I can’t stop looking into your eyes…”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!