Holiday gift fic for onlysayitonce
Title: Earth
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Luna/Padma
Summary: At the water's edge, Padma stops and bends down, pressing her hands into the earth.
A/N: For onlysayitonce, my darling Essa. Happy holidays, dear!
Music: "The Red Earth," Alison Brown
Padma's whole body is a work of art, painted in intricate swirls of henna over every inch of bronze skin save for the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. Luna's eyes trace the designs as Padma sheds her cream-coloured sari in a puddle of fabric at her feet and steps out of it and walks down to the riverbank, her feet leaving a trail of prints in the red clay. At the water's edge, Padma stops and bends down, pressing her hands into the earth, and when she pulls them away her palms are covered in a layer of it, glistening wet, rich river-mud to hide the only skin the henna doesn't adorn. Padma slips into the water with ease, comfortable and unafraid, and her dark hair fans out and then tangles around her in the current, shining under the yellow moon hanging heavy and full in the night sky above their heads. Padma calls something softly in Hindi, and Luna doesn't speak that language but she does speak Padma's, and she understands the shy smile on Padma's lips and the way she looks up from under her lashes, the subtle motion of one muddy hand.
So Luna unwraps the sari she's wearing (one of Padma's, a deep, cobalt blue) and goes to join her, and the river mud is cool beneath her feet, the water warm still from the heat of the day. Padma smiles and wraps her arms around Luna's waist, nut-brown skin against moon-pale, and Luna feels the way Padma's hands slide against her because of the mud. She doesn't mind. Luna slips her arms around Padma's shoulders and lets her head fall to rest on Padma's breast, her gaze half-focused on the delicate designs on her skin, like dark lace.
"Do you see any jarlens, yet?" Padma whispers, and Luna had almost forgotten that was why they came, why Padma is every inch henna. She glances around.
"Not yet."
Padma's fingers twine in Luna's hair, heedless of the mud. "Me either," she says, and kisses her.
And Luna decides that if she never sees a jarlen, well... that's all right.
Author: acidpop25
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Luna/Padma
Summary: At the water's edge, Padma stops and bends down, pressing her hands into the earth.
A/N: For onlysayitonce, my darling Essa. Happy holidays, dear!
Music: "The Red Earth," Alison Brown
Padma's whole body is a work of art, painted in intricate swirls of henna over every inch of bronze skin save for the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. Luna's eyes trace the designs as Padma sheds her cream-coloured sari in a puddle of fabric at her feet and steps out of it and walks down to the riverbank, her feet leaving a trail of prints in the red clay. At the water's edge, Padma stops and bends down, pressing her hands into the earth, and when she pulls them away her palms are covered in a layer of it, glistening wet, rich river-mud to hide the only skin the henna doesn't adorn. Padma slips into the water with ease, comfortable and unafraid, and her dark hair fans out and then tangles around her in the current, shining under the yellow moon hanging heavy and full in the night sky above their heads. Padma calls something softly in Hindi, and Luna doesn't speak that language but she does speak Padma's, and she understands the shy smile on Padma's lips and the way she looks up from under her lashes, the subtle motion of one muddy hand.
So Luna unwraps the sari she's wearing (one of Padma's, a deep, cobalt blue) and goes to join her, and the river mud is cool beneath her feet, the water warm still from the heat of the day. Padma smiles and wraps her arms around Luna's waist, nut-brown skin against moon-pale, and Luna feels the way Padma's hands slide against her because of the mud. She doesn't mind. Luna slips her arms around Padma's shoulders and lets her head fall to rest on Padma's breast, her gaze half-focused on the delicate designs on her skin, like dark lace.
"Do you see any jarlens, yet?" Padma whispers, and Luna had almost forgotten that was why they came, why Padma is every inch henna. She glances around.
"Not yet."
Padma's fingers twine in Luna's hair, heedless of the mud. "Me either," she says, and kisses her.
And Luna decides that if she never sees a jarlen, well... that's all right.