One-Shot: "Colors"
^_^;;; I really should be working on chapters ten and the epilouge... *slaps wrist*
Ah well. Enjoy anyway! XD
Title: Colors
Type: One-Shot
Genre: Romance/General/Fluff
Rating: G/PG
Pairing: EdwardxAlexander
Warnings: None, really. 'Cept LOTS of discriptions. And the use of present tense, which is hard to write. ^_^;
Summary: There is nothing in the world more breathtaking than his darling Alexander.
Read:
Disclaimer: HAHA, IT’S ALL MINE! X3
Author’s Note: I’m being a bad girl again. I should be working on chapter ten and the epilogue, but no-I wanted to write this. So here I am. Writing this. ^_^;
Hope you enjoy the fluff!
XXX
Colors
XXX
First, there is his hair- so much of it, so thick. Coarse, but strangely glossy: cascading down his shoulders and back like a waterfall. Yet it is gentler than a waterfall; soft. A babbling creek, perhaps, or the lingering remains of a warm summer rain. It pools around his body wherever he sits, the chestnut puddles slipping and sliding over one another in pleasant waves. Though “chestnut” isn’t quite right, term-wise… he can’t decide what is. It isn’t copper, like mom’s, nor auburn like father’s-it is darker than that, bronze or ginger, with hidden strands of burgundy and gold.
Eyes: eyes framed by coal-black lashes-coiled like springs, so thick and long that they give off an air of effortless heaviness. The kind of eyelashes girls pine over, would readily kill for. And then there are his eyes themselves: bright, and so very expressive. Silver. That’s the only word for them; his eyes are silver. Not gray- they are more luminous than that. God, he loves those eyes… He loves the way they glitter when he’s happy: like morning light off of a calm sea. They’re just as gorgeous when he’s scared; they look brittle, like springtime ice. And when he’s angry, they’re twin storms: dark, swirling vats of mercury that threaten vehemence and untimely death. But the most beautiful emotion that could ever be mirrored in those eyes is love. There are no words to describe it, no words at all: it’s like a combination of those joyful sparkles and the nervous fragility, but with so much warmth-his eyes melt, like the heated metal they imitate, and cause all of those around him to do the same.
The rest of his face is just as appealing: his forehead is curtained by his hair, hiding a spot of adorable sensitivity: so regularly flushed with illness, but normally a pallid pink; sliding down to a round, rosy, perfectly-shaped nose, dusted with the faintest ruminants of tan freckles; cheeks-soft and almost always crimson- sweet and kissable. His lips are a stunning shade of bubble-gum; slightly pouted, but still somehow long: easily molded into any expression. And lastly, as if added to give some sort of “final touch” to the boy’s already angelic features, there are two small markings: decorations, perhaps, to enhance those vibrant eyes. Dark chocolate in color, the twin moles lay lightly on his left cheekbone, like minute teardrops that had frozen there forever.
All four of his limbs-both arms, both legs-are petite and graceful: thin, but not scrawny. They run smoothly from pastel pink to frosted peach, darkened in some areas by sickness-induced bruises and lingering childhood scars. But somehow, even those are beautiful…though in a sad way. Just as colorful, nonetheless, as the rest of him.
The four limbs are connected, as on most bodies, to the astounding planes of his chest: the muted tones of his skin softening to an almost creamy white, pulled snuggly to the contours of his frame. Hardened by neither jutting bone nor excess muscle, his stomach is taut, yet supple-a silky valley interrupted only by a cute, faintly-scarlet bellybutton.
His hands are rainbows: fleshy pads of skin that glow a soft cherry, easily merging with shades of peachy-orange and subtle, semi-translucent yellow- violet veins weaving through the spidery appendages; a tapestry of blues. Long, delicate fingers taper off, pale flesh merging with even paler nails- ivory moons on salmon-pink beds.
Finally, his feet… long and thin, much like the rest of him (though on a tiny scale); with delicate ankles and arches that have a tendency to collapse. They are the same milky hue as his stomach and limbs, darkening to muted shades of maroon around his heels and toes. Ticklish, they are-and oddly expressive: toes curling and feet twisting whenever he feels particularly embarrassed or uncomfortable. His hands do the same; it’s so endearing.
He is small, but alive-so very, very alive; bursting with anything and everything that his lover has every held dear. He is a treasure, a doll, a work of art: a living masterpiece. Edward knows this, has known it for years, and believes it with every fiber of his being.
There is nothing in the world more breathtaking than his darling Alexander.
So it infuriates him when-with a flustered blush and skittering gaze- Alex confesses his sudden depression is the result of being called ugly at school; the result of him over thinking the situation (as he usually does); the result of him worrying that his brother doesn’t find him attractive. Foolish, he admits, but unstoppable worries. Still, Edward can’t help feeling confused: how could Al think that? How could anyone think that?
But rather than fly into an indignant rage (for what good would that do either of them?), Edward simply retrieves his sketchbooks and canvases: proof of how wrong Alex-and his classmates-truly are.
You are beautiful, Al.
With each new picture, Alexander’s eyes widen, filling with turquoise tears. Mouth unfurling in a breathtaking beam, he flushes fusha, thanking Edward with a silent, silvery stare of adoration. His hand falls gently on his older sibling’s arm.
Edward blushes, gratified, drowning in the colors and emotions and sheer wonder of his little brother.
And in that instant, he knows beyond any shadow of doubt that there is nothing and no-one he will ever love more.
XXX
Ah well. Enjoy anyway! XD
Title: Colors
Type: One-Shot
Genre: Romance/General/Fluff
Rating: G/PG
Pairing: EdwardxAlexander
Warnings: None, really. 'Cept LOTS of discriptions. And the use of present tense, which is hard to write. ^_^;
Summary: There is nothing in the world more breathtaking than his darling Alexander.
Read:
Disclaimer: HAHA, IT’S ALL MINE! X3
Author’s Note: I’m being a bad girl again. I should be working on chapter ten and the epilogue, but no-I wanted to write this. So here I am. Writing this. ^_^;
Hope you enjoy the fluff!
XXX
Colors
XXX
First, there is his hair- so much of it, so thick. Coarse, but strangely glossy: cascading down his shoulders and back like a waterfall. Yet it is gentler than a waterfall; soft. A babbling creek, perhaps, or the lingering remains of a warm summer rain. It pools around his body wherever he sits, the chestnut puddles slipping and sliding over one another in pleasant waves. Though “chestnut” isn’t quite right, term-wise… he can’t decide what is. It isn’t copper, like mom’s, nor auburn like father’s-it is darker than that, bronze or ginger, with hidden strands of burgundy and gold.
Eyes: eyes framed by coal-black lashes-coiled like springs, so thick and long that they give off an air of effortless heaviness. The kind of eyelashes girls pine over, would readily kill for. And then there are his eyes themselves: bright, and so very expressive. Silver. That’s the only word for them; his eyes are silver. Not gray- they are more luminous than that. God, he loves those eyes… He loves the way they glitter when he’s happy: like morning light off of a calm sea. They’re just as gorgeous when he’s scared; they look brittle, like springtime ice. And when he’s angry, they’re twin storms: dark, swirling vats of mercury that threaten vehemence and untimely death. But the most beautiful emotion that could ever be mirrored in those eyes is love. There are no words to describe it, no words at all: it’s like a combination of those joyful sparkles and the nervous fragility, but with so much warmth-his eyes melt, like the heated metal they imitate, and cause all of those around him to do the same.
The rest of his face is just as appealing: his forehead is curtained by his hair, hiding a spot of adorable sensitivity: so regularly flushed with illness, but normally a pallid pink; sliding down to a round, rosy, perfectly-shaped nose, dusted with the faintest ruminants of tan freckles; cheeks-soft and almost always crimson- sweet and kissable. His lips are a stunning shade of bubble-gum; slightly pouted, but still somehow long: easily molded into any expression. And lastly, as if added to give some sort of “final touch” to the boy’s already angelic features, there are two small markings: decorations, perhaps, to enhance those vibrant eyes. Dark chocolate in color, the twin moles lay lightly on his left cheekbone, like minute teardrops that had frozen there forever.
All four of his limbs-both arms, both legs-are petite and graceful: thin, but not scrawny. They run smoothly from pastel pink to frosted peach, darkened in some areas by sickness-induced bruises and lingering childhood scars. But somehow, even those are beautiful…though in a sad way. Just as colorful, nonetheless, as the rest of him.
The four limbs are connected, as on most bodies, to the astounding planes of his chest: the muted tones of his skin softening to an almost creamy white, pulled snuggly to the contours of his frame. Hardened by neither jutting bone nor excess muscle, his stomach is taut, yet supple-a silky valley interrupted only by a cute, faintly-scarlet bellybutton.
His hands are rainbows: fleshy pads of skin that glow a soft cherry, easily merging with shades of peachy-orange and subtle, semi-translucent yellow- violet veins weaving through the spidery appendages; a tapestry of blues. Long, delicate fingers taper off, pale flesh merging with even paler nails- ivory moons on salmon-pink beds.
Finally, his feet… long and thin, much like the rest of him (though on a tiny scale); with delicate ankles and arches that have a tendency to collapse. They are the same milky hue as his stomach and limbs, darkening to muted shades of maroon around his heels and toes. Ticklish, they are-and oddly expressive: toes curling and feet twisting whenever he feels particularly embarrassed or uncomfortable. His hands do the same; it’s so endearing.
He is small, but alive-so very, very alive; bursting with anything and everything that his lover has every held dear. He is a treasure, a doll, a work of art: a living masterpiece. Edward knows this, has known it for years, and believes it with every fiber of his being.
There is nothing in the world more breathtaking than his darling Alexander.
So it infuriates him when-with a flustered blush and skittering gaze- Alex confesses his sudden depression is the result of being called ugly at school; the result of him over thinking the situation (as he usually does); the result of him worrying that his brother doesn’t find him attractive. Foolish, he admits, but unstoppable worries. Still, Edward can’t help feeling confused: how could Al think that? How could anyone think that?
But rather than fly into an indignant rage (for what good would that do either of them?), Edward simply retrieves his sketchbooks and canvases: proof of how wrong Alex-and his classmates-truly are.
You are beautiful, Al.
With each new picture, Alexander’s eyes widen, filling with turquoise tears. Mouth unfurling in a breathtaking beam, he flushes fusha, thanking Edward with a silent, silvery stare of adoration. His hand falls gently on his older sibling’s arm.
Edward blushes, gratified, drowning in the colors and emotions and sheer wonder of his little brother.
And in that instant, he knows beyond any shadow of doubt that there is nothing and no-one he will ever love more.
XXX