Peanut Butter Week : Fire
Peanut Butter #1. Fire and Soft Serve 14/50 : Chocolate #15. Passion
with Cookie Crumbs, Gummies, and Malt
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : R
Word Count : 1941
Malt Prompt : summer 2011 (#263) You're trying to seduce me, aren't you?
Gummy Prompt : 500themes #61. smoldering heart
Cookie Crumbs : Happily Ever After and assorted other pieces
I'm doing a theme with the first 6, based on the wedding vows as they pertain to each element. I haven't figured out what to do with the last two, so we'll see if any of the malt/cookie crumbs/gummies make it through to the end.
These are montages and I am doing my usual trick of using them to force myself to address things I have been hemming and hawing about, so expect rampant spoilers.
1280
Rune’s fumbling with the candle, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to light the match and then the wick with only his left hand free. And Ski is about to intercede, when Lyssa rolls her eyes and the candle sputters and sparks.
“You know,” he says, frowning at the softly glowing stick, “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to do that myself. Or one of them should help me.” He gives the gathered guests a nod. “Really, anyone but you. Or else what’s it mean when I give it to you?”
Lyssa laughs, and though the lines tug at her eyes, there’s that light that dances across their depths that brings him back more than twenty years every time he sees it. “But isn’t that the way it’s always been with us?”
There’s a tug on his arm, under the sheet, and he can’t help but laugh too as she’s pulling him in.
“Would you two get on with it?” Tristan calls, just as Rune’s holding the burning candle out of the way so he can lean in for a kiss.
“It’s been twenty-five years,” says Lyssa, her grip on Rune’s arm tightening. “What’s another five minutes?”
“Five minutes too many,” says Rune, and he clears his throat as he rights himself. “From this day forward.” He lifts his candle and Lyssa grudgingly raises her own as well. “I give to you what’s left of my heart that you didn’t already steal twenty years ago.”
She’s laughing again, but he’s fairly certain he can see tears creeping into her eyes as the candles meet and the glow spreads from his to hers. “That it may always light your way.”
Lyssa bites her lip as she withdraws, quick to brush away the tear that slides down her cheek with the back of the hand still clutching the lit candle. And he’d like to shake his head and point out to her what a Lyssa thing that is to do, but he’s too caught up in the words she’s barely more than mouthing. “It has.”
1253
Ski and Rune tumble into her room, a tangled mess of staggering legs and groping hands. The door swings shut behind them and they collide with the end of the bed. She can barely make out his shape in the darkness that fills the room.
She should halt this, pause him for a minute, for an hour, for a day while she says all the things she needs to say. That she’s never felt this way about anyone before, that she never thought she would, that it scares her a bit, the way her heart has started jumping when she looks at him. But she just kisses him again instead.
She should tell him, before he gets any ideas, that she can’t make any promises. That if they try to make something more of this, someone is bound to come between them and tear it down. She doesn’t even own him yet but she’s already afraid of having to give him up. She should tell him, but she just holds on tighter instead.
He’s got a hand on her breast and his lips on her neck, and she’s never let anyone get so close to her, never felt anything so intoxicating. And there’s the sudden, terrifying thought that he’s done all this before and that she’s sure to make a complete and utter fool of herself. And though the desire to express this is even more urgent than all the more weighty matters that have passed through her mind, she finds herself simply moaning and leaning into his touch.
1256
Lyssa finds Rune in the kitchen with a bowl of pancake batter and a spoon balanced in his hands. There’s a foot of snow on the ground outside and Rune’s got two sweaters on, but she’s prancing about the place half undressed, and it’s all he can do not to stare at the breasts she’s so clearly intentionally put on display.
“Morning, beautiful,” she says, cupping a hand against his rear and peering over the rim of the bowl.
“Morning, yourself,” he says, succumbing to the urge to take a good long look at her. “Pancakes?” he offers with a tip of the bowl.
Lyssa grins. “Only thing worth you leaving my bed at such an ungodly hour.”
“Lyssa,” says Rune, with a shake of his head. “It’s ten o’clock.”
1260
They’re laughing and breathless and rolling together, all lips and hands and… lying in a hayloft.
“This has to be the most absurd place,” Ski starts, as she pulls away for a moment to relieve herself of a bit of straw that’s been poking her in the ribs. They’ve been sneaking about, kissing in corners and corridors for weeks, but this is the first time it’s gone this far. She’s on her back, in the hay, half out of her dress, and wondering what’s possessed her not to stop as she has before.
Tristan’s grinning that big, dopey grin of his. “I offered my bed,” he says, quick to fill the void at her side with his hand as she tosses the offending straw aside.
She’s pinned under him, and the weight of his thick, muscled chest atop her is delightful, and the knee he’s angled between her own is like an unspoken request that she wrap herself around him that she can’t wait to fulfill.
“Tristan.” She puts a hand to his chest to stop him as he leans in for another kiss. “Before we…” she trails off with a blush and a vague wave of her hand.
“Are you nervous?” And then understanding dawns on his face. “You’ve never bedded a man, is that it?”
“No, no! I have!” She hopes he doesn’t catch the “once” she adds under her breath. “It’s just that, well, the future of this, er, relationship… I cannot promise-”
“That again?” His laughter is contagious, even if hers is uneasy. “I thought I told you I don’t care.”
And then there isn’t any room for more words. Her lips are too busy pressing themselves to his.
1263
In the cheap inn room they’ve managed to secure, they’re slumped side by side on the floor next to the bed, with a half-empty bottle of something dark and so alcoholic Kairn’s nauseated just bringing it close to his lips.
She doesn’t say a word about her intentions, but it doesn’t take long before Lyssa’s reaching for him instead of the bottle. And when he lets her pull him in, he’s got nothing to say either. This is, after all, just what she does, isn’t it?
After a day of fighting and running for his life, he could use a little proof that he’s actually managed to keep it. It’s only a moment between a touch and a kiss and rolling together on the floor.
1264
“We really shouldn’t keep doing this,” says Lonna, even as she’s leaning into the hand Dalton has slipped inside her shirt. She makes no move to keep him from kissing her either, but quickly adds as he retreats, breathless, a moment later, “It’s shameful.”
Dalton quirks a brow, and there’s that all too familiar gleam in his eye that always makes her want to kiss him and punch him at the same time. “And just who are letting down?”
“Ourselves.”
The hand lodged under her shirt tightens around her breast. “I’m fairly certain I can live with that,” he says.
Much as she hates to admit it, Lonna figures a blow to her self-respect isn’t much of a concern, especially not when he feels so good.
1277
Sham’s not sure what compels him to tell the girl in his arms, “Your mother would kill us if she knew what we’re doing right now.”
Mara pauses, her lips halfway to his, to give him a look. “My mother is the last thing I want to think about right now, thank you. Is that your hand…on my ass?”
“I-I’m sorry. Is that, er, not somewhere I should-” He’s quick to pull it away but it drifts nervously from her hair to her arm to the wall behind them. “I, uh, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
With a glance at the hand planted safely against the stone, Mara laughs. “You think I do either? And it’s all right. I…kinda like it there.”
Sham laughs too, but the most daring move he’s willing to make now is to bring his hand back to her side. Mara’s leaning back in again for that kiss, and he holds her tight as their lips meet.
“Actually,” says Mara, once they’ve parted, “I don’t think she would.”
“Huh?”
“My mother. I don’t think she’d kill us. I think she’d be cheering us on.”
Now it’s Sham’s turn to pause. “You know what?” he says, at a loss again as to where to put his hands. “I’d rather not think about her either.”
1278
He’s lying there on the table, the most powerful man she’s ever known, reduced to the same ugly pink hunk of naked flesh as anyone would be in his place. That her moment of triumph has come in the form of just another body - and a particularly unimpressive one at that, what with his bony limbs and pallid skin - is a thought Reida is quick to toss aside.
He’s shivering, even under all the layers of sleep spells she’s thrown his way. Lying there prone on the table, limp as a doll and shuddering like a leaf in the wind. There are seals, painted in henna on his neck, his chest, his arms, all faded beyond use. And one at his hip, still fresh and dark.
She could wait for it to fade, but she’s waited long enough. She licks her lips as she sets her blade against the sigil. She presses just hard enough to break the skin, to let blood well up between the lines. Sethan’s breath barely catches.
“Now you’re mine,” she says, dragging the tip of the knife across the form.
1280
“Can I take this damned thing off yet?” says Kairn, fingering the edges of the scarf tied across his eyes.
“In a moment.” Sethan tugs his arm and he shuffles on.
He can hear the waves lapping against the docks and the sharp cries of the gulls overhead, and he can’t for the life of him guess what Sethan might want to show him here.
There’s the back of a hand to his chest, signaling him to stop, and then he can feel the blindfold being untied.
“Now,” says Sethan.
“It’s a boat,” is all he can say of the stocky little craft anchored in front of him. It’s a boat in port full of boats. It’s nothing large or elaborate; in fact it doesn’t seem as if it could hold more than a few people. It bobs there meekly in the shadow of its neighboring vessels, with its faded sails and patched hull. There’s not even a name on it like any proper boat should have. And he’s about to say this when Sethan catches his eye with that look he has when he can’t believe a subject requires more thought.
“It’s ou-, er, yours,” says Sethan.
He’s laughing. And he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this, so hard there are tears in his eyes. Certainly it’s been more than a year. And Sethan’s his old smirking self, at least for a moment, until he’s blinking as Kairn throws his arms around him.
And still the only thing Kairn can think to say is, “It’s a boat!”
with Cookie Crumbs, Gummies, and Malt
Story : knights & necromancers
Rating : R
Word Count : 1941
Malt Prompt : summer 2011 (#263) You're trying to seduce me, aren't you?
Gummy Prompt : 500themes #61. smoldering heart
Cookie Crumbs : Happily Ever After and assorted other pieces
I'm doing a theme with the first 6, based on the wedding vows as they pertain to each element. I haven't figured out what to do with the last two, so we'll see if any of the malt/cookie crumbs/gummies make it through to the end.
These are montages and I am doing my usual trick of using them to force myself to address things I have been hemming and hawing about, so expect rampant spoilers.
1280
Rune’s fumbling with the candle, trying to figure out how he’s supposed to light the match and then the wick with only his left hand free. And Ski is about to intercede, when Lyssa rolls her eyes and the candle sputters and sparks.
“You know,” he says, frowning at the softly glowing stick, “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to do that myself. Or one of them should help me.” He gives the gathered guests a nod. “Really, anyone but you. Or else what’s it mean when I give it to you?”
Lyssa laughs, and though the lines tug at her eyes, there’s that light that dances across their depths that brings him back more than twenty years every time he sees it. “But isn’t that the way it’s always been with us?”
There’s a tug on his arm, under the sheet, and he can’t help but laugh too as she’s pulling him in.
“Would you two get on with it?” Tristan calls, just as Rune’s holding the burning candle out of the way so he can lean in for a kiss.
“It’s been twenty-five years,” says Lyssa, her grip on Rune’s arm tightening. “What’s another five minutes?”
“Five minutes too many,” says Rune, and he clears his throat as he rights himself. “From this day forward.” He lifts his candle and Lyssa grudgingly raises her own as well. “I give to you what’s left of my heart that you didn’t already steal twenty years ago.”
She’s laughing again, but he’s fairly certain he can see tears creeping into her eyes as the candles meet and the glow spreads from his to hers. “That it may always light your way.”
Lyssa bites her lip as she withdraws, quick to brush away the tear that slides down her cheek with the back of the hand still clutching the lit candle. And he’d like to shake his head and point out to her what a Lyssa thing that is to do, but he’s too caught up in the words she’s barely more than mouthing. “It has.”
1253
Ski and Rune tumble into her room, a tangled mess of staggering legs and groping hands. The door swings shut behind them and they collide with the end of the bed. She can barely make out his shape in the darkness that fills the room.
She should halt this, pause him for a minute, for an hour, for a day while she says all the things she needs to say. That she’s never felt this way about anyone before, that she never thought she would, that it scares her a bit, the way her heart has started jumping when she looks at him. But she just kisses him again instead.
She should tell him, before he gets any ideas, that she can’t make any promises. That if they try to make something more of this, someone is bound to come between them and tear it down. She doesn’t even own him yet but she’s already afraid of having to give him up. She should tell him, but she just holds on tighter instead.
He’s got a hand on her breast and his lips on her neck, and she’s never let anyone get so close to her, never felt anything so intoxicating. And there’s the sudden, terrifying thought that he’s done all this before and that she’s sure to make a complete and utter fool of herself. And though the desire to express this is even more urgent than all the more weighty matters that have passed through her mind, she finds herself simply moaning and leaning into his touch.
1256
Lyssa finds Rune in the kitchen with a bowl of pancake batter and a spoon balanced in his hands. There’s a foot of snow on the ground outside and Rune’s got two sweaters on, but she’s prancing about the place half undressed, and it’s all he can do not to stare at the breasts she’s so clearly intentionally put on display.
“Morning, beautiful,” she says, cupping a hand against his rear and peering over the rim of the bowl.
“Morning, yourself,” he says, succumbing to the urge to take a good long look at her. “Pancakes?” he offers with a tip of the bowl.
Lyssa grins. “Only thing worth you leaving my bed at such an ungodly hour.”
“Lyssa,” says Rune, with a shake of his head. “It’s ten o’clock.”
1260
They’re laughing and breathless and rolling together, all lips and hands and… lying in a hayloft.
“This has to be the most absurd place,” Ski starts, as she pulls away for a moment to relieve herself of a bit of straw that’s been poking her in the ribs. They’ve been sneaking about, kissing in corners and corridors for weeks, but this is the first time it’s gone this far. She’s on her back, in the hay, half out of her dress, and wondering what’s possessed her not to stop as she has before.
Tristan’s grinning that big, dopey grin of his. “I offered my bed,” he says, quick to fill the void at her side with his hand as she tosses the offending straw aside.
She’s pinned under him, and the weight of his thick, muscled chest atop her is delightful, and the knee he’s angled between her own is like an unspoken request that she wrap herself around him that she can’t wait to fulfill.
“Tristan.” She puts a hand to his chest to stop him as he leans in for another kiss. “Before we…” she trails off with a blush and a vague wave of her hand.
“Are you nervous?” And then understanding dawns on his face. “You’ve never bedded a man, is that it?”
“No, no! I have!” She hopes he doesn’t catch the “once” she adds under her breath. “It’s just that, well, the future of this, er, relationship… I cannot promise-”
“That again?” His laughter is contagious, even if hers is uneasy. “I thought I told you I don’t care.”
And then there isn’t any room for more words. Her lips are too busy pressing themselves to his.
1263
In the cheap inn room they’ve managed to secure, they’re slumped side by side on the floor next to the bed, with a half-empty bottle of something dark and so alcoholic Kairn’s nauseated just bringing it close to his lips.
She doesn’t say a word about her intentions, but it doesn’t take long before Lyssa’s reaching for him instead of the bottle. And when he lets her pull him in, he’s got nothing to say either. This is, after all, just what she does, isn’t it?
After a day of fighting and running for his life, he could use a little proof that he’s actually managed to keep it. It’s only a moment between a touch and a kiss and rolling together on the floor.
1264
“We really shouldn’t keep doing this,” says Lonna, even as she’s leaning into the hand Dalton has slipped inside her shirt. She makes no move to keep him from kissing her either, but quickly adds as he retreats, breathless, a moment later, “It’s shameful.”
Dalton quirks a brow, and there’s that all too familiar gleam in his eye that always makes her want to kiss him and punch him at the same time. “And just who are letting down?”
“Ourselves.”
The hand lodged under her shirt tightens around her breast. “I’m fairly certain I can live with that,” he says.
Much as she hates to admit it, Lonna figures a blow to her self-respect isn’t much of a concern, especially not when he feels so good.
1277
Sham’s not sure what compels him to tell the girl in his arms, “Your mother would kill us if she knew what we’re doing right now.”
Mara pauses, her lips halfway to his, to give him a look. “My mother is the last thing I want to think about right now, thank you. Is that your hand…on my ass?”
“I-I’m sorry. Is that, er, not somewhere I should-” He’s quick to pull it away but it drifts nervously from her hair to her arm to the wall behind them. “I, uh, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
With a glance at the hand planted safely against the stone, Mara laughs. “You think I do either? And it’s all right. I…kinda like it there.”
Sham laughs too, but the most daring move he’s willing to make now is to bring his hand back to her side. Mara’s leaning back in again for that kiss, and he holds her tight as their lips meet.
“Actually,” says Mara, once they’ve parted, “I don’t think she would.”
“Huh?”
“My mother. I don’t think she’d kill us. I think she’d be cheering us on.”
Now it’s Sham’s turn to pause. “You know what?” he says, at a loss again as to where to put his hands. “I’d rather not think about her either.”
1278
He’s lying there on the table, the most powerful man she’s ever known, reduced to the same ugly pink hunk of naked flesh as anyone would be in his place. That her moment of triumph has come in the form of just another body - and a particularly unimpressive one at that, what with his bony limbs and pallid skin - is a thought Reida is quick to toss aside.
He’s shivering, even under all the layers of sleep spells she’s thrown his way. Lying there prone on the table, limp as a doll and shuddering like a leaf in the wind. There are seals, painted in henna on his neck, his chest, his arms, all faded beyond use. And one at his hip, still fresh and dark.
She could wait for it to fade, but she’s waited long enough. She licks her lips as she sets her blade against the sigil. She presses just hard enough to break the skin, to let blood well up between the lines. Sethan’s breath barely catches.
“Now you’re mine,” she says, dragging the tip of the knife across the form.
1280
“Can I take this damned thing off yet?” says Kairn, fingering the edges of the scarf tied across his eyes.
“In a moment.” Sethan tugs his arm and he shuffles on.
He can hear the waves lapping against the docks and the sharp cries of the gulls overhead, and he can’t for the life of him guess what Sethan might want to show him here.
There’s the back of a hand to his chest, signaling him to stop, and then he can feel the blindfold being untied.
“Now,” says Sethan.
“It’s a boat,” is all he can say of the stocky little craft anchored in front of him. It’s a boat in port full of boats. It’s nothing large or elaborate; in fact it doesn’t seem as if it could hold more than a few people. It bobs there meekly in the shadow of its neighboring vessels, with its faded sails and patched hull. There’s not even a name on it like any proper boat should have. And he’s about to say this when Sethan catches his eye with that look he has when he can’t believe a subject requires more thought.
“It’s ou-, er, yours,” says Sethan.
He’s laughing. And he can’t remember the last time he laughed like this, so hard there are tears in his eyes. Certainly it’s been more than a year. And Sethan’s his old smirking self, at least for a moment, until he’s blinking as Kairn throws his arms around him.
And still the only thing Kairn can think to say is, “It’s a boat!”