Zombz, you're getting your dare twice over
Flavor of the Day - 11/12/08 - Soiree
with Whipped Cream, Sprinkles and Malt
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1245-ish (preteen Dalton)
Word Count : 521
Word of the Day : Soiree - swah-RAY - an evening party or social gathering
Malt Prompt : Dare from Zombz to do some young Dalton
I actually have another piece started that was going to fit the dare, but the word of the day sparked this. Dalton's actually been rather active in my head lately, so expect to see a lot of him in the near future. I need to make him an icon :P
Dalton edged between the long buffet table and the wall, the plate tucked inside his arm laden with sweets from half the platters. He hugged the dish close and cast a nervous glance up and down the length of the table. Mother would never let him get away with so many treats.
A tower of little cakes, dripping with thick, pink icing caught his eye and he reached out across the table to grab one. His foot caught on something and the edge of the table hit him hard in the gut. He threw out his arm to keep the plate and all its sugary contents from smashing against his chest.
Having regained his footing, he peered down at the floor and spied a glossy, black shoe protruding from the tablecloth. Another quick glance up and down the table found no one looking his way, so Dalton dropped to his hand and knees and poked his head beneath the table.
He followed the foot and its mate to a pair of scrawny legs in dark slacks. Their owner lay on his back, his head along the far egde of the table. In response to his arrival, the boy’s head shot up, and Dalton was confronted with a pair of pale green eyes set beneath a crown of bright red hair in a face that nearly mirrored his own.
The look of horror that initially graced Terrel’s features quickly gave way to one of relief. Dalton swallowed a groan. “What are you doing down here?”
Terrel thrust a finger to his lips, glaring at him a moment before laying his head back on the floor with a grin. “Admiring the view,” he whispered.
“What v-” The rest of his question died against Terrel’s hand as it closed over his mouth. He hastily set the plate out of the way as his brother pulled him to the floor.
A pair of feet in soft blue slippers poked their toes beneath the tablecloth. “This view,” whispered Terrel, hooking his free hand around the bottom of the cloth and the hem of the skirt on the other side. There was a soft rustle as he hoisted both gently into the air.
Dalton followed his bother’s gaze up the smooth, sloping curves of the pair of incredibly long, slender legs that came into view. His breath caught in his throat at the expanse of pale flesh on display, winding towards a shadowy apex wrapped in the inner ruffles of the skirt. Terrel’s hand slid away, pausing to pat him clumsily on the cheek as it passed. He glanced his brother’s way to find the older boy’s eyes glazed over and his tongue lolling from his open mouth.
“You’re awful,” he whispered. Terrel just grinned and let the fabric drop.
Sitting up, carefully so as not to bash his head on the underside of the table, Dalton retrieved his plate. Terrel’s hand darted out and snatched a pastry from it
“Hey.”
“I shared my treat, you share yours,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food. Dalton shook his head and crawled back out from under the table.
with Whipped Cream, Sprinkles and Malt
Rating : PG
Timeframe : 1245-ish (preteen Dalton)
Word Count : 521
Word of the Day : Soiree - swah-RAY - an evening party or social gathering
Malt Prompt : Dare from Zombz to do some young Dalton
I actually have another piece started that was going to fit the dare, but the word of the day sparked this. Dalton's actually been rather active in my head lately, so expect to see a lot of him in the near future. I need to make him an icon :P
Dalton edged between the long buffet table and the wall, the plate tucked inside his arm laden with sweets from half the platters. He hugged the dish close and cast a nervous glance up and down the length of the table. Mother would never let him get away with so many treats.
A tower of little cakes, dripping with thick, pink icing caught his eye and he reached out across the table to grab one. His foot caught on something and the edge of the table hit him hard in the gut. He threw out his arm to keep the plate and all its sugary contents from smashing against his chest.
Having regained his footing, he peered down at the floor and spied a glossy, black shoe protruding from the tablecloth. Another quick glance up and down the table found no one looking his way, so Dalton dropped to his hand and knees and poked his head beneath the table.
He followed the foot and its mate to a pair of scrawny legs in dark slacks. Their owner lay on his back, his head along the far egde of the table. In response to his arrival, the boy’s head shot up, and Dalton was confronted with a pair of pale green eyes set beneath a crown of bright red hair in a face that nearly mirrored his own.
The look of horror that initially graced Terrel’s features quickly gave way to one of relief. Dalton swallowed a groan. “What are you doing down here?”
Terrel thrust a finger to his lips, glaring at him a moment before laying his head back on the floor with a grin. “Admiring the view,” he whispered.
“What v-” The rest of his question died against Terrel’s hand as it closed over his mouth. He hastily set the plate out of the way as his brother pulled him to the floor.
A pair of feet in soft blue slippers poked their toes beneath the tablecloth. “This view,” whispered Terrel, hooking his free hand around the bottom of the cloth and the hem of the skirt on the other side. There was a soft rustle as he hoisted both gently into the air.
Dalton followed his bother’s gaze up the smooth, sloping curves of the pair of incredibly long, slender legs that came into view. His breath caught in his throat at the expanse of pale flesh on display, winding towards a shadowy apex wrapped in the inner ruffles of the skirt. Terrel’s hand slid away, pausing to pat him clumsily on the cheek as it passed. He glanced his brother’s way to find the older boy’s eyes glazed over and his tongue lolling from his open mouth.
“You’re awful,” he whispered. Terrel just grinned and let the fabric drop.
Sitting up, carefully so as not to bash his head on the underside of the table, Dalton retrieved his plate. Terrel’s hand darted out and snatched a pastry from it
“Hey.”
“I shared my treat, you share yours,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food. Dalton shook his head and crawled back out from under the table.