mindsplinters (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mindsplinters) wrote2009-11-12 12:34 am
mindsplinters) wrote2009-11-12 12:34 am
Day Eleven Cont'd
World: Kingdom
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1375
Circumstance: Begun at Panera, finished at home
"So..." She felt ridiculous drawling the single syllable word but not stupid. That was new, she thought. Then again, her life had become the definition of new in the past two months so she should probably stop being shocked by it at some point. It showed poor adaptation skills if she were going to keep thinking about it with surprise. After all, she moved clear across the country without a place to land (but, thankfully, with a job already lined up), virtually adopted a brother within the first week, helped kill everything from seagulls to department store mannequins, and met some terribly amusing people. One of whom had busily been teaching her to surf when he wasn't convincing her to try on ridiculous clothing.
Smiling faintly to herself, Tasha wriggled in place to better stretch out on her couch, shoulders propped against the arm behind her, and looked down the length of things to regard the man in question who held her feet propped on his lap. His big, tanned hands rested lightly on her ankles and, every now and then, he would rub a bit in a gentle, absent massage through the thin denim of her jeans. He looked up at her massacre of the word and lifted an eyebrow slightly. For some reason, his nonplussed reaction made her laugh and she tipped her head back against the arm of the couch to grin at her high ceiling.
When he slid his calloused fingers under the hem of one pant-leg, though, and teased at her bare skin, she lifted her head once more to regard him with affection. She raised one of her own eyebrows in mimicry of his expression. "What's up, Dusty?" she asked, wondering if he was about to call her on her own bullshit.
"Dunno," he answered cheerfully. "You're the one making the random words." His gaze lingered on her face even as his hands continued to work at her ankles in some sort of absent, automatic need to touch.
She could totally understand the constant contact urge. Heaven knew she had been suffering from it for weeks, thanks to him. She would have said it was like being a teenager again except she remembered being a teenager and having teenage boyfriends; none of them had been like this or made her feel like this. Making a show of being casual and unconcerned, she moved an arm up and tucked it behind her head to better cushion herself. "Was I?" she asked innocently.
"Uh, yeah." Without looking at him, Tasha knew Dusty was grinning. He just had that type of voice; you could tell what he felt in the way the warm baritone echoed and reflected. Right now, he was amused and the sound tickled her inside. She closed her eyes to better focus on the sensation. He provided her with so many to analyze and roll with, after all - everything from contentment to raging lust and everything in between. He made her laugh like no one else and smile and it really was pure indulgent joy to spend time with him. She wriggled her toes, remembering the feel of sand as she stood and watched him conquer a wave. There was something so painfully sensual about her relationship with Dusty and not purely in the classical sense of the word. She had already fallen in love with California by the time they met but he taught her new ways to appreciate the world around her.
He smelled of motor oil and sweat and sunshine. When they kissed, it was like tasting something unique and just for her and totally fresh. Bigger than life, her dumb Marine lover took over her senses unless she focused. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Tasha lost herself in the continuing brushes at her ankles until the focus included only him. It was a reverse trick, made possible by the safety of her apartment. Nothing could come for them here. No one, either, including his nosy roommates. She supposed there was always the possibility of Brian using his spare key to breach the sanctity but luck had been with them so far and she was tempted to let it ride.
The thought that Brian usually only used the key and came to her at night, after nightmares, slipped through her consciousness and she suddenly hoped the luck would continue to ride. Brian probably did not need to see Dusty in all of his sculpted glory. Honestly, too, she didn't want to share at all. Even in a strictly platonic.
Tasha frowned a bit, worrying that thought until it bent the right way and her expression eased. Never having regarded herself as greedy, it struck her as odd until she pegged it by its proper name - ownership. She cared an awful lot about Dusty - beyond the physical pleasure he brought her and the sweet comfort of his presence. He was special in a way that proved to hard to explain, even to herself. She felt a smile grow and wrinkled her nose. The thought wouldn't leave her alone and she prodded it some more. He was warmth and strength and a curious sort of unaware charm. He knew he looked good but she wondered if he knew that everything else about him was just as appealing - scent and sound and taste. She had lost count of the mornings she woke up before him and simply laid there, watching the sunlight slant over his chest, the blankets having slipped away during the night to expose him. A palm pressed flat to the heat of his skin and she could feel his heart beat. The difference between the dark copper-gold of his chest and her slightly gilded hand always put her into strange contemplation.
The realization dawned slow but unavoidable. She wanted him to be with her every day, to make a new routine of life. Dusty had the amazing power of making every morning begun in his arms strange and special. It was new and, she thought with a growing sense of amusement, this was a new that she wanted to become old.
"Dusty?" she began softly.
"Yeah?"
Opening her eyes, Tasha laughed. Apparently, her silence confused him enough that he had shifted her and now hovered, arms braced against the couch below her. His wide, mischievous grin filled her entire field of vision. "Gee, soldier, you come when called, huh?"
"Don't you know it, kitten." He ducked his head a bit to kiss her nose. "What's goin' on in there? You look, um, kinda serious." As he pulled back, she noticed a slight furrow between his eyebrows.
Immediately, Tasha wrapped her arms around his neck and, with a tug, tumbled him down onto her. He did his best to adjust with the fall and she wriggled slightly to one side to accommodate. He slipped into the spot between her and the couch, squirming until he was on his side facing her. She mirrored the motion and smiled, fingers gently stroking the side of his face. "I was just thinking," she whispered. "Good things."
His expression eased at her touch and words. "Yeah? That's cool then." He slipped his hand down to rest gentle at her waist. "I was thinkin', too," he admitted with a slightly sheepish grin.
"Good things, I hope." She brushed her fingers over his mouth and he nodded. "I was just thinking," she continued carefully, "that it was about time that I admitted something to you." Her fingertips pressed against his mouth again and she smiled, tilting her head to touch her forehead to his, never breaking eye contact.
His eyes darkened at her words and motions, an unreadable mix that could have been worry or lust or both. "Yeah, Tasha?"
"... I love you, Dusty. So so much." Tasha felt her cheeks warm and color but the sensation lost itself immediately in the enveloping warmth of her lover as he pulled her into a tight, claiming hug. His mouth found hers and, in the breath before the kiss, she heard him whisper that he loved her, too.
So that, she thought, tasting him hungrily, was the change from every day. That was the difference from her life before. Why the hell hadn't she said it sooner? This version of life was much, much better.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1375
Circumstance: Begun at Panera, finished at home
"So..." She felt ridiculous drawling the single syllable word but not stupid. That was new, she thought. Then again, her life had become the definition of new in the past two months so she should probably stop being shocked by it at some point. It showed poor adaptation skills if she were going to keep thinking about it with surprise. After all, she moved clear across the country without a place to land (but, thankfully, with a job already lined up), virtually adopted a brother within the first week, helped kill everything from seagulls to department store mannequins, and met some terribly amusing people. One of whom had busily been teaching her to surf when he wasn't convincing her to try on ridiculous clothing.
Smiling faintly to herself, Tasha wriggled in place to better stretch out on her couch, shoulders propped against the arm behind her, and looked down the length of things to regard the man in question who held her feet propped on his lap. His big, tanned hands rested lightly on her ankles and, every now and then, he would rub a bit in a gentle, absent massage through the thin denim of her jeans. He looked up at her massacre of the word and lifted an eyebrow slightly. For some reason, his nonplussed reaction made her laugh and she tipped her head back against the arm of the couch to grin at her high ceiling.
When he slid his calloused fingers under the hem of one pant-leg, though, and teased at her bare skin, she lifted her head once more to regard him with affection. She raised one of her own eyebrows in mimicry of his expression. "What's up, Dusty?" she asked, wondering if he was about to call her on her own bullshit.
"Dunno," he answered cheerfully. "You're the one making the random words." His gaze lingered on her face even as his hands continued to work at her ankles in some sort of absent, automatic need to touch.
She could totally understand the constant contact urge. Heaven knew she had been suffering from it for weeks, thanks to him. She would have said it was like being a teenager again except she remembered being a teenager and having teenage boyfriends; none of them had been like this or made her feel like this. Making a show of being casual and unconcerned, she moved an arm up and tucked it behind her head to better cushion herself. "Was I?" she asked innocently.
"Uh, yeah." Without looking at him, Tasha knew Dusty was grinning. He just had that type of voice; you could tell what he felt in the way the warm baritone echoed and reflected. Right now, he was amused and the sound tickled her inside. She closed her eyes to better focus on the sensation. He provided her with so many to analyze and roll with, after all - everything from contentment to raging lust and everything in between. He made her laugh like no one else and smile and it really was pure indulgent joy to spend time with him. She wriggled her toes, remembering the feel of sand as she stood and watched him conquer a wave. There was something so painfully sensual about her relationship with Dusty and not purely in the classical sense of the word. She had already fallen in love with California by the time they met but he taught her new ways to appreciate the world around her.
He smelled of motor oil and sweat and sunshine. When they kissed, it was like tasting something unique and just for her and totally fresh. Bigger than life, her dumb Marine lover took over her senses unless she focused. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Tasha lost herself in the continuing brushes at her ankles until the focus included only him. It was a reverse trick, made possible by the safety of her apartment. Nothing could come for them here. No one, either, including his nosy roommates. She supposed there was always the possibility of Brian using his spare key to breach the sanctity but luck had been with them so far and she was tempted to let it ride.
The thought that Brian usually only used the key and came to her at night, after nightmares, slipped through her consciousness and she suddenly hoped the luck would continue to ride. Brian probably did not need to see Dusty in all of his sculpted glory. Honestly, too, she didn't want to share at all. Even in a strictly platonic.
Tasha frowned a bit, worrying that thought until it bent the right way and her expression eased. Never having regarded herself as greedy, it struck her as odd until she pegged it by its proper name - ownership. She cared an awful lot about Dusty - beyond the physical pleasure he brought her and the sweet comfort of his presence. He was special in a way that proved to hard to explain, even to herself. She felt a smile grow and wrinkled her nose. The thought wouldn't leave her alone and she prodded it some more. He was warmth and strength and a curious sort of unaware charm. He knew he looked good but she wondered if he knew that everything else about him was just as appealing - scent and sound and taste. She had lost count of the mornings she woke up before him and simply laid there, watching the sunlight slant over his chest, the blankets having slipped away during the night to expose him. A palm pressed flat to the heat of his skin and she could feel his heart beat. The difference between the dark copper-gold of his chest and her slightly gilded hand always put her into strange contemplation.
The realization dawned slow but unavoidable. She wanted him to be with her every day, to make a new routine of life. Dusty had the amazing power of making every morning begun in his arms strange and special. It was new and, she thought with a growing sense of amusement, this was a new that she wanted to become old.
"Dusty?" she began softly.
"Yeah?"
Opening her eyes, Tasha laughed. Apparently, her silence confused him enough that he had shifted her and now hovered, arms braced against the couch below her. His wide, mischievous grin filled her entire field of vision. "Gee, soldier, you come when called, huh?"
"Don't you know it, kitten." He ducked his head a bit to kiss her nose. "What's goin' on in there? You look, um, kinda serious." As he pulled back, she noticed a slight furrow between his eyebrows.
Immediately, Tasha wrapped her arms around his neck and, with a tug, tumbled him down onto her. He did his best to adjust with the fall and she wriggled slightly to one side to accommodate. He slipped into the spot between her and the couch, squirming until he was on his side facing her. She mirrored the motion and smiled, fingers gently stroking the side of his face. "I was just thinking," she whispered. "Good things."
His expression eased at her touch and words. "Yeah? That's cool then." He slipped his hand down to rest gentle at her waist. "I was thinkin', too," he admitted with a slightly sheepish grin.
"Good things, I hope." She brushed her fingers over his mouth and he nodded. "I was just thinking," she continued carefully, "that it was about time that I admitted something to you." Her fingertips pressed against his mouth again and she smiled, tilting her head to touch her forehead to his, never breaking eye contact.
His eyes darkened at her words and motions, an unreadable mix that could have been worry or lust or both. "Yeah, Tasha?"
"... I love you, Dusty. So so much." Tasha felt her cheeks warm and color but the sensation lost itself immediately in the enveloping warmth of her lover as he pulled her into a tight, claiming hug. His mouth found hers and, in the breath before the kiss, she heard him whisper that he loved her, too.
So that, she thought, tasting him hungrily, was the change from every day. That was the difference from her life before. Why the hell hadn't she said it sooner? This version of life was much, much better.