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31_days2007-03-28 07:45 am
bane-6.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2007-03-28 07:45 am
March 28: The Addams Family. “The Only Reason to Live Forever”
Title: The Only Reason to Live Forever
Day/Theme: March 28. they do an awful lot of dancing, the dead
Series: The Addams Family
Character/Pairing: Gomez/Morticia
Rating: PG
“Dance for me,” he said, and he lifted her hand to kiss her fingers, quoting Sidney Keyes. “You are too beautiful for the wind to pick at, or the sun to burn.”
With that, the music started and the dance floor leapt into life. Gomez and Morticia stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, watching their clan waltz in its finery on a floor paved in jet-black marble and bloodstone.
“I’m a poor tattered thing,” Gomez continued, looking anything but. He began down the stairs, still holding her hand, and she swept down with him.
“But not unkind,” Morticia replied. She knew the Four Postures of Death as well as he did. “To the sad dancer, and the dancing dead.”
They reached the bottom and joined in the dance.
Morticia’s dark eyes smoldered and a smile quirked the corner of her lips. Every expression she had, from the lowering of her eyelashes to the deer-like tilt of her head spoke of mystery and seduction. At least he thought so. He had always been a passionate man, burning with emotion even over little things. His passion for his wife, though, blazed out every other flame in his heart.
Everything about her thrilled him, even after years of marriage. Even now at a family gathering, he was enthralled with the sight of her. Her hair was loose as always, curtaining her back like black velvet and sliding across his arm as they danced. She was breathtaking, smelling faintly of lilies and cold mist, and gazing into his eyes with a smile full of promises.
She had dozens of black dresses, and he could recognize every one of them. This one was as dark and shining as wet tar and it clung to her body just a fraction more closely than Gomez himself did. The only jewelry she wore was her wedding ring and a brooch that had been given to her great-great grandmother by Sawney Bean. It gleamed on her bodice like a spot of blood.
They whirled together across the dance floor, pausing only a moment as the music changed tempo and then stepping into the new dance with the same zeal as before. Various cousins, and aunts and uncles all fell into a blur around them. The murmur of voices blended into the gypsy violin music. Soon there was only the distant music, and each other.
Morticia was used to it. All the world faded to dull gray with Gomez in her sight. He burned with a life that made the other dancers seem like shambling ghosts and sleepwalkers. He always had. And she was always drawn to him like a black-winged moth, desperate to throw itself into that fire and be consumed.
That thought sent her free hand sliding down the embroidered silk of his waistcoat. The fabric was a family heirloom. The design had been embroidered by his very distant great-aunt, the Countess Bathory, while she had been trapped in her tower for some reason. Morticia had had this piece made into the waistcoat for him. The texture was perfect for dragging fingernails down.
He smiled down at her with mad, gleaming eyes. The music rose and fell in exotic tempos. Finery from all the eras of decadence and deviance swished around them, plastered to or flowing around bodies of one manic bloodline and its lovers. These were the nights immortality was made for.
Day/Theme: March 28. they do an awful lot of dancing, the dead
Series: The Addams Family
Character/Pairing: Gomez/Morticia
Rating: PG
“Dance for me,” he said, and he lifted her hand to kiss her fingers, quoting Sidney Keyes. “You are too beautiful for the wind to pick at, or the sun to burn.”
With that, the music started and the dance floor leapt into life. Gomez and Morticia stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, watching their clan waltz in its finery on a floor paved in jet-black marble and bloodstone.
“I’m a poor tattered thing,” Gomez continued, looking anything but. He began down the stairs, still holding her hand, and she swept down with him.
“But not unkind,” Morticia replied. She knew the Four Postures of Death as well as he did. “To the sad dancer, and the dancing dead.”
They reached the bottom and joined in the dance.
Morticia’s dark eyes smoldered and a smile quirked the corner of her lips. Every expression she had, from the lowering of her eyelashes to the deer-like tilt of her head spoke of mystery and seduction. At least he thought so. He had always been a passionate man, burning with emotion even over little things. His passion for his wife, though, blazed out every other flame in his heart.
Everything about her thrilled him, even after years of marriage. Even now at a family gathering, he was enthralled with the sight of her. Her hair was loose as always, curtaining her back like black velvet and sliding across his arm as they danced. She was breathtaking, smelling faintly of lilies and cold mist, and gazing into his eyes with a smile full of promises.
She had dozens of black dresses, and he could recognize every one of them. This one was as dark and shining as wet tar and it clung to her body just a fraction more closely than Gomez himself did. The only jewelry she wore was her wedding ring and a brooch that had been given to her great-great grandmother by Sawney Bean. It gleamed on her bodice like a spot of blood.
They whirled together across the dance floor, pausing only a moment as the music changed tempo and then stepping into the new dance with the same zeal as before. Various cousins, and aunts and uncles all fell into a blur around them. The murmur of voices blended into the gypsy violin music. Soon there was only the distant music, and each other.
Morticia was used to it. All the world faded to dull gray with Gomez in her sight. He burned with a life that made the other dancers seem like shambling ghosts and sleepwalkers. He always had. And she was always drawn to him like a black-winged moth, desperate to throw itself into that fire and be consumed.
That thought sent her free hand sliding down the embroidered silk of his waistcoat. The fabric was a family heirloom. The design had been embroidered by his very distant great-aunt, the Countess Bathory, while she had been trapped in her tower for some reason. Morticia had had this piece made into the waistcoat for him. The texture was perfect for dragging fingernails down.
He smiled down at her with mad, gleaming eyes. The music rose and fell in exotic tempos. Finery from all the eras of decadence and deviance swished around them, plastered to or flowing around bodies of one manic bloodline and its lovers. These were the nights immortality was made for.