https://catnap-writer.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] catnap-writer.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] 31_days2005-10-17 01:18 am

[October 17th] [Original] This cup of yours

Title: This cup of yours
Day/Theme: October 17: Tea theory; good tea is always like beauty
Series: Original (Diana and Belle #17)
Character/Pairing: Diana/Belle
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: In the delicate world of a prurient Victorian novel
Author's Second Note: This is the first story I wrote for this community, and my favorite



Belle cradled the porcelain teacup and gazed into her delicately tinted rose and amber tea. The subtle scent wafted upward as she turned to her companion. Diana frowned as she stirred her muddy brown concoction of milk, orange spice tea, caramel and sugar with her forefinger. The shreds of scalded milk cling to her finger as she drew it out of her mug and into her mouth. She scowled when she caught Belle’s look of disapproval.

“You’re no better than me, you know,” she said defiantly, flicking a strand of unkempt mouse-brown hair back from her face and squarely meeting Belle’s gaze.

“They love you because they think you are as pure and innocent as your tea, all unsullied and clean,” Diana said, straightening and bring her cup to her mouth. “But they love me because I have no purity to hold them back. I am all earthly-overabundance, sweet deep essence, and I won’t break when they hold me.” She drank deeply, eyes closed in pleasure as she licked the sugary residue from her full lips.

“They think perfection has her full realization in you, beauty her paradigm, truth her virgin avatar.”

Belle shifted her weight in a not-so-graceful attempt to hide her reaction to her companion’s criticism, looking again into her transparent tea.

“But I have tasted what flows from that cup of yours, and I know what poison lies there,” Diana challenged, catching Belle’s hand and pulling the teacup to her mouth, sipping the tinted, tainted tea. Belle sat frozen, watching her drink, unresisting and not surprised as Diana’s sugared lips pressed against hers, the poison useless against the persistent touch.