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31_days2006-08-16 06:50 am
senri.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-08-16 06:50 am
[August 16] [Dragon's Bait] [Leonine]
Title: Leonine
Day/Theme: August 16: I go blindly/as if I am pursuing the beauty of something/before me but unclear.
Series: Dragon's Bait
Character/Pairing: Selendrile/Alys
Rating: ...PG?
A/N: >.>
The thing about Selendrile is: he is always cruel, and he does not know it. It is the cruelty of a storm, or a cat, or the dunce that does not know his own strength and thus flounders at using it - Selendrile is cruel even when he is kind, in the very act of eating bread, or standing watch by a stream. Cruelest in the dark, because that is the only time Alys really knows him - dragons wind sinuous poetry with their bodies, the clash of claws and hot-metal smell, the jeweled hide - but no words are there for humans to find. It is in the night where Alys sees him and knows him and does not understand him at all.
The glim of gold, the gloaming light of dusk, and dust in her teeth and the sweet smell of hay, and the nostalgic misery from thinking of home and Selendrile's eyes on her - and he must know what this would look like to anyone else. Dragons do things too, don't they? Smashing together in sparks and roaring. He must know about it.
"Here is a present for you," he says, mild as milk. An apple lands in the folds of her skirt. Alys stills, stirs, picks it up and digs her nails into the crisp flesh. Selendrile feeds her, because he likes her, or just because he's interested in her. Alys can't quite tell.
"Where did you steal this?" she asks him. She sits up. Selendrile smiles; his eyelashes make small gold triangles and he comes too near, sits close and leans over to sniff in her hair like a horse. "Oh, you wound me," he says. Alys draws away. His hair gleams lighter than wheat, than silk, miles of slippery pale locks cloaking them both.
"Don't play," she says severely. "I hope you didn't take it from anyone who needed this."
He breathes warm onto her ear, soft-feathered breath twitching a brown curl. He is boiling over with internal fire, he is warm as banked coals at her side. "Don't fret, you needed it more." And the soft push of his nose at her temple, his lips over her eye. Alys drops her eyelids and shivers. He is dragon, he is wild, beyond humanity and beneath it. No. No.
"Eat the apple," he says, "Or I'll have to think of something else for us to do." He lifts one lean pale arm and pushes it into her neck, topples her sideways, into the moss. He's pinned her between his arms and his hair falls down in strands of silver, moon pale, sweet smell. It's not fair - that he should be prettier than her. His lips dry on her jaw. And the feline gleaming of his eyes.
Day/Theme: August 16: I go blindly/as if I am pursuing the beauty of something/before me but unclear.
Series: Dragon's Bait
Character/Pairing: Selendrile/Alys
Rating: ...PG?
A/N: >.>
The thing about Selendrile is: he is always cruel, and he does not know it. It is the cruelty of a storm, or a cat, or the dunce that does not know his own strength and thus flounders at using it - Selendrile is cruel even when he is kind, in the very act of eating bread, or standing watch by a stream. Cruelest in the dark, because that is the only time Alys really knows him - dragons wind sinuous poetry with their bodies, the clash of claws and hot-metal smell, the jeweled hide - but no words are there for humans to find. It is in the night where Alys sees him and knows him and does not understand him at all.
The glim of gold, the gloaming light of dusk, and dust in her teeth and the sweet smell of hay, and the nostalgic misery from thinking of home and Selendrile's eyes on her - and he must know what this would look like to anyone else. Dragons do things too, don't they? Smashing together in sparks and roaring. He must know about it.
"Here is a present for you," he says, mild as milk. An apple lands in the folds of her skirt. Alys stills, stirs, picks it up and digs her nails into the crisp flesh. Selendrile feeds her, because he likes her, or just because he's interested in her. Alys can't quite tell.
"Where did you steal this?" she asks him. She sits up. Selendrile smiles; his eyelashes make small gold triangles and he comes too near, sits close and leans over to sniff in her hair like a horse. "Oh, you wound me," he says. Alys draws away. His hair gleams lighter than wheat, than silk, miles of slippery pale locks cloaking them both.
"Don't play," she says severely. "I hope you didn't take it from anyone who needed this."
He breathes warm onto her ear, soft-feathered breath twitching a brown curl. He is boiling over with internal fire, he is warm as banked coals at her side. "Don't fret, you needed it more." And the soft push of his nose at her temple, his lips over her eye. Alys drops her eyelids and shivers. He is dragon, he is wild, beyond humanity and beneath it. No. No.
"Eat the apple," he says, "Or I'll have to think of something else for us to do." He lifts one lean pale arm and pushes it into her neck, topples her sideways, into the moss. He's pinned her between his arms and his hair falls down in strands of silver, moon pale, sweet smell. It's not fair - that he should be prettier than her. His lips dry on her jaw. And the feline gleaming of his eyes.