smithereens: (Default)
[personal profile] smithereens
so i wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me
till then my windows ache

--pablo neruda

.

Khalia doesn’t have her head on her pillow more than five minutes before she hears the knock at her balcony door.

She springs to her feet in spite of herself, heart hammering in excitement; there is only one person that comes in through her balcony, though he doesn’t always bother knocking. But she’d locked the door this time, having given him up for a no-show tonight; it was raining earlier, clear through the afternoon and evening, and had only relented scarcely half an hour ago.

“Jas?” she hazards, just in case some other fiane had taken a liking to her. She’s already hurrying to the door, ready to spring the lock. Too bad she’d already removed her makeup, and taken down her hair--

“Open up,” he says, gruff and muffled through the door; when she lets him in, he’s soaked nearly to the bone, even through his thick traveling coat, his hair matted to his forehead and the tips of his wings dripping water on the parquet floors.

Not that Khalia really notices. She’s too busy jumping up and throwing her arms around his neck, not caring at all that he’s wet and chill and slowly dampening her thin chemise, for just that split second. It feels good, great, to have his arms wrap around her again, tightly and readily, after nearly three weeks without.

Not that she’d been counting the days.

“I didn’t think you’d make it tonight--with the rain,” she says, reluctantly letting him go, wiping the moisture from her cheek with the back of her hand.

He shuts the door behind him, then shrugs out of his coat with some struggle. “I was already outside Victoria, so I walked the rest of the way.”

She feels inexplicably warm, in spite of the damp press of her silk chemise against her front, and doesn’t even mind that the puddle of water underneath him is growing exponentially by the second. On impulse, she takes him by the lapel of his shirt and pulls him down for a quick kiss; his lips are icy against hers, prompting her to drag him unceremoniously towards her bathroom.

“So you decided to drip all over my things instead,” she says without heat. “You look like a drowned--bird.”

“I nearly did drown,” he says, shrugging his shoulders in a funny way, as if the muscles were tense. His wings are drooping, the tips dragging on the floor and leaving a wet trail behind them as she leads him into the bathroom, where he can drip onto the marble tile as much as he wants. “I probably would’ve enjoyed it more than the rain,” he adds churlishly.

“And everyone says I’m histrionic. Here,” she says with an imperious sniff, almost forcing him down into the chair at her vanity. He sags visibly, then bends down the remove his boots while Khalia drapes his sodden coat over the edge of the tub to air out.

“They’re right.” He heaves a tired sigh and starts to peel his shirt off; she watches the play of goosebumps across his bare chest in spite of herself, and frowns.

Her reply is to throw a towel at his head. He seems to take it as a matter of course and quietly towels his hair dry, so that it sticks up in messy, endearing tufts that she can’t help but reach out to and smooth down.

“You smell,” she observes, wrinkling her nose in corroboration. “Is this what wet bird smells like?”

“I don’t smell. Do you have a blow dryer?”

“A blow dryer?”

“For my wings.” He looks up at her, but only slightly; to her dismay, his eye level is only just below hers, even though he’s sitting, and she wishes that she had her customary high-heeled shoes. The world is so unfair, allowing him to be so tall.

It’s then that she realizes that his water-laden wings must be heavy, and that’s why he keeps shifting his shoulders in that funny way.

She can’t think of anything to say to that other than I’m glad you came and I missed you more than you know, and so she says nothing. Wordlessly, she picks up her blow dryer and occupies herself in drying his wings for him; for some time, the loud whir is the only sound that echoes against the tiles, until his feathers are less sopping wet and more damp, and her wrist aches too much to go on. She even dries his hair for him, running her fingers through it and flattening any dark, errant strands with her hands.

He’s curiously silent throughout, his eyelids heavy. When she comes back around to his front in order to dry his hair, he rests his hand on the flare of her hip almost absently, thumb circling. She moves into his touch without any conscious thought of it, until they are standing close enough to remind her exactly how long he’d been gone.

When he’s dry enough for her satisfaction, she murmurs a soft “There,” and leans on tiptoes over his shoulder to set down the dryer; she’s rewarded by the warm press of their bodies through the silk of her chemise, and the large hands he splays across the small of her back.

“You walked the rest of the way here, did you?” she baits, now that she has more distance from the exaltation of his return, her smile somewhere between teasing and fond.

He shoots her a withering look. “How else was I supposed to get here?”

“You just couldn’t stand another night without me,” she says triumphantly, and then kisses the scowl right off his face.

He responds without hesitation, deepening the kiss and gathering her into his lap. He responds so enthusiastically, his hands already under the short skirt of her chemise and skimming the back of her thighs, that she laughs with the fullness of her heart and he smiles into their kiss and she wonders if he’s saying I missed you too.
smithereens: (Default)
[personal profile] smithereens
She’s drunk. Jas doesn’t remember ever seeing Khalia more than slightly tipsy at her own parties, claiming that a good hostess always put her guests before her liquor.

Then again, he could’ve missed quite a bit in the couple weeks it had been since he’d left Victoria. And the few hours it took him to report in before he could go find her.

“That’s it, I’m taking you upstairs.”

Khalia pouts childishly at him as he pulls her off the settee by the arm; she stumbles forward, just slightly, and abruptly erupts in a fit of giggles, drawing the glances of the other partygoers. Jas shifts anxiously, but doesn’t let go of her arm.

“Taking me to have your way with me, hm?” she teases, words slurring around the edges.

Jas feels his frown deepen. Even though she’s perfectly presented, as usual, up close he can see that the kohl under her eyes is smudged just a little, and there are a few too many russet curls escaping from her updo than he thinks she would consider artful.

Brown. He doesn’t remember seeing brown before.

“You’re drunk. I’m taking you up to your room,” he says, ignoring the way she scoffs loudly in favor of dragging her by the arm. He also ignores the stares of everyone else in the room, at least until she starts to struggle; she doesn’t have the strength, especially now, to wrench her wrist out of his grip, but he drops it anyway as the stares begin to turn judgmental.

“Hey, hey!”

“Khalia, please.” It’s not in his nature, subtlety, but maybe she’s rubbed off on him; he takes her wrist again, more gently this time, and places a splayed hand on her back to steer her a little more gracefully out of the room. This seems to placate her.

“You’re such a big brute,” she says, and he’s not sure if he’s imagining the fondness in her voice or not. “A gentleman really shouldn’t take advantage of a vulnerable lady like this, but I suppose—”

“I’m not taking advantage of you, Khalia,” he interrupts with some exasperation. She starts struggling with his grasp on her arm again.

“Are you saying I’m not worth taking advantage of, is that it?!” she says petulantly, and, unable to reclaim her wrist, switches tactics to flopping around like dead weight, nearly yanking his shoulder from its socket as she sinks to the floor. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Do you want me to take advantage of you or not?” he asks dryly, not really directing the question to Khalia in particular.

She doesn’t pay any attention to him.

“I’m very pretty, I’ll have you know! Truly irresistibable!” she’s saying instead. Jas doesn’t even attempt to stop her tirade. “In fact, Jericho Bowden was very interested in taking advantage of me tonight, and I know he isn’t the only one! But what do I say to him? What do I say to him?” she repeats, looking stricken.

Jas waits. Her brow crinkles, as if she’s deep in thought, in a way he finds inexplicably cute. It’s not a word he associates much with Khalia.

“Well, I don’t really remember,” she mumbles at length, and then with newfound vigor: “But he’s not the man escorting me to my room tonight, is he?!”

“No,” Jas supplies, suddenly irritated beyond reason. He makes a moderate attempt at simply dragging her across the floor to her room, but she shrieks like a wounded animal and kicks wildly at him.

“Victoria’s teeth, you really are a brute! A big, stupid brute!”

“Will you stop it?” he says, dodging her flailing legs.

This is what he gets for trying to help. With an annoyed grunt, he scoops her up off the floor and throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, easy to do when she’s as skinny as an eight year old boy. She screeches and kicks her legs and hurls variations of big, dumb bird at his back and wriggles wildly in his hold—but he stays fast, until the fight leaves her and she finally elbows the back of his head half-heartedly.

“I hate you,” she mumbles. Defeat sounds foreign on her tongue.

“Of course,” he says sarcastically. His annoyance still digs at him, and he wants to say more: how childish she is, how ridiculous she’s acting, and why isn’t Jericho Blowden taking her to her room, if she hates him so much?

“You were gone for so long,” she says instead, and sighs deeply, miserably, against the back of his shoulder. All his self-righteous frustration seems to leave him at once, and he stops his steady march down the hallway as if his legs have suddenly lost their function.

“It doesn’t make any sense,” she continues, muttering softly. “You’re an idiot. Not that Jericho Bowden is much better, but it wouldn’t matter even if he was. I’m dizzy.”

It takes Jas a moment to realize she means dizzy in the more immediate sense, and he slacks on his hold just enough that she slides back over his shoulder, righted. Something warm settles itself in the pit of his stomach as she wraps her legs around his chest as if it was the most natural thing in the world, his arm sliding underneath her thighs to keep her flush against him.

He doesn’t even mind the uncomfortable press of her ruffled skirt against his throat, and that’s the alarming part. Her arm snakes around his neck, and her breath is warm against his collarbone even through the fabric of his shirt.

He’s starting to get dizzy too.

“You were drunk at your own party, Khalia,” he chides gently, hardly recognizing the words as his own. “You told me that was very poor form.”

“I know, how pathetic is that?” she says, burying her face in his neck. Whatever she says next is mumbled unintelligibly against his skin.

“Khalia?”

“You have to warn me next time,” she says with sudden conviction. “Stupid bird.”

Her hair is tickling the hollow of his throat, but it feels very right. Jas smiles. “I will.”

She nods gravely against his neck, before lifting her head and swaying back in his arms to peer at him. Her expression is aghast as she slurs out, “Victoria’s garters, is this your disgusting leather coat?”

Circumventing the upcoming tantrum about dirtying her dress on the filth that was his traveling jacket, he says, “Your hair is brown.”

She sniffs. “Yes, Jericho Bowden likes brunettes.”

He barks out a laugh, feeling a lightness of spirit that’s almost akin to flying, and almost better. She sticks out her tongue as he carries her the rest of the way to her room, and then again the next morning as he opens all the curtains and slams all the doors just to aggravate her hangover.

three.

Feb. 14th, 2013 08:25 pm
smithereens: (Default)
[personal profile] smithereens
swear (sihai&shakir)--
Bitch. She doesn't know the word, doesn't know what it means, but he can tell by the way she stiffens, just slightly, at his side that she'd inferred enough from the tone; if it weren't for her hand on his arm, squeezing, then Shakir is positive he would've punched the adviser in his smiling face and damned all the consequences.

inconspicuous (jas&khalia)--
She's like a fungus, Jas decides somewhere around the four month mark of their meeting; she's obnoxious and effusive and so prolific she's managed to take over every aspect of his life, invading his wardrobe and invading his thoughts and invading everything in between and steamrolling his every attempt to keep her out, until he finally looks up and realizes that he's wearing the jacket she forced him to buy and he smells very vaguely of flowers and her shampoo and it's been at least a week since he last thought of home, or at least the home he had before the one in her arms.

He doesn't know how to get rid of her. He doesn't know if he wants to.

dinner (jas&khalia)--
One evening, she sets up a picnic dinner out on the roof, where no one can find them, then lays her head on his shoulder as they watch the sun set and the stars rise.

When he asks why, she just huffs and tells him it's a date, of course, and he decides to shut up after that.

color (jas&khalia)--
"It's just hair," she'd said dismissively, after he'd run his hands through the blonde strands and asked why she was always dyeing it; now that she's shrieking about how her curling iron is stuck and she's going to burn all her hair off and why is he standing around doing nothing to help and why is he so useless, Jas is starting to think it's a lot more than just hair after all.

one.

Feb. 14th, 2013 07:57 pm
smithereens: (Default)
[personal profile] smithereens
candy (sihai&shakir)--
It's called puadai, some sort of Wuxian candy; Shakir still doesn't really understand what it's made of, though the shop owner explained it to him twice before sending him on his way. All he knows is that Sihai's face lights up when he brings it to her, and that it tastes sweet on its own, but even sweeter when it's on her tongue.

open (sihai&shakir)--
"More than anything else," she says, when he asks her if she misses her home. Later, very softly, it becomes, "But I think I would miss you more."

plethora (jas&khalia)--
She knows more about makeup and clothes than any person should, he finds out quickly enough, as well as the fastest way to disappear from parties with men on her arm. It takes a little longer for him to discover that she decorated half of the Trigham estate herself, and that she knows a surprising amount about the jewelry trade. By the time she starts debating supply chains with the city comptroller's son, Jas doesn't know why he's even surprised by anything she knows anymore.

swim (sihai&shakir)--
She insists that he turn around and cover his eyes while she strips, even after he very calmly reminds her that he's seen her naked before and quite recently; he makes up for it a few minutes later, when he drags her body towards him, laughing while she shrieks his name and splashes him with water.

waltz (jas&khalia)--
"I don't know how to dance," he hisses, scowling while she laughs and counts the rhythm in his ear, guiding him expertly across the dance floor; "Next time," she says, "maybe I'll let you lead," while he leans away and realizes with growing dismay that he actually wants there to be a next time.

freefall (jayden&cadence)--
She's not sure what it is about him that changes: his shoulders are still the same, slumped over while he sits in his squeaky computer chair; his hands are still the same, typing almost manically at his keyboard; his face is still the same, smoothed over when he finally falls asleep.

All she knows for sure is that there is something freshly attractive about the sum of his parts, that her gaze has begun to linger, that her heart has started to flutter, and that she's begun to think that she's the one who's changing instead.

Profile

augustines: (Default)
stuff & bother

April 2014

S M T W T F S
  12345
6789101112
131415 16171819
20 2122 23 242526
27282930   

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jun. 9th, 2025 02:03 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios