Hi everyone, it's JumpinPopTarts!

Aaaaand she's now writing Thief Lord fanfiction (…and abandoning the FMA and SP ones she still has outstanding…*shoots self for disloyalty*). GAH.

This, as with my Metal and Fire FMA fic, will be a series of oneshots along a theme. I picked a few words out of a dictionary and so far have:

Melody, Coffee, Cold, Hot, Wings, Shoes, Bones, Moon, Stone, Tongues (language), Glove, Footprint, Trail, Three, Two, One.

The last ones I didn't pick (obviously!), I just thought they'd be good ending titles n'all that.

ANYWAY.

Ratings for all fics should be PG13, 15 if you're picky. I've tried to keep Cornelia Funke's light style when I write these (most of my other fics tend to get pretty descriptive and mushy). As Scipio and Prosper are both modern and young, that doesn't fit so…mmhmm…hope you all enjoy!

LASTLY; Please review! Whether you love it or hate it…or are indifferent…or have a request for another theme! Any more would be great, the more creative the better (though by creative I don't mean abstract-to-the--point-of-sadistic or gross; 'Trigonometry' or 'Bogey' will NOT go on my title list! ^_^ ). Actually though…I could do Trigonometry…

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Fic #1: Melody

Scipio, Prosper noted, had to be (with the exception of Bo) the noisiest person he had ever met.

Time and time again, as they strolled along the Grand Canale, he would hear a familiar pair of boots tapping out a rhythm against the cobbles, kicking a stone or a whole rush of pebbles ahead of him, just to hear the melody. Scipio was a walking orchestra, always drumming his fingers along stone pillars, flicking the fingertips of statues, or humming loudly under Venice's huge cathedral ceilings, laughing as his own voice echoed back at him.

At night, as he lay curled on the floor of the Stella, Prosper would wake time and time again, blinking sleepy eyes, to find the source of the tapping or thumping or whistling or clicking was Scipio, checking up on them in (what he obviously thought was) the silent way of the Thief Lord.

Of course, time and time again, he would then quickly close his eyes, smoothing his expression into one he hoped would pass for sleep. That way, when Scipio knelt by the head of his makeshift bed (with a thump and a curse as he stepped on one of Bo's toys) he would be ready. That way, when Scipio bent slowly down to look at him, he wouldn't move a muscle. That way, when Scipio pressed his warm lips gently down on his, he could coax a squeak out of him by kissing back, his hands bursting from the covers to twine in the other boy's long dark hair.

Then, and only then, would the dancing, laughing, raucous Scipio melt away into something quiet and tender. The Stella, silent now, would vanish around them, the whole world cancelled out by the simple feeling of being together; warm fingers running over cheeks cold with the night air, lean arms wrapping round a caped back, pulling it closer. Their breath mixed in the chill stillness, all sound dissolved into the touch of lips and, sometimes, a tiny chuckle in the back of Scipio's throat which made Prosper shiver from top to toe.

That, Prosper thought to himself, was the sweetest melody of all.

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