Disclaimer: I do not own Mortal Kombat, Midway does. Any and all original characters, words, concepts, and objects belong to me, and I will defend them. Nothing personal. By the way: this disclaimer stands for all following drabbles.
Special thanks to Nyohah, without whom I would have had nothing to call the collection.
I'm too aware of what it means when her curtains are drawn.
Stay awhile, she says. Talk with me, she says.
It's never about words with her. Not with those in the way. Heavy purple velvet that kills all light, all vision.
Thin purple silk hiding shining white leg, robe and curtain sway a little when she moves, snakes past me, and sits on the bed.
Come here, she says. Shifting her weight, her shadow spilling across the velvet, reaching hungrily for mine.
Leg sudden and pale and surprisingly lovely, unconcealed, gleaming on the sheets. Rich marble. Statues should not be so hot to the touch. So eager under rough nervous fingers. Workman's hands. Soldier's hands.
I let her go, turn and face the dark velvet crawling up the wall.
Stay with me. Accusatory, pleading. Don't you like me?
Pretty when she's angry, pretty when she needs me, beautiful always. Of course I like her.
Lips very, very red, nearly bleeding--smiling until it hurts. Prove it, she says.
So I do. With overkill, maybe--what can I say? It's been minutes, hours, days since she last drew those drapes. Ages since we kissed. Too long since she set her palms against my shoulders, drew her legs over mine.
Her hair falls forward as she moves, we move. It tumbles over her shoulder, across her face and eyes. Thick and dark and shining. A waterfall at midnight. Scattering all light, blurring all perception.
Just like the curtains--perfect for hiding things behind.
*~END~*