The Beekeeper Drabbles
Disclaimer: All characters found in these drabbles belong to Tamora Pierce, not me. Drabble titles come from the names of songs in Tori Amos' 2005 album The Beekeeper.
Warning: These drabbles are about relationships; some of them are sexual. The writing is suggestive rather than explicit, but if that's not what you're here for, hit the back button please.
The Power of Orange Knickers (Kel/Lerant)
"—really Kel, orange? I would have thought plain and sensible white, or maybe a pretty blue, or perhaps even a secretly rebellious pink, but orange? You can see that it's a little unexpected," says Lerant, plucking at the questionably-coloured scrap of material over her hip.
"Is this really what you want to talk about right now?" asks Kel, and shifts her hips, getting a half-stifled gasp out of Lerant. Neither of their breathing is exactly steady.
Lerant latches onto things as tenaciously as a terrier, so of course he doesn't drop the matter. "It's just," and his face is barely keeping in the laugh that is making his chest quiver, "I feel I don't know you anymore. I mean, if you were hiding this, what other things might there be that you're not telling me? I just want to know why, Kel."
"White knickers are boring," Kel says calmly, and because it's not a wise tactical decision to hand Lerant ammunition, keeps to herself My uniform is the same one every day. And I don't get to pick my dress out in the morning like other girls, but I can at least choose this.
"I would never call you boring, Kel," says Lerant, propped up on his elbow in the bed, looking down at her with his long-lashed grey-green eyes so pretty. His warm bare skin is pressed against hers all the way down her body, his leg keeping one of hers trapped underneath, and it's impossible for Kel to tell if he's being sincere.
"Lerant," Kel says mildly, with the bite of her Command-voice underneath.
"Lady Knight," returns Lerant, his kiss-reddened mouth mock-obedient. The pads of his elegant fingers are slowly, lightly, tracing the sensitive skin along the bumps and dips of her ribs, sending hot little itches along her nerves, and it would just figure, Kel thinks, that after the months—years?—of dancing around they've done in order for Kel to finally get into his bed, that Lerant's a tease. It's probably a heritable trait in the Eldorne line.
"I'm starting to think that your goals aren't in order," Kel says, as light on the disapproval as she can manage with Lerant willfully eroding her patience.
Lerant's eyes darken and his mouth turns a little ugly. "Not all of us had your excellent, state-funded education, so we have to make do with our own judgment." His fingers stop stroking.
And gods, if Kel lets Lerant's issues take over he can keep this up all day. If that happens, Kel might just have to scream, which would bring in all sorts of people staying at this wayside inn, some of whom she knows. She's not sure if one day this thing she has with Lerant might be able to withstand the harsh scrutiny of others, but it definitely won't today.
So Kel flips them over, wrestles Lerant into the pillows, and kisses him until he focuses on more important things. Which, she thinks distantly, was maybe what he was after all along.