Title: Tied to a Brick; Sweet as a Song
Pairing: Elphaba/Glinda, bookverse
Summary: She is not a shy schoolgirl now.
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Just a quick drabble this time. The prompt I used was "whisper".
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"I love her both ways, but I find it odd."
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When Elphaba says anything properly soft to her, it is always hushed, barely even mouthed. Perhaps it is Elphie's overall pointedness that prevents her, but Glinda quite doubts that is the reason for it, for the murmurs so low that she has to strain to hear, even when she is like wet clay around Elphaba's waist, so close that Glinda can fool her eyes into thinking that her own skin gives off the queer green glow that she so inexplicably craves.
Sweet and beautiful words bubble from Glinda's lips like a fountain that Elphie has switched on by only shooting her a wordy glare, but when Elphaba allows herself (either allows or forces, Glinda cannot be sure, all she knows it what she hopes is true) to do the same, it is always in tones that are meant only for Glinda to hear.
Glinda would holler it like a child to the world at large but Elphaba hardly mumbles when Glinda is shivering above her, the night breeze raising goose pimples along the swath of skin directly in Elphaba's line of vision, Glinda's bare back. "Oh, oh, Elphie," she growls. Glinda is surprisingly (startlingly, come to think, as loathe as Elphie is to admit it, but then she is loathe to admit to anything at all, silly stubborn girl) savage: scratching and firm and conquering. Elphaba is reasonably sure that she will end up scarred from all this, be it by prettily-painted fingernails or otherwise.
It is a quick transformation when she unabashedly abandons her silly frocks to their floor with an extra, swift, how-do-you-do kick, as if all of Glinda that is made of sugary fluff, all of Glinda that was also Galinda, is condensed solely in the stitches and fabric of the ruffles and ribbons, just so easily discarded, so quickly shed, "oh, Elphaba."
She is not a shy schoolgirl now.
Sweetness belongs to the daylight, sparkling sunshine brings pouncing hugs and lipsticky kisses, which clash quite dreadfully against her cheek, she rubs them away over Glinda's foot-stamping protests. As if each smudge was a badge that Elphie should wear proudly, a mark of Glinda's frothy affection, a flower, a ring. Darkness brings the howls and the fingernails, and Elphaba cannot say which she prefers.
And when gruffness is well fucked out of her, when she is too weak to think of anything else, it is then. Whispered, as it will forever be, only half of a sound, of an emotion, half of anything at all, and it will drive Glinda herself half-mad eventually, and for the rest of her lonely days: "My..." yes, screams every muscle and bone and drop of blood in Glinda's pale pink body, oh yes my wonderful Elphie, yours and yours alone and nothing else, "I quite love you." Incomplete and garbled, but there. Let loose at last.
It is everything Elphaba can give. It is all.
It is for now.
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end.