Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade or any of its characters, merchandise, TV rights, ect… (I think you get the point.)
Summery
ONE SHOT – Tala/Julia. He sits and watches her standing there, her body painted in liquid gold by the dying sun. Like all of my work this is just something that happened to float through the empty void inside my head. Like it or hate it please R and R as honest opinions are always welcomed.
Muse: Just when you thought it was safe Lamb starts writing again.
Lamb: Hey! This is a birthday fic for angel so rack off.
Muse: Just my point she deserves something much better, like you giving up writing for good.
Lamb: Why you- (tackles Muse) Que. Cartoon dust cloud and flying fist.
Dedi: Uh-huh. (backs away) Anyway this fic is dedicated to .angel.del.silencio. cus it's her 18th birthday and just cus we luv her. So .angel.del.silencio. this is for you.
Lamb: As always sorry for any bad spelling and if you feel the need to through thing at me please wait until I've hidden behind the sofa kay!?
Muse: On with the fic!
Feeling inconstant could drive me insane,
Flesh to blood to bone to love,
Twisted,
And I know, yes I know, but is this real?
And I know, yes I know, but is this real?
Real Enough
The new grown grass feels warm and soft beneath her bare feet. The world around her is dappled crimson and bronze as the last rays of the dying sun touch and burn the world. She stands looking out at a world that seems to have been set out for her alone, she is so close to the cliff edge that with but a single step she could drop into the ever waiting embrace of the sea below. The fading light burnishes her soft skin iridescent gold, the last of the suns beams glint of the fine gold chains at her wrists as she moves her arms with liquid grace through the gentle summer wind.
She is lost in sweet sensation as the warm breeze caresses her bare skin like a skilled lover, loving strokes around her slender legs and over the flat of her taut exposed stomach. Heavily lashed lids fall shut over orbs of startling Emerald green as her fingers curl and stretch through the heated dusk air. Copper bangs and chestnut hair gilded with sun kissed streaks of honey and amber stream out behind her, strands caught and tugged by the wind. Her arms stretch wide, fingers splayed to the heavens as she almost taunts mother nature herself. Daring gravity to pull her down to the beckoning sea if it can.
He sits on the hard ground, still warm from the lavish attention of the sun. He leans back against the trunk of a tall tree, the rough bark softly scratches at his bare skin. One leg is stretched out in front of him, the other pulled up, bent at the knee and twisting out at a slight angle, the waist band of his faded denim jeans lightly soaked with sweat. Blood red bangs fall over one of his eyes, his exquisitely carved face cased in half shadow by the mottled light that drifts through the leafy branches. Even sitting relaxed every perfectly defined muscle is tort, and he is possessed as always giving him the air of a wolf prepared for flight or fight.
His eyes, translucent ultramarine, watch intently every move that she makes. She stands in dark silhouette against the gold of the dying day, an unearthly creature, a goddess. He sits statue like content to simply observe her. To him she seems to be a child of the light, everything she touches glints with a gilt edge. She lives for each and every moment, savouring each seconded as if it were her last. She exists with such intensity and ever inch of her is know and familiar to him, as if she is an extension of his being. Or he is a part of her.
She spins gracefully on the spot arms extended out as if reaching for him. Back lit he can't see her features but does not need sight to know her. Hers is a face still smooth and bright with youth, a face with sensually full lips, the hue of dark red earth. If it is true that people being to die the day they are born, then she seems an exception, she is an exception to all things human often seems to him and for this reason alone he fears that she will live long. He envisions her compelling young face and strong body onto of a stainless steal autopsy table, a bullet through her brain and no matter how he struggles to strike that image from his imagination, he dose not always succeed.
But for now all he sees is her, bright and filled with a vitality that is infectious. Through her he has come to learn there is more to life the winning and the hunger for power. She spins again, this time pausing to look at him. To her eyes he looks a statue carved of marble, every fabled hero and god she can recall from myth and legend pale in comparison to him. He is the cool soothing balm that calms her burning heart. Her head tilts slightly to the side as she watches him. Watches him, watching her. All the world is space that flows around them, between them and through them.
She turns back to the west as he slowly, languidly, rises from his seat. Arms raise above his head, skin moves like oiled silk as he stretches, unwinding knots that had formed throughout back and legs. He pads softly over to where she is standing, cool grass tickling the soles of his feet as he moves lightly, like a wild animal. Delicately his hands skim up her sides, relishing the contrast of her warm flesh against his cool palms, for a moment her he stands looking over her shoulder a hand resting on each hip. A sudden gust of warm summer wind snatches at her hair sending it streaming banner like over her shoulders to stroke and flutter against his face and chest.
He steps closer, moulding himself to her back as his arms wined round her torso, his hands coming to rest on her midriff his fingers interlock and her holds her to him. A soft sigh escapes her lips as she reclines against him, entrusting herself to the know ledge that he will not let her go. Her head rolls back resting on his shoulder and once more her lids drift shut over penetrating green eyes. He dips his head to her bare neck. His lips skimming the sensitive skin over her jugular vain, before teeth gently nipping alone her collar bone. His tongue traces patterns on her dusky skin, the taste of her is intoxicating. Salty from dried sweat, spicy summer heat, potent as any wine.
But it is to her neck her returns. To her jugular, the pulse spot where her lives blood pounds beneath the surface. His teeth graze over the pounding vain, but she is untroubled to have a wolf so close to her vulnerable throat, for this wolf is hers or she is his. Throughout each of their lives they have always been their own people, but now it seems that they do not exist beyond the realm of each others touch.
Lamb: Well there you have it. (glomps Angel) I hope you liked it.
Muse: Well I think it was a load of-
Lamb: Shut it!!!
Dedi: OK (looks at glaring Lamb and Muse) Well .angel.del.silencio. we hope you liked it and please let us know what you thought. (looks once more an runs for it)
Please R and R I'd love to know what you thought.
Big luv see ya
Lamanth