Note from the Author: Yes, I was on a roll with the one-shots this week – thank you for asking. This was not intended to be a pairing, but I think it turned out that way anyway because I suck at living. Look at this as you would like to. No flames. If I get a flame on this, I will not be pretty. I am known for making people cry because I'm mean.
Façade
Her shoes clatter. I clatter too, watching her. Bare feet, stained bronze with sun, crawl under a blanket of desert. She smiles at me over her shoulder, and her toes twist. Is that my heart twisting too? Why are her soft brown limbs, with their stretching, lazy curves, controlling my body?
She rarely drops her façade like this. She has a defense system much stronger than sand. Her self-preservation is far less intense than her eyes, but it is formidable nonetheless. Timidly, she embraces me, and I wonder where that beautiful confidence is now. It fades in my presence, and I am not naïve enough to not know why.
With my lips against her collarbone, I feel drunk on the pretty floral of her perfume, that seems so out-of-place in this land with no flowers. She is wilting her, but I try to keep her in bloom. Closing my eyes, I let my arms surround her, creating a sphere in which this desert cannot damage here.
The curl of her lips is warm as they press to my forehead. You ask if I'm alright. I ignore your concern for me and ask when someone was last concerned for you.
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Note from the Author: I like French words.