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greensquiggle.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fellowshippers2005-04-04 11:54 pm
greensquiggle.livejournal.com) wrote in fellowshippers2005-04-04 11:54 pm
first time posting...o-o;;
walnut minute
i have eight minutes to prove you wrong
miranda/liv, RPS
PG, for the wine
unbeta'd, 200 words
fictional entirely.
something tells me, she begins, wrapping tendrils of blackness around london-pale shoulders. something tells me you're not the type to get drunk at five in the morning. the pads of her thumbs trace unconscious circles on the walnut wood tabletop, a strange pattern full of contrasts and juxtaposed smoothness. challenging, perhaps. lowered lashes curtain her blue intent.
a cricket chirps louder than my heart pounding head groaning. really, i say in almost-response, massaging my temples in a vain attempt at sanity, checking the clock with a glance to her left. digital flash. idea. well, it's only four fifty two, i begin. i have eight minutes to prove you wrong.
she exhales swiftly through perfect nostrils, a slight snuffling sound that sparks a grin, half-smile taking over my eyes. i watch her with my own green ambition, the curtained blue revealed in a fluttering millisecond.
look. red raspberry liquid swirls in the glass. touched to strawberry lips, staining spontaneity. pads of pale fingers are suddenly circling unrelenting, patterns that move beneath cloth and dance under wood. my heart drowns out the cricket song. half-grin quivering moments. look, because i can't.
seven minutes, a wickedly serene smile.
i swallow air like wine.
er. criticism and comments welcome. please. if it's terrible, do say so. i'll be alright. :]
i have eight minutes to prove you wrong
miranda/liv, RPS
PG, for the wine
unbeta'd, 200 words
fictional entirely.
something tells me, she begins, wrapping tendrils of blackness around london-pale shoulders. something tells me you're not the type to get drunk at five in the morning. the pads of her thumbs trace unconscious circles on the walnut wood tabletop, a strange pattern full of contrasts and juxtaposed smoothness. challenging, perhaps. lowered lashes curtain her blue intent.
a cricket chirps louder than my heart pounding head groaning. really, i say in almost-response, massaging my temples in a vain attempt at sanity, checking the clock with a glance to her left. digital flash. idea. well, it's only four fifty two, i begin. i have eight minutes to prove you wrong.
she exhales swiftly through perfect nostrils, a slight snuffling sound that sparks a grin, half-smile taking over my eyes. i watch her with my own green ambition, the curtained blue revealed in a fluttering millisecond.
look. red raspberry liquid swirls in the glass. touched to strawberry lips, staining spontaneity. pads of pale fingers are suddenly circling unrelenting, patterns that move beneath cloth and dance under wood. my heart drowns out the cricket song. half-grin quivering moments. look, because i can't.
seven minutes, a wickedly serene smile.
i swallow air like wine.
er. criticism and comments welcome. please. if it's terrible, do say so. i'll be alright. :]
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