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Write me a drabble, any length, and I'll write you one back with the same pairing.*
*Naruto excluded. Yes, yes, I'm mean. In my defense, Naruto is used to being rejected by the cool kids. ^_^
*Naruto excluded. Yes, yes, I'm mean. In my defense, Naruto is used to being rejected by the cool kids. ^_^
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Revy knocked back her shot of vodka. Rock sipped his, knowing that he'd show it far more. She flashed him a wicked grin.
"C'mon, Rock - we got things to do!"
"Like what?"
"Well - " She twisted around to wave at the bar: "Nuu has plenty more liquor left, right?"
She was all strong shoulders and rounded boobs, her flat belly showing between her cutoffs and her top. Rock wanted to press his lips to that exposed strip of skin. He downed the rest of his shot and thumped his glass back onto the tabletop.
"Sure does," he said, resentfully.
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Which means that when Revy is sober, she can spot with one eye exactly who would be a good screw and not make a fuss when she leaves in the morning and who would just be more complications in her already overly-complex life. (Seriously, she misses the days when she didn't have any friends and only had to worry about stealing enough to make rent. Really.)
Of course, Revy is rarely sober when she goes trolling for men.
Which is why, vodka burning on her lips, it seems like an excellent idea to shove her hand down Rock's pants, caressing his package. He made this hilarious squeaky noise and yanked at her wrist, even as he got quite a nice hard-on.
"Come on, Rock, it'll be fun," she drawled.
It took both of Rock's hands to pull hers out of his pants. "We'll discuss this when you're sober."
"But-"
"WHEN YOU'RE SOBER!" he yelled, blushing.
It her legs hadn't decided to go all wibbly-wobbly right then, she would have argued more.
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CANON IS IRREFUTABLE DEFENSE!
Assuming you've seen the movie and liked it....
"He's dead."
"Think so?"
"Well, he hasn't moved since Frabjous Day. And that was very many days ago."
Mallymkun's tiny black eyes blinked as she peered up under the tatter brim of their companion's hat. A puff of breath sent her whiskers blowing. "He's alive!"
The March Hare's tea sprayed from his furry mouth and the force of him sitting upright sent his teacup flying -- or, more accurately, his arm sent it flying. "Alive? Alive?! He's alive?!"
But no sooner had he started tittering with glee than a despairing moan issued between his broad teeth. "Not dead ... not dead. He should be."
Mallymkun nodded solemnly as she wandered back down the decimated tea table. "If his heart weren't broken, I'd cut it out for him."
*rubs neck* Er... yeah. Random is random.
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It's like how you can't be sued for slander if it's true.
~~~
In Hong Kong, Alice met a gap-toothed monk.
His skull gleamed and his eyes were bright and his teeth straight and it took two weeks of miming for her to be sure that his name was Chin. Even once she could communicate with the wives in the market and the merchants Chin still made her mind spin around in dizzy circles.
He reminded her of home, for some reason she couldn't understand.
The night before her ship left China, she kissed him until her knees could barely hold her up and his hands grasped at her skirts like drowning sailors.
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~~~
Richard loved the way the snowflakes collected in Kahlan's hair. The white against the darkness contrasted and the pink on her cheeks brought out her faint freckles. Every so often, she would readjust the pack slung over her shoulder, then button the loose hook beneath the heavy fur when it came undone.
She glanced up at him, had to know what he was thinking as he looked at her.
With one graceful hand and a kind smile, she reached over and brushed the flakes from his own bangs.
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But this time, it was easy. Kahlan's skin was cold, clammy, neck limp and head lolling, and there was not a thought in Richard's mind beyond the importance of getting her out of her wet clothes and in front of a fire.
It was once that had been done, when he was wrapped around her, both of them swaddled in furs before the fire, once she started to shiver and clutch and him and ask questions that all sort of thoughts that Richard wasn't supposed to think were thought.
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---
Zuko was sure she did it on purpose, and he hated her for it.
Oh, her feet would be planted just fine, but her elbow would be too high or her shoulders hunched or her fingers curled, and when he shook his head at her she would raise an eyebrow and say, "Why don't you fix my stance, then?"
It was bad enough when Aang was around, looking curious as he hesitated; he didn't want to be the one to have to explain that Katara's bending outfit left much to be desired. It was worse when they were alone, no witnesses to restrain him, or confirm his self-restraint. He was sure she was teasing him, waiting for him to trip up, to linger long enough for her to holler for her brother. He was also sure she knew exactly what she was doing; in trying to avoid her gaze, he missed the question there, the cautious insecurity with which she gauged his reaction.
He gave no answers, wiping his expression from his face before stepping forward and touching--her wrist, her shoulder blades, once her knee. "Your hands are warm," she would say as he nudged her into place instead of answering, trying not to listen and thus failing to hear the hitch in her voice as his pale fingers trailed across her dark arms.
Their lessons ended with a bow, and he always left before she could see the strain in his eyes, turning away before she could open her mouth and say, please touch me again.
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~~~
Katara can never forget that Zuko is a firebender. When she's looking at him, his image is a mix of the villains of her life and the victims of the Fire Nation's imperialism. When he speaks, even know, the accents of his birthplace whisper at the ends of words. And when he touches her, skin hot against skin, Katara feels like she's about to go up in flames.