[ prp ] taking carol business (taymerica)

[lizbot]

all of the other rain deer

Resting one hand on his hip and chin over his shoulder, America took in the rain soaked scenery and its graceful inhabitants. There was a brief moment of wondering, once again, how Fiona could give it up even as Stryker had given up the sky. Part of her wanted to go out and play, and maybe she would, if only to come in and get warm once more. But for now she settled against his back for a long silence before pressing her smile to the back of his neck and going off in search of the neon marshmallows.

(She liked a bit of adventure in her snacks, and more besides: his face upon seeing them.)

As the kettle got started and s'mores paraphernalia was gathered, the girl considered those slight figures in the rain. Fiona and Taym were an odd pair on paper, but however many times he might bring to mind a superior but ultimately needy cat or a stray dog in all his painful hesitations, a deer was not so far from him at all. All sudden grace and nervous tension, and maybe he didn't have their sleek loveliness but sometimes there would be a shift in light or a small movement would catch at her breath a bit and with it would come the ever startling realization that she found him beautiful in the way of things that are wild and strange and damaged.  

[lizbot]

what's the sense in hurting my pride

Her quizzical expression softened into a fond grin, and she bumped against his shoulder, "Could have, but maybe not. Most of that stuff I didn't bother to remember, wasn't important." And then she brightened in the way she had, where it was every bit of her, "Is that a cave?"

Tugging him off the path, the cave was inspected (alas no bears) along with a number of trees, one of which had a secret little cubby (though sadly empty save for a single acorn.) It seemed she'd forgotten the bit of poetry easily enough, until she was inspecting their acorn prize and asking absently, "It was enclose then unclose, right?"  

[lizbot]

dash or dancer

The angry tension slips off with every little shift and sway, until she's smiling and more than willing to shelve it for later or never. She tells him he just has to pay attention to her body and how it moves and that's never been all so difficult for him now has it? After a few minutes, when there is something resembling a gentle rhythm between them, she starts to hum and maybe he recognizes it but maybe he doesn't, even when some of the words slip out, even when it's one of those sappy classics that has saturated pop culture for decades.  

[lizbot]

baby it's cold

She sulks when he moves to get dressed. She explains that the best way to stay warm is just to huddle up naked and cozy under a million blankets, everyone knows that. She pulls out her most oversize sweater and states they can both fit in it just fine.

rejam

 

[Rejam]

what's the sense in hurting my pride

He'd swallowed the hurt and embarrassment. He'd been helped by that sudden lighting-up. When she did that maybe it was best that something else had her attention, lest she inevitably find him watching her, bewildered and stupid, feeling unspeakably tired and slow and dull, wondering yet again how the hell she'd managed to find anything in him to love.

He'd swallowed it well enough that it was very nearly gone by the time it came up again, and so the sudden lopsided smile--immediately deflected towards a leaf turned silver-side up in the grass, rather than meeting her eyes--was rueful and it was embarrassed but it wasn't angry and it wasn't even hurt, not really.

"Unclose. Shibboleth of pretentious writing everywhere that you can't just say open." But of course the enclose/unclose symmetry had been the point, and of course she'd picked up on it even if she hadn't realized it. He waved a hand dismissively, shredding a piece of bark between his fingers. "Never mind. It wasn't important," he echoed. "Someone else's words because his are better than mine. It just made me think of you. But everything makes me think of you."  

[Rejam]

dash or dancer

He doesn't stop her or interrupt her, just tries to find a way to move with her that doesn't make him feel woefully inadequate, and her compliment had helped, some, not just to dispel his self-conscious fears but to find his way.

He moves not with skill but with an ease that suggests that he could be good at this, in some other world where he'd had a reason to learn, and when he shifts his hand on her hip up to slip his fingers underneath her sweater it's not to distract her with something else but simply to feel her, skin on skin, as though the closeness might make it easier to match her.

"I like it when you sing to me," he says quietly and then, teasing, "although to be fair I've been told I'm tone deaf."  

[Rejam]

baby it's cold

He airily voices his hopes that she isn't attached to this thing as he somberly attempts to call her bluff, half-dressed as he is but bare to the waist.

There are still obstacles. There are still things that he tries to do, wants to do, but can't. There are still ways to touch him, often arbitrary and strange, that make him tense under the skin.

But their shoulders and arms and hands and ribs collide as he maintains a dignified straight face, pompous and grim and making proclamations about dying of hypothermia, and perhaps the strangest thing of all is that he doesn't seem to notice that when she touches him he is not afraid.  

[lizbot]

what's the sense in hurting my pride

"Well they're important now," she answers firmly. And then, because why not, because it felt just the right sort of silly, because she loved a secret and a man and this day, America carved their initials into the little cubby.

Including the combined excess of middle names.  

[lizbot]

dash or dancer

The touch has her leaning closer as they moved, voice dropping lower. Cheek against his, she gives a soft huff of laughter. "Considering how much you like music at all, I'll take the compliment." Her cheeks flush for it though, and burying her face in the crook of his neck she softly finishes out the song.  

[lizbot]

all i want

In the middle of the night, huddled together, she touches his shoulder and tells him drowsily that she likes the frame of him. It's not the all of him but it's mountains to the rivers and valleys of his person. They are maybe not so prominent anymore but, pressing against it she explains, they're still right here and keeping the rest in place.

In sleep slurred tones she tells him how she sometimes sinks into the wooden floor of the house and how nice it is to be a house. How sometimes it feels like she's about to sink right into him, and how nice it would be to settle into those bones. To read in them the stories his skin won't tell and write her name at the end of each one.