chanson_de_maupin | I'm Getting Sentimental Over You

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I'm Getting Sentimental Over You

They depart the Matous' residence just as the rain turns to snow; the flakes catch in Saber's curls and turn to beads of glass. "I was sharp with you," she says, after a moment of walking. "I should have been kinder."

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If she had her pearls on, she would clutch them. "Saber -- !"

A smirk. "So tell me I'm wrong, to say that you don't fuck."

"I could, if I cared to. But when we've gone from discussing it in theory, to talking about my marriage bed --"

"There's no such thing as theory in matters of the heart and the cunny, any more than there's theory where two rapiers cross," she says coolly. "There's only practice, skill, and passion, and a mad desire to live."

"They're all of a piece to you. And you think you're more passionate than me, is that it?"

"More passionate? No. But when I see your passion, I can't believe you never want some sweet young creature to rouse it to a peak."

It'd be easier, to talk about death and war and heroism, than to talk about sweet young things and sex. "Well, maybe I did dream of having some wild romance -- something you'd see on screen or hear in a song. Maybe I did want someone to sweep me off my feet and kiss me hard. Maybe no one I met could give me what I dreamed -- maybe every boy who wanted to romance me was dull -- and meanwhile I was learning how to cast a curse through a fingertip, and reading about the Age of Gods, and having other dreams."

"And you told yourself, it must be one thing or the other. A sweet boy who set you afire, or all of your dreams of victory." She taps Kirsikka's cheek. "Kiss me, Lady Kirsikka. It needn't be one or the other--not with us."

Her cheeks stain red like blood on snow. "You're mocking me."

"You know now how I sound when I'm mocking you. This isn't mockery."

Then Kirsikka stops them, catching Saber by her collar, and leans in to catch her lips, this time, in a kiss.

She catches one gloved hand at the back of Kirsikka's neck and parts her lips gladly for the kiss; for all the snow has chilled her skin, her mouth is warm and welcoming and wine-rich. There's a laugh welling in her throat, but it's more mirth than mockery.

And if Kirsikka has dreamed in hard kisses, she's never dreamed a kiss so soft and touched with laughter -- it seems like some entirely new pleasure, outside screen and song, and she half-smiles for the discovery for it.

"Is a part of you singing?" asks Saber, still close enough that her breath warms Kirsikka's lower lip. If there is anyone on the streets to see them, she cares not at all for their uncomprehending eyes.

It's not the swell of song when she's casting a spell through her circuits, but a melody light, lighter than air, so that her toes curl and she feels she might at any moment float off of them. That's not something she has the words to say, though, so she hums instead -- hums In The Middle of a Kiss.

"That's why I fight," says Saber, with a light kiss to Kirsikka's forehead. "That moment when I meet my match, and something deeper than my soul answers, is the only thing worth living for."

"No wonder you shine." She laughs, high and bright. "When I'm a goddess, and you're in my pantheon, your initiates will be fighters and lovers, and that's how they'll live."

"Haven't you heard? Men curse the gods--make me a hero instead, and have them tell my story until the end of time."

"Not a god, but an immortal legend -- what else could satisfy you? Very well," she pronounces. "For as long as I reign, your story will never leave men's lips."

"Have you forgiven me, then, for what I said?"

She turns away, as though considering the answer in the snow, finger poised against her chin. "Oh, I don't know. My mother also said it's not enough for a man to say sorry -- you've got to make him feel sorry. I can't have you thinking I'll forgive you every time you kiss me --"

"The kiss and the forgiveness have nothing to do with each other. If you forgive me, you forgive me because I know I've wronged you and I want to right that wrong. If you kiss me, you kiss me because you want me." She folds her arms, brows raised, lips pursed in something like a shrug.

"That -- might do," she allows, brought up short by Saber's sincerity. "But you really ought to promise me a gift, or to take me out dancing."

"Do you want to go dancing? I'm sure we can find a place to dance, even in this sleepy town."

"Let's, and I'll forgive you."

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chanson_de_maupin - 2012-11-20 02:49 (UTC) - Expand

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