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Kay C., 16 Aug '12

She'd pressed her lips to the back of my fingers, tracing a map of wonder on my skin.

"Your hands are so soft," she marveled, this stranger whom I had just met, eyes fierce with a kind of curiosity and deep, deep melancholy I longed to touch, longed to hold between my hands like a beating heart.

I laughed, unable to break away from that intent, all too-knowing gaze. "I'm glad you like them, milady." Brushing my own fingertips against hers, I pulled back the rough cloth of my sleeve and let her draw kisses up to the underside of my wrist. My pulse stuttered under the warmth, as did I.

She sat back, breathing a kiss against my cheek, trailing up to my forehead. "Music notes around your wrist?"

"My passion," I replied. "My shackles."

"Why shackles?" This not-nymph shook her head. "That's a little morbid, a little depressing."

"The things I love bind me as surely as the obligations that shadow me." I took her hand, kissing her knuckles in turn, now. "To be honest, I'm not sure I'd have it any other way."

"A romantic, are you?" Her lips quirked into a curl of a smile, teasing, but there was a hint of something darker, something richer to her expression.

I wanted to discover what it was, what lay waiting behind the dark curtains of her thoughts, her careless words. I found that I wanted it rather desperately; I ached for it.

"Chalk it down to artistic temperament." I grinned in return, tilting a challenge at her as I raised my eyebrows and gestured to the dance floor. "Let me romance you, then."

"You say it like I'm that kind of girl, sweetheart."

"Everyone's a romantic," I said in kind, skating slowly over her implication, her unspoken accusation. "Even the most jaded of cynics, bitter in their loneliness, were romantics once."

She didn't seem unconvinced, so I smiled and tugged at her fingers. Oddly enough, she grasped them tighter, stroking the pad of her thumb against my palm in what seemed like a gesture of reassurance; did she want to reassure me, I wondered, or herself?

Her eyes glittered in the reflection of the light, the strap of her dress falling lightly from her shoulder in folds of silk.

"Show me."

Comments · 6

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  • Kay C. said...

    This actually happened in a club last year. The music tattoo around my right wrist is of the opening bars of Fantaisie-Impromptu.

    • Posted 7 years ago
  • Charlotte Williams said...

    I think this is wonderful, my favourite line was "the things I love bind me as surely as obligations that shadow me". The descriptions were so effective and it felt private and personal to read. I think you did a really good job.

    • Posted 7 years ago
  • Kay C. said...

    Thanks, Charlotte! I'm glad you liked it.

    • Posted 7 years ago
  • Rachel Anderson said...

    This *happened* to you? Can I borrow your life...? << In all seriousness.
    That tattoo seems quite appropriate :P

    I really loved this, your metaphors are so very beautiful and descriptive.

    "My pulse stuttered under the warmth, as did I."
    Pure poetry.
    I was giggling through this whole thing - good, giddy giggles.

    • Posted 7 years ago
  • Kay C. said...

    It actually did. (laughs) When I'm drunk, I do often talk to people like that (especially people I'm trying to pick up, I don't think). The drama of the entire thing was... well, she turned out to be taken and trying to find a distraction. Her girlfriend stormed over to us, had a stare down with me, and then I left the scene with two of my friends after. It was kind of hilarious. If I knew she was attached I wouldn't have encouraged it.

    This is my tattoo:

    Thank you kindly for your words! I spend an agonising time over writing metaphors because I dislike reusing descriptions, so I'm glad they work for you. :D

    • Posted 7 years ago
  • Angela Watt said...

    Another beautiful piece of work. I loved it, particularly the last two paragraphs. You have a wonderful writing style that pulls the reader into your world.

    • Posted 7 years ago