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kinkfest2008-11-01 10:46 pm
bromantic.livejournal.com) wrote in kinkfest2008-11-01 10:46 pm
Entry tags:
Vitae [Princess Tutu, Rue/Mytho, PG]
Title - Vitae
Author -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
timmesque
Rating - PG
Prompt - Princess Tutu, Rue/Mytho: love/hate- “I want to mix our blood and put it in the ground”
Word Count - 175
The mingling, a soft subtle breath under his skin, like the melding of skins, of bones and souls (what is the cask? what is the body? are we even real? how silly, sill silly, silly, fairytales and dust in your fingernails) as you dip your fingers around his throat, breakable breakable bird-bones in his neck, like a crow, like a dove, perhaps in between, a grey thing of beauty and pain. You squeeze.
Once.
He doesn't react.
Twice.
His eyes are closed, better, better not to see them, better not to think of them.
Thrice.
He gasps.
You pause.
He looks at you, his eyelids still heavy from sleep, the warm brown lingering underneath, stewing, swirling, the legends of a prince, the stories just there, waiting, waiting, waiting. She could kill him. Those eyes would close, the last thing he will ever see is her, her, his angel, his dream, his dying light.
"Rue...?" he questions, not moving, not questioning.
She closes his eyes with her finger and cries quietly. She could have killed him.
Author -
timmesque Rating - PG
Prompt - Princess Tutu, Rue/Mytho: love/hate- “I want to mix our blood and put it in the ground”
Word Count - 175
The mingling, a soft subtle breath under his skin, like the melding of skins, of bones and souls (what is the cask? what is the body? are we even real? how silly, sill silly, silly, fairytales and dust in your fingernails) as you dip your fingers around his throat, breakable breakable bird-bones in his neck, like a crow, like a dove, perhaps in between, a grey thing of beauty and pain. You squeeze.
Once.
He doesn't react.
Twice.
His eyes are closed, better, better not to see them, better not to think of them.
Thrice.
He gasps.
You pause.
He looks at you, his eyelids still heavy from sleep, the warm brown lingering underneath, stewing, swirling, the legends of a prince, the stories just there, waiting, waiting, waiting. She could kill him. Those eyes would close, the last thing he will ever see is her, her, his angel, his dream, his dying light.
"Rue...?" he questions, not moving, not questioning.
She closes his eyes with her finger and cries quietly. She could have killed him.