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brigdhTitle: Lightning Laughs at the Clouds
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: PG
Notes: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days's prompt, "A dark and stormy night". 500 words exactly. I keep meaning these to be drabbles, and they keep getting longer. Also, I have to run off somewhere, so I wasn't able to worry over it for quite as long as I would like.
Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to Ellen Kushner.
***
"Catch me," Alec says, as they walk in the rain down a muddy Riverside street talking of something else entirely, and runs. He's not drunk, except perhaps on the storm; he loves them when it's not cold. Richard has been woken before by Alec climbing out of bed to throw open the windows and let in the thunder and wind and rain to drench their rooms. He leans over the sill till it seems certain he will lose his balance and stares up at the sky, hair soaked flat to his head and streams of water spilling off his chin and nose, lust on his face. When lightning sculpts him out of the dark, Alec looks like he never does by sunlight or candles: burning with satisfaction. He is usually vicious and bored afterward, and everything reeks of mold and wet wood, but Richard has never stopped him.
Alec glances over his shoulder to see if Richard is following, and his hair is dark and wet, his expression ungoverned. Richard feels the grin on his own face, the quickening of his pulse even before he starts to run. Alec has the advantage of longer legs and a head start, but Richard is fitter and knows he will win. He doesn't hurry; Alec ahead of him is a black shadow in the rain, always glimpsed just as he turns down another street and probably entirely lost. This is a grand storm; no wonder that Alec is distracted from his normal callousness. The thunder does not roll but cracks, the sound short and felt as much as heard, and the lightning is almost blue. The streets are thin as dagger slices and force the wind to a howl, sometimes shoving at Richard's back so that he nearly flies, and sometimes in his face, slowing him. The roofs of buildings flow past, their hard lines a geometry without pattern against the deep, soft chaos of the clouds above.
Lightning explodes as Richard turns a corner, and he's blinded, deafened by thunder, when something leaps at him from a doorway. He steps back and turns, his sword in his hand before he is aware that he wants it, and it is very nearly too late when he recognizes Alec. Still, he is very good, and his endless practice is for this, that he need not think to move. He twists his wrist, and the point of the sword jumps to the side, harmlessly tearing Alec's robe. The rip will be indistinguishable from the other tatters, except perhaps for being a little straighter.
Alec is breathing fast, but from the race or surprise Richard doesn't know. Alec says only, "Oh, too bad. That would have been easy."
Richard sheaths his sword. Alec had lifted his hand to touch the blade, and he lets it hang in the air a moment before dropping it, never losing his smile. Thunder crashes again, and Richard smells faint smoke over the ozone and city smells: somewhere nearby lightning struck.
Author: Brigdh
Ratings/Warnings: PG
Notes: Written for the
31_days's prompt, "A dark and stormy night". 500 words exactly. I keep meaning these to be drabbles, and they keep getting longer. Also, I have to run off somewhere, so I wasn't able to worry over it for quite as long as I would like.Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to Ellen Kushner.
***
"Catch me," Alec says, as they walk in the rain down a muddy Riverside street talking of something else entirely, and runs. He's not drunk, except perhaps on the storm; he loves them when it's not cold. Richard has been woken before by Alec climbing out of bed to throw open the windows and let in the thunder and wind and rain to drench their rooms. He leans over the sill till it seems certain he will lose his balance and stares up at the sky, hair soaked flat to his head and streams of water spilling off his chin and nose, lust on his face. When lightning sculpts him out of the dark, Alec looks like he never does by sunlight or candles: burning with satisfaction. He is usually vicious and bored afterward, and everything reeks of mold and wet wood, but Richard has never stopped him.
Alec glances over his shoulder to see if Richard is following, and his hair is dark and wet, his expression ungoverned. Richard feels the grin on his own face, the quickening of his pulse even before he starts to run. Alec has the advantage of longer legs and a head start, but Richard is fitter and knows he will win. He doesn't hurry; Alec ahead of him is a black shadow in the rain, always glimpsed just as he turns down another street and probably entirely lost. This is a grand storm; no wonder that Alec is distracted from his normal callousness. The thunder does not roll but cracks, the sound short and felt as much as heard, and the lightning is almost blue. The streets are thin as dagger slices and force the wind to a howl, sometimes shoving at Richard's back so that he nearly flies, and sometimes in his face, slowing him. The roofs of buildings flow past, their hard lines a geometry without pattern against the deep, soft chaos of the clouds above.
Lightning explodes as Richard turns a corner, and he's blinded, deafened by thunder, when something leaps at him from a doorway. He steps back and turns, his sword in his hand before he is aware that he wants it, and it is very nearly too late when he recognizes Alec. Still, he is very good, and his endless practice is for this, that he need not think to move. He twists his wrist, and the point of the sword jumps to the side, harmlessly tearing Alec's robe. The rip will be indistinguishable from the other tatters, except perhaps for being a little straighter.
Alec is breathing fast, but from the race or surprise Richard doesn't know. Alec says only, "Oh, too bad. That would have been easy."
Richard sheaths his sword. Alec had lifted his hand to touch the blade, and he lets it hang in the air a moment before dropping it, never losing his smile. Thunder crashes again, and Richard smells faint smoke over the ozone and city smells: somewhere nearby lightning struck.
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Date: 2006-10-26 03:03 am (UTC)And I know you've mentioned this before, but I have to express my sympathy: I can't imagine losing words. It must be terrible.
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