strike eight on the 100themes

[kaigou]

[Someone poke thejennabides for me.]

I decided to focus on Meg, in this one, since it's one I've not written in a few years, and one whose background I never really explored on paper, only in deliberations. And actually, some of the inspiration for Meg's backstory must be laid, to some degree, at the foot of anghara, whose Jin Shei reminded me of how much goes on under the scrutiny of public history. Possibly PG-13 for implied situation, but mostly inexplicit, and no cussing. La la la.

reminder to self: rough is okay! no incessant rereading and smoothing! hot off the pixels! leave it alone!

---

The remains of the picnic lay scattered about, a few crumbs of bread carried off by unfamiliar insects except for doing what all insects did the world over: crawl off with bits and breaks of human meals, scurry back to safe homes to nibble on something larger than the insect's entire body. Meg couldn't be bothered to reach over and thump the line of black dots, but watched them move, one, two, one, two. She'd boil the ancient plastic later, hope for hot water in the wash, maybe just beat out the blanket instead of waste precious soap on it...

"What are you thinking about now?" QiuYu's voice was a low murmur in Meg's ear. Her breath stirred the hair at Meg's nape, and Meg scratched idly, then angled her arm behind her, fingers feeling their way to dive into Qiu's thick hair, spread out across the blanket behind her.

Meg sorted through her vocabulary, and couldn't come up with the word for ants. "Little...black...people," she finally said. Qiu sat up, pulling Meg close against her, and squinted across the distance. On the far side of the lake, nothing moved, and Meg laughed to herself. "No, no, those," she explained, pointing. "Many legs. What do you call those?"

Qiu gave her a steady look, that might have been, silly not-like-us -- Qiu still didn't comprehend, nor care, about countries outside her domain -- or perhaps, it was simply amusement that Meg would even notice ants marching away with the last of their meal. "Ants," Qiu said, and sat up more, but only enough to push Meg flat on her back so Qiu could stretch out over her.

"Ugh, you're heavy," Meg gasped, but made no move to push Qiu off. She ran her hands up and down Qiu's sides, fingernails catching on the fine silk, tugging here and pulling there until flesh was exposed. Qiu wriggled, chuckled, and sat up to yank Meg's shirt up to her armpits. "Hey, hey, what about--"

"My land," Qiu reminded her, and stared down, one hand grasping Meg's breast as she might hold fine china: gentle, but firm. Her fingers moved, thumb flicking across the skin, and Qiu frowned. It was the barest line appearing between her brows, but Meg had learned to read all the signs. "All of this is mine," Qiu added, and she may have meant the land, the water, the low scudding clouds far overhead, or she may have meant the body beneath hers, cool against her warm palm. Meg didn't know the language well enough to catch the nuances, but she knew the tension in Qiu's shoulders, the hesitation in her fingertips.

"Yes, it is." Meg let out a sigh, turned it into a smile, and took a breath before pulling off her shirt. Qiu sat back, hands on Meg's waist, as Meg undid her bra and dropped that to the side. Let the ants try to carry that off, it didn't matter; Meg was too busy trying to convince some child-part of herself that no parent, no cop, no anyone would come dashing out of the woods to arrest them. It was Qiu's lake, Qiu's land, Qiu's everything. "Your turn," Meg teased.

Qiu shook her head and bent down to mouth at Meg's chin, down her neck, and Meg arched her back, fingers digging into Qiu's arms, massaging, gripping, nudging her subtly in the direction Meg wanted, needed, her body burned where Qiu's tongue ran across her skin. She wanted to keep this, didn't want to leave this behind, one lake and another lake, there could be more lakes...

"Come back with me," she gasped. "Please--" Though that might have been for her wish, and it might have been a hoarse pleading to continue, because Qiu had frozen with her lips above Meg's chest. She pulled away, sat back, weight settling onto Meg's hips, and Meg wasn't sure whether to cry or apologize. Instead, she drove in, stumbling over the language's unfamiliar tones in her urgency. "I want you to meet my family, for them to meet you, and you'd like America, there's so much to see, you could do your pottery while I finish school, just think about it--"

"I can't." Qiu ran her fingers around Meg's breasts, unknown characters written across Meg's skin. "This is where I belong." She sighed, an exhalation that echoed of soft rain across the lake's surface, then tensed: Meg had finally wriggled her fingers under Qiu's blouse to skim along the waistband of Qiu's skirt, prying, seeking. Qiu tilted her hips back, denying Meg the distraction. "That's not for you to ask."

"Then who?" Meg sat up, frustrated, almost dislodging Qiu. She reached for her shirt and held it before her, but couldn't put it on. "I've given this a lot of thought, and there's not a lot of time--"

Qiu snorted, nostrils flaring, and arched one imperial brow.

"Not for me, there isn't, only three more weeks, and I've thought about this," Meg cried, desperate, nearly tearing the shirt in her hands. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Please. Maybe you have other ideas, but that's my only idea, and that's--" The words fell away, and she raised the shirt, hiding her mouth, whispering to herself in her own language, "I've fallen in love with you. I can't just--" She tried again in Mandarin. "I can't just walk away."

"Stay with me, then," Qiu said, as if this were obvious. "Stay, be here, no more counting the weeks, stay here with me." She bent over, black hair like cool silk sliding across her shoulders to brush against Meg's skin. She pried the shirt from Meg's grasp, set it aside without looking, insistent. In anyone else, Meg would have said, demanding, but Qiu made no demands, and they weren't really orders. They were simply the way it would be.

"I want..." Meg closed her eyes as Qiu kissed her, and wanted to be home but didn't want to leave but couldn't leave but leaving made her fear she'd torn out her heart and had a gaping wound that only Qiu could heal, could reach into her chest and replace that hole with Qiu herself. "Please," Meg said, and wrapped her arms around Qiu's neck, holding her lover close. "I just want to be with you."

"Then stay with me." Qiu licked Meg's forehead, a searching taste, then abruptly shifted her weight to roll them both over, Meg ending up sprawled across Qiu, but Qiu held her firm, bound. "Stay. Burn your silly calendars and your list of things to do, and come to me. Stay here, with me."

"I want..." Meg thought of her sister, her mother, her friends, her belongings in storage, her car loaned out to her cousin for the year, and thought of the angle of Qiu's head when she laughed, the hours at the pavilon reciting badly-translated poetry, the flowers Qiu had brought her, the string of pearls, and she already knew what she wanted. "Yes," she whispered.

"Good." Qiu ran sharp nails down Meg's side, smiling wider when Meg yelped and grabbed for the hands. She evaded, bowing upwards to reach down into Meg's jeans. "I promise, I shall always honor you, my silly human," Qiu murmured, words muffled with her mouth against Meg's throat. "Anything I can, to please you..."

"Get me a better English-Mandarin dictionary," Meg growled, in English, half to herself. Qiu wouldn't let go of her ass, and Meg couldn't get Qiu's shirt all the way off. "Raise your--" she stumbled over the word. "Cheese. No, arms."

Qiu laughed, full-throated, and brought her arms up, allowing Meg to strip her. Qiu looked far too pleased, dark eyes amused, lips curled up in the most self-satisfied smile Meg had ever seen, and she'd seen many of Qiu's smiles.

"You're staying," Qiu said, and the smile became something less smug, and far more joyful. "Always."

"As long as you want me," Meg promised.

Comments

[thejennabides.livejournal.com]

Yar. I completely suck, I know. I am hopelessly behind on both reading and writing. I did just spend about four hours today hashing out some of the issues for The Curls, so hopefully that will help me get over some of the block.

I have all of your posts bookmarked for reading. I think I felt guilty about reading if I wasn't writing... which made sense before I articulated it. :\

[kaigou.livejournal.com]

I'm writing because it's one of the few things keeping me balanced these days (along with CP and the animals, of course). And I can't not write, you know how that goes. Just wanted you poked to know that even if you don't write on the themes, at least discuss the story behind that filter so you feel like you're making some kind of progress.

Unless you don't want me poking you, in which case, say so. ;)

[thejennabides.livejournal.com]

I'm writing because it's one of the few things keeping me balanced these days (along with CP and the animals, of course). And I can't not write, you know how that goes.

*nods* I've realized that when I say I'm not writing, that isn't really true. What I'm not doing is typing, but I'm still working on the story in my head and in my notebooks. I'm a heavy planner, so I tend not to commit to paper until a fair amount is "written" in my head. When I feel like I'm about to burst, that's when the words go down somewhere outside my head. I think I'm feeling shy about this because it's longer and more involved than anything I've written lately, and so more of it has to come out of my head before I would normally pull it out, to make room for other parts of the story. But yeah, the filter.

Unless you don't want me poking you, in which case, say so. ;)

I could always use a good poking!

[wilhelminabenedict]

That was just lovely, evocative and smooth. The characters felt richly fleshed out. Also made me want to cry a bit, since I'd read the second one first. O-oops?