Dreaming through the noise.

::Part 1:: ; ::Part 2::

Eyes I Dare Not Meet in Dreams

In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column


30 years of sleep had dulled neither his natural instincts nor those given him by the fumbling science of a madman. He knew it was only a matter of time before she sought him out again and standing in this little valley, downwind from the rest of the group, he was able to fixate on her scent before she drew close, that blend of lilac and light sweat coupled with the more private heady scents of womanhood.

The first time he’d caught the heavy aroma of copper he’d asked if she were wounded. The look she’d given him had prompted his clarification. I can smell blood on you. She’d turned away from him, blush staining her features, and he’d then realized the faux pas.

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Trial Run!

I've never written this pairing before. I was thinking of a short series with some erotic tid bits...


This is the dead land
This is the cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star

“The Hollow Men” ~ T. S. Elliot


She came to him the night before they entered the Crater.

He’d sensed her presence as he sat before the fire checking and cleaning his weapons. She’d stood watching him for a moment, the steady movements of his hands as he oiled the Quicksilver and wiped it down with a soft cloth, before she came out of the darkness, a quilt from the barracks of the Highwind wrapped around her body, doing little to keep out the chill. Shivering, she sat on the ground near him, eyes focused on the fire, but occasionally flickering to watch him.

Vincent could see her eyes taking in the angles of his face as he concentrated on his weapons. She was always watching him, stealing quick glances when she could. Glances she thought he didn’t notice. She’d been observing him since he joined the party in Nibelheim. It didn’t surprise him. The others watched him too, though not nearly as close as she.

And he’d be lying if he said some part of him didn’t enjoy her eyes on him… There was a certain satisfaction in her observations, as though his most miniscule movements were of the greatest importance whether he was seeing to his weapons or refastening the clasps on his cloak after a transformation…

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