Title: It’s beautiful and so are you
Info: Imagine Me & You, Luce/Rachel, R. Prompt: Crimson. An elaboration of their kiss among the flowers from the movie. Something that could have happened.
Her fingers meet thorns almost hourly. Thorns, prickles, cactus leaves, nettles. She thinks she knows how they feel by know, the sudden slice to her skin, the prick. Sometimes she doesn’t notice until later, when she leaves fingerprints of blood on paperwork and then the pain begins, and she sucks hard on the offending flesh. “Damn things,” she’d say affectionately, wondering which plant had done the deed.
Long ago Luce had forgone bandages on her hands for any but the worst of the cuts, believing that injuries from nature wouldn’t bring her any harm, and that the tiny scars gave her hands character. Told stories.
The thorn cuts her back, a sudden sting, and she arches against it, hard, into Rachel. “Thorn!” she yelps, startled at the way it feels, the sensation of the cut against a part of her body so newly naked and vulnerable. “Thorns in my bum!”
They roll over laughing, and Luce loses herself again, the oceans of Rachel’s dark eyes capturing her and holding her captive. She doesn’t even breathe, but her back stings, and she reaches blindly – her shirt slid up – swiping against the skin.
Her fingers come back crimson, her scarred story-telling fingers, bloodied. Luce blinks. “Got me good, then,” she says, sobering and offering her hand to Rachel as a witness.
“Ow,” Rachel says softly in sympathy, sitting up a little, letting her sweater fall back over her stomach. She takes Luce’s hand gently, like a holy effigy, and lifts it to her lips, kissing it first, to taste the skin, and then turning, slowly, pressing the fingertips against her petal-lips and painting them, spreading the dark red across the pliant skin.
She is stained, and lets Luce’s hand fall, strangely limp, across their laps.
Rachel only blinks, silent in her ritual, perfect.
The shop bell rings.