|Packs, Cliques, Families
Author: Gray Glube PM
A collection of 100 drabbles, rated PG through M. Various characters and canon pairings.Rated: Fiction M - English - Humor/Romance - Chapters: 20 - Words: 12,201 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 6 - Follows: 4 - Updated: 08-05-11 - Published: 07-17-11 - id: 7188129
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Prompt: 12. Clangor
Character(s): Jackson, Lydia
Word Count: 380
Everything about her is loud. The way her hair is done up in Shirley Temple ringlets, the bright intimidating scarlet on her nails, the way her skirt falls in white pleats, the clean unstained canvas of her tennis shoes, the leather jacket, the gloss on her lips that catches her hair when the wind blows.
She's a symphony of color and sound even when she's not speaking, her presence rings out in waves and he can't help but stare and listen to the way the leather rasps smoothly as she tosses it into the fence behind her, the way her shoes skid on the court as she runs and goes for the ball, the click her nails make together when she adjusts her grip on the racket.
Her breathing is labored at the end, she grunts as she swings at the ball and the resounding thwack and pop it makes on the other side of the court is his death knell.
If she hadn't already hooked him she has now, Jackson can't help being taken in by her presence. Vivacious and unrelenting she rings and reverberates and he watches her swaying and sounding the way someone watches and hears a bell ring.
She a country club queen and he was born for polo shirts and monogrammed towels, just like her.
He knows Lydia sees him walking across the courts towards her, he delights that she misses a tennis ball that shoots out from the machine as he stands on the edge of the white lined court.
Her next swing is harsh and angry and it's the last ball out of the machine.
"What do you want?"
It doesn't sound vicious, just curious as she starts picking up balls, he comes up and starts scooping the ones she goes for up first into his hands.
She straightens and grins like she's already won.
"You're going to lose."
He does but it's a fair trade for the way her tongue curls around his later on the abandoned golf course, every jab of her tiny pink tongue and press of her cherry flavored mouth against his is less of a tolling than it is a chiming, and he thinks that he really likes being the one to 'ring her bell.'