A.N.: prompts from 12_stories (LJ comm)
Written for writercon100 (LJ comm). Matching request:fandom_of_one.
Phèdre let out a joyful laugh as she arched her body up into him. "Oh, Joscelin," she murmured, tracing a thin scar on his shoulder with the backside of her fingernails. "Oh, love…." She laughed again as he teased her midriff, eyes wide and caught between passion and surprise.
In all the volumes she and Alcuin had studied, had they ever come across a chapter on the simplicity of improvisation?
Joscelin kissed her nose, eliciting another giggle.
"What are you doing to me?" she asked, escaping from his hands only to return again.
This time he laughed. "I don't know."
He would never share Phèdre's fondness of sleep, Joscelin thought as he left his childhood room.
He shouldn't have been surprised to find his father in the common room, an open book on his lap; but in Montrève, it was only him and nature until Eugènie bustled in to light the fires. Wracking his head for something to say, Joscelin sat across his father.
The years apart only brought silence.
"It's easier when the women are around," the older man said with a wry grin.
Joscelin nodded. "But louder."
Sharing a conspiring smile, both men settled in to read.
Only one thing made Palace functions bearable: dancing with Phèdre, flaunting his right as her Consort to have her complete attention where nobody else would. "Percival's youngest will make you an offer," he commented, already knowing her answer.
Indeed, her nose wrinkled a little. "Little Ronald?" She shook her head. "He'd be better served at the Night Court -" From the relative shelter between his arms, she gave the blackhaired youngster an evaluating look "- at Jasmine House."
"He shall be disappointed, then. He sounded very confident in himself."
"He asked you?"
"He did." Joscelin chuckled. "Perhaps he's suited for Mandrake instead?".
"Come with me," Phèdre said. "The games are starting."
"I would rather look after Alais." His eyes followed the rambunctious three-year-old around the room, wondering how she had managed to escape her nurses again.
There must have been something in his eyes beyond the amusement - or Phèdre was really that good at reading him. The latter, he decided as she faced away, a whispered "I'm sorry" traveling the space between them.
He grabbed her by her upper arms before she could slip away. "There is nothing," and he repeated the word because she needed to understand this, "nothing to forgive."
I hope you enjoyed this miniature collection. I'd love to hear which drabble was your favorite.
Next: ABC drabbles (all characters).