Well, some inspiration has struck, randomly. I am trying very hard to be able to finish my two other projects, and this is my muse waking up, I think. I needed some Fiyeraba, and I have a strange obsession with Elphie's Act 2 dress. I have one of my own, and something happens when I put it on. It makes you feel incredible. Mine hangs in the laundry room and its presence inspired me. This isn't meant to be very deep, just fluff. It would fall during As Long As You're Mine, but it's not true to setting. I hope you enjoy and you'll drop me a few words.
NOTE: The story image is me in my dress, in silhouette. My Elphaba page is making a transition and will be up in a different form very soon, for those of you who've asked about it.
He never expected her to look like this. When Fiyero had last seen her, she'd been nervous and a little bit Galinda-fied. She had taken off toward the train platforms, giddy and clutching Galinda's hand as they left for the Emerald City. Over the years, he had tried to picture her the way Galinda had last seen her, in the city. He had tried to imagine her flying, clutching the raggedy broom with her hair wild around her. It was an image he'd never been able to conjure. Until now.
Now, time was still. The air was thick. The room was small. This space must be one of a thousand hideaways, for her. He imagined she had hiding places all over Oz. Thick groves of trees. Vinkun caves. Abandoned Glikkun cottages, and crumbling, Quadling mud huts. She must hide in plain sight, he thought, in the places so ordinary and overlooked that the Gale Force charged on by, determined the Wicked Witch would be in the sky, throwing balls of flame and tormenting those around her. But they didn't know her.
She stood just a few feet away from him, refusing to meet his eyes. She leaned on the broom, with her head tipped down so that her hat cast shadows over her face. It was a strange hat, something he vaguely remembered Galinda had given her, when she was still Galinda. Now, she was Glinda. Gilded and coiffed and perfect, but without any softness. His fiancé was harsh in her perfection, plastic in her goodness. And Fiyero had wanted to tell her. He'd wanted to ask Glinda where his friend had gone. In that way, he did love her. He loved the sweetly blithe Galinda, who smelled like rose petals and made him laugh. He loved her silliness, her misplaced boldness, and the way she had transformed Elphaba back at Shiz. Fiyero loved that Galinda's heart was bigger than her ego. Now, however, he never saw her heart. Glinda had been easy to leave behind, although he wished, on principal, that he'd gone about it less publicly. Of course, he was not the same as he'd been at Shiz, either.
Fiyero was no longer dancing. Life had weighted him, had made his steps heavy and his days long. He was more somber, more focused. There were days he felt the change was good, but then, there were more days. Days and days and days that passed with a grating sameness that made him question his ability to stay sane. Fiyero longed to dance again, but with purpose. And she was his purpose. So he'd searched for her. He'd searched and searched for the feeling she'd given him in rescuing one rather insignificant lion cub.
Now, she stood so close he could see her body move as she breathed. Standing in the twilight that filtered in from the one, dusty skylight, Fiyero studied her like a painting, like a work of art that demanded more than looking. He soaked her in, feeling his heart thump and his skin tingle as he noted the inky blackness of her hair that now curled and tumbled in maturity. He let the light and shadow of her wash over him. Gone was the braid, the over-sized clothes, and the clunky shoes. Before, she had been female. Now, she was woman. And somehow, somewhere, she had found that dress.
It took Fiyero several long, quiet minutes to take it in. He was sure her intention had been to cover herself, to mask her skin and hide her body. To Elphaba, the dress must have seemed practical, if not for flight but for camouflage. He was certain she had no idea how ravishingly, achingly, majestically entrancing she was. The dress was black, mostly. It was high-collared, long sleeved, and fitted through the bodice. The more he looked, however, the more he saw the nuances. The metaphor was palpable as he realized the dress had as many facets of color and character as Elphaba herself. In some places, the fabric was frayed and thin, showing hints of her greenness beneath. In others, strands had come loose and hung like cobwebs from her arms. She had patched and reinforced it with fabrics in reds, blues and browns, some which shimmered and caught the light. Then, she moved.
Seeing that Fiyero was riveted in place and was essentially useless, she leaned the broom against a chair and began making sure every window was shuttered tight. As she moved, her skirt cascaded around her, spilling to the floor in a wide fan of ruffled fabric that clung and flowed around her long legs. Emphasizing her regal silhouette was the slight, entirely frivolous train on the back of the dress. She could have been a duchess, a dark princess, or a queen of some ethereal kingdom that Fiyero would gladly pledge allegiance to. Suddenly, she stubbed the toe of her shoe as she swirled about the tiny room. To survey the damage, she propped her foot up on one of the chairs and hiked up her skirt to examine her foot. Fiyero couldn't have torn his eyes away if his own clothes had been set on fire. And the flush that ran through him felt like just that. Elphaba's long legs were swathed in black stockings and her feet were shod in expensive, heeled, black leather boots. For an instant, Fiyero saw an image flash in front of his eyes.
Elphaba, dress discarded, his skin bare, his hands in her hair, his lips on her neck and her legs wrapped around him, those boots and stockings still on her glorious legs…
Fiyero shook it away, embarrassed for even thinking it.
Elphaba looked up at him, straightening herself to her full height again, and said, "What now?"
"What?" he still wasn't entirely present.
"What do I do with you? Now that you've come with me?"
Fiyero could think of a few things.
"Don't look at me like that," Elphaba snapped, "This isn't a fairy tale. You haven't run away with the fair maiden. In fact, you left her in your palace."
"Maybe I'm not interested in fair maidens anymore. Maybe I don't want to be the hero," Fiyero tossed out, trying to make his voice have her conviction.
She crossed to him then and raised her chin to meet his eyes, her face cast in extremes of light and shadow beneath her hat, "That's easy to say. It's less easy to live out. You've made your point. You've escaped the palace. You'll be a fugitive, but you can go now. Get out of the city by dawn. Perhaps they'll be more interested in finding me than you."
Fiyero stared at her, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say without sounding trite. Finally, he just stated, "I'm not leaving you. Ever."
Elphaba's face fell open, then. For that, she had no reply.
Fiyero plucked the hat from her head and tossed it away. Plunging his hands into her messy hair, he kissed her hard on the mouth.
She went with it for a moment, and then pulled back. Searching his eyes, she said, "Neither one of us has time for this. We're fugitives. We can't be carrying on like honeymooners."
Fiyero felt reality wash over him. She was right.
"I'm not a girl anymore, Fiyero. I've been running for more than five years. I'm a woman and a witch."
Oz sakes, he couldn't argue with that.
"I'm not a blushing virgin trying to save a cub. I've lived a lot of life."
He was taken aback, not sure why he'd assumed her life had been entirely solitary and not sure why it should bother him if it was not.
"I've done what I had to do, to live…"
He looked at her, at the hardness in her eyes and the wariness in her posture.
Her last statement came with a hitch in her voice. Fiyero started to argue with her. He started to tell her she was not, nor had she ever been anything akin to wicked. But he didn't have time to get the words out. This time, Elphaba crashed into him. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with a ferocity that sent him stumbling back into the chipped and uneven plaster wall behind him. With the smooth, coolness against his back, Fiyero found her hair again, ignoring the tangles as she opened her mouth fully for him.
Her name filled his mind as her hands trailed from his neck down over his chest. He wondered how long he'd wanted to kiss her. He wondered if he'd ever given it deliberate thought or if he'd ever imagined it would be like this. He remembered who he used to be, who'd he'd been when they'd first met. He wanted to slap his younger self for not seeing this in her before things went to hell and she'd had to run for her life. She yanked him back to the present by pulling his shirt open, buttons be damned.
Fiyero pulled back just enough to make a noise like a gasp, and Elphaba moved to work her mouth down his neck to his collarbone. There, she nipped at his skin with her teeth, tasting him as she shoved the fabric of his shirt away.
"Elphaba…" he started to protest.
She jerked her head up to meet his eyes and cut him off, "Don't. Don't ask me if I'm sure. Don't patronize me."
Fiyero swallowed the words. He'd never had a woman be so brutally honest. All of his relationships, whether they lasted a day or five years, how always felt a bit like a manipulative game. Even with Galinda, he'd felt the need to ask permission, to ply her into giving in to his embrace. He had never felt the thrill of being taken, of being unashamedly, openly wanted. It made him nearly ache with raw desire. She wanted him. And, god he wanted her.
Elphaba came at him again, scratching her nails down his back as she relieved him of the shirt. Kicking off his shoes, Fiyero helped her remove his belt while their lips hungrily found one another again. Then, she stepped back. With quick, agile fingers she worked the buttons on the back of her dress. After a solid minute, she turned her back to him. Sliding her arms out of the sleeves, she let the heavy garment fall into a pool of fabric around her ankles. Her undergarments followed, and Elphaba turned to face him. She reached up and pulled the pin out of her hair, letting the bit she'd had clasped behind her head fall around her.
This time, the vision was real.
Fiyero stepped forward at the same moment she reached for him. His mouth met hers again as he lifted her into him. She wrapped those long, powerful legs around him without bothering to remove the stockings and boots. He felt the outline of her spine as his hands touched her bare back, supporting her. Fiyero stumbled towards the rickety bed in the corner, hoping its tiny frame would support them. If it wouldn't, he didn't give a damn.
As they tumbled onto the lumpy mattress, Elphaba let out a low moan and dug her nails into his shoulders. She had her eyes closed, as though she were afraid of waking, of finding the dream was over. Still, she was present. Her lips were moist and swollen in the most erotic way. Her cheeks and chest were flushed violet. Her hair was mussed, dirty from flight and splayed out across a ragged pillow. And she was naked except for the stockings and boots. Fiyero had never, in all his dreams believed Elphaba would be naked beneath him, shuddering, with her legs splayed open in her want for him. But it was real. The constriction of his arousal against her confirmed the reality of it. So he fluttered kissed over her breasts as he released his body and slid into the heat of her.
Elphaba snapped open her eyes and her breath hitched. In her eyes, brown flecked with green, he saw the truth. She had never felt this way. No matter what she'd done or who she'd touched, this was new. The realization hit Fiyero hard. He held still for a moment, wanting it to be worth it. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be selfless. He wanted this moment to be everything she'd ever imagined it might be. He wanted her to have something real, something that would take her breath and change her. He wanted to make her tremble and scream, and not so he could call himself an outstanding lover. He wanted it for her. He wanted her to know love at its most carnal, in its most basic and unbridled state. He wanted to give her all the pleasure life had denied her, and at the same time he wanted to drown in the power of her. So Fiyero moved within her. Eyes locked on each other, they moved together.
Time felt suspended. There was breath and heat. There was the sheen of sweat and the protest of the ancient bed frame. Their hands clamored for one another, their nails leaving marks that would sting in the morning. Elphaba's hair smelled of old flame and the dewy woods. Her neck was soft and salty to his urgent tongue. Fiyero felt his muscles tensing, his body flushing, yet he took his time. If this was all they had, Fiyero would make sure it counted. He would make sure neither of them would ever, ever be the same.
Elphaba found his hands, winding her fingers through his as she bit her lip. Her chest was heaving, her breath ragged. She'd closed her eyes, her brow furrowed, and he could almost hear her trying to make sense of this, to rationalize and understand it. It was so very…her. Fiyero stopped long enough to kiss her thoroughly on the mouth, to taste her. When he pulled back she opened her eyes again, and they were heavy with how effectively he was undoing her.
"Fiyero…" her voice was nearly gone.
"Let go," he whispered back, "You can't control this. For a moment, let it all go."
And only because she trusted him so completely, she did.
Fiyero pushed their bodies until he couldn't hold back any longer, praying it was enough. Then, the rush. The moment when there aren't words. White hot heat and no coherent thought. Fiyero was gone. His body was paralyzed in a bliss so strong he could make no normal sound. The only thing that escaped him was a very unmasculine squeak. It was Elphaba who cried out. From somewhere deep inside of her came a cry for all the things she'd been denied for so long. He knew she would curse herself for it later, worrying about having blown their cover, but, for now, she was at the mercy of herself. As was he. There was nothing but them, now. In the murky moonlight they were wound around each other, not sure where one ended and the other began. If they got nothing else, ever, they had this moment, in this tiny room with broken furniture, the scent of sweat and sex, and that damned beautiful dress, crumpled on the floor.