Venus/Mars

These are a series of drabbles written for a challenge community with recommended themes. Some are actual drabbles (exactly 100 words); on others I got carried away.


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Teaser (theme: "patterns")

Lulu's nails trace the textured tracks of scar down Auron's chest like a Cloister's glyph. Ice follows, spreading frigid silklike petals that melt on his heated flesh. His teeth bite into the left side of her neck where the curtain of her hair will hide the telltales by day -- maybe. Buckles yield one by one to his searching fingers, and the mage meets his almost fiendlike lunge with equal fire when he takes her by storm.

The pattern is already familiar. Tomorrow's battle with Sin will end it. Tonight is theirs.


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Dead Man's Thirst (theme: "rain in the desert")

Wakka lay on his back staring blankly at the fluttering awning overhead. His skin was clammy even in the mid-day heat, and he barely noticed when Lulu placed a white hand across his chest. Kimahri panted patiently at the corner of the lean-to, propping his head up with the butt of his spear. The blitzballer was too dazed now to heap curses upon the Al Bhed (who had to be to blame somehow for this Yevon-forsaken desert), and the Ronso was busy being stoic, as usual.

Tidus paced, rocking the blue-edged sword restlessly from edge to edge. Its smooth surface glistened wetly, as if taunting them. Auron shot out a hand and blocked him. "Stop. Save your strength."

"Yuna's out there somewhere!" the boy growled. "We can't stop now!"

"So is Rikku. They know how to handle themselves here. We don't." Lulu sat back from the chest propped against the central pillar of the primitive shelter. "Same as the last. Healing supplies, dried rations, but someone's smashed holes in the water-jug."

"Curse them Al--" Wakka trailed off with a cough. A visit to a sand worm's gullet before they cut him out had not improved the islander's temper.

"We return to the oasis," Auron said crisply.

"What?" Tidus gawked.

"One moment." Lulu began removing all the supplies from the chest and setting them in the ground. "Sir Auron, can you lift this?"

He raised an eyebrow. She flexed her fingers in a silent pantomime. The swordsman's face relaxed, although his collar hid the smile. Wordlessly he moved in and tossed the last few items out of the chest, then heaved it onto his shoulder and carried it out into the blazing sun.

The mage followed, pointing with her chin. "A little downhill from us, please."

Auron set it down with a huff and churned his way back up the dune to join her.

The sand was dry on Lulu's lips, the sky sere. How could she coax an element not native to this land? She attuned herself to the soil, felt Spira's pulse. The sea was miles away. However, locked within their myriad grains, the dunes held the memory of long-lost storms. She could hear the rush of water in her ears, sense the drumbeat glory of the cloudburst that came once in ten years. All she had to do was make the desert dream.

Eyes drifting half-closed in concentration, the sorceress reached for the sky.

The rain came. Wild and roaring, pouring down and down, it struck the awning and sluiced over the sides in a fleeting waterfall. The rain came in rivulets that rushed like snakes down the sandy slope. Lulu and Auron were engulfed in a full-fledged shower like the thundering cataracts of Besaid, battering her so fiercely that she could barely stand. For ten glorious seconds, the world was water. Lulu was drunk in it, laughing at Auron's dour expression as he stood there dumbfounded getting soaked. Her control had cracked: some deep-seated longing for the sea and Besaid's freshwater arteries had overwhelmed her, but she did not care. Let the rain come feed the greedy sands! Who knew what flowers might bloom with fleeting beauty where she had kissed the earth alive? Yuna, if only you were here, you would be smiling and it would be no lie.

Abruptly it was over. The sands steamed. The chest was full to the brim, its watery treasure smoothing out and mirroring the sky. Excited and awed exclamations behind her told her that Tidus and Wakka, at least, had stumbled out into the brief downpour.

Lulu glanced sidelong at Auron, who was still staring at her. She realized that her hair was dripping, slick against her face and trickling down over her shoulders. His was the gaze of a dying man in the desert stumbling into an oasis. An instant later, the steel mask was back on Auron's face, and he was sloshing down the dune in wet boots to retrieve the precious casket. Yet she felt a strange pang of triumph. Lulu knew which desert had tasted rain that day.

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Not the First (theme: "first")

It had not been their first kiss. The first had been hers alone, standing tiptoe and rolling his collar down with a fingertip, feeling a giddy stab of triumph at his quizzical frown just before Lulu covered his lips with hers. Auron had stiffened like one of Macalania's frozen trees and proved himself dead beyond shadow of a doubt, but she did not mind. It was hard to catch a legendary hero offguard. No, that was not their first kiss. It was hers, the key that unlocked everything afterwards.

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Breath of Life (theme: "breathing")


Auron sleeps so seldom. At first I did not think he slept at all. It was one of those tiny clues that began to pique my suspicions.

We have so little time on this journey, and should be giving it to Yuna. Our time is not our own. Guard our Summoner. Or rest, so that we will be strong for what tomorrow holds. Wakka curses the Al Bhed and their inns, their ships. I cannot thank them enough, even if the bunks are narrow. Four walls, a locked door, and we need not worry about guarding Yuna for this one precious night.

The bed is cramped and I wake near dawn. A pale blue light spills in through the glass portal, painting my skin silver. The ship hums beneath us. I hold my breath, trying not to stir as I awaken, although my shoulder is stiff from six hours in one position. Auron is such a light sleeper.

His chest rises and falls against mine, and the heavy arm cast carelessly over my shoulders is relaxed. By day I will watch him rip the life from the fiends we face with its strength. For now he is a maelstrom at rest, and his breath floats against my skin.

Breathing.

Still breathing, ten years dead. I can destroy a basilisk, take down a Marlboro in a few frenzied strikes if the fury is on me, char to ash any ordinary fiend we face. Death, all my skill is with death.

No Summoner healed him. No Fayth took pity on him. Whatever power holds him in my arms is all his own, to spite a world that betrayed him. That soft even breath against my cheek is a greater magic than anything I can weave. He breathes out. I breathe in.


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Odin/Hel (theme: "wounded")

"Stop that."

Lulu pulled back a few inches, and once more she and Auron became an imperfect mirror, his one good eye staring into the eye she kept unveiled. He reached out and brushed aside the curtain of dark hair that fell across the other half of her face, dividing her features into light and shadow. His lips brushed against the elegant spring of her right eyebrow.

"Only if you stop doing that," Lulu countered fondly.

"It's ugly," Auron growled. "You have nothing to hide."

"I think it's attractive." She leaned close and planted another soft kiss over the buckled, drooping lid of his ruined eye with utmost gentleness. "It keeps the Legendary Hero from being perfect."

He snorted. "It's still ugly."

"Not to me. It's the sign of who you are: what you would sacrifice to defend your Summoner."

"Not exactly. Braska was already dead."

"Stubborn as ever." She resettled his glasses carefully on the bridge of his nose, hiding the worst of the scar. "I still think you have beautiful eyes."


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Spoonfed (theme: "sweet tooth")

The skin of the airship purred beneath them. Auron gazed stonily towards the clouds ahead, lost in thought, probably pondering Jecht's next move. His loose sleeve flapped in the wind, and the beads of Lulu's braids clinked lightly against the deck behind them.

"Back to the gorge, then?" Lulu sighed.

Silence. She liked his silences, but sometimes... well.

The mage dipped her spoon in the cup she was holding, scooped up a mud-colored dollop of something that sparkled in the late afternoon sun, twisted towards him and dabbed a blob of it on the older Guardian's nose. That got his attention in a hurry. He wiped it off and flung it away.

"No!" she said, laughing and leaning sideways to lick his nose clean, causing him to wrinkle his face in a comical scowl. "It's too good to waste, Auron."

"Yes, the gorge. I want another look at that sword." He grimaced at her. "What is that stuff?"

She scooped up another spoonful and held it tantalizingly before his nose -- a little lower, this time, so he could smell it. "More Al Bhed heresy, according to Wakka. You'd probably like it. I'm sure it's against Yevon's teachings. Rin asked me if I thought it would sell."

As if testing for poison, Auron stooped and licked the spoon cautiously. He gave her a puzzled but not displeased glance. "It's sweet."

"And dark." She helped herself to the bottom of the iced chocolate, licking her lips.

"But too cold." He unceremoniously seized the remainder and began painting the hollows of her throat and collarbones. Lulu clamped her teeth together to keep from letting out a less than dignified yelp. The swordsman gave her a toothy smile. "This should help." He wrapped his gloved hand in her braids and held her steady, but by the time he finished they had long forgotten Rin's question.

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Under Cover (theme: "out of the sun")

The Calm Lands were never calm, but sometimes when the high grasses were rippling in great waves for miles like rolling breakers on Besaid's shores, and the sun beat down fiercely on their backs like Bikanel, and someone just had to rest after being all-but-killed in the last battle, if Kimahri was on watch, then Lulu would steal away to "get out of the sun." Auron would always go to make sure she came back. There wasn't any shade, really, but he had broad shoulders.

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Treetop Whispers (theme: "whisper")

Trust me. Auron's sash is draped across my eyes. He knows how much I hate to cede control. When his gruff whisper brushes against my ear that way, however, I melt. It's enough to thaw the frost inside and make me feel alive again.

We're twenty feet up in the trees of Macalania, and one slip could tumble us off the branch. I'm not sure whether a broken hip or giving ourselves away to our companions would be more painful. The campfire's right below us, but Kimahri's the only one who ever thinks to look up. He smelled us out days ago, of course, but he keeps quiet. As long as we don't let it distract us while we're on duty, it's not his concern. With Auron and myself, that is not an issue.

Trust me. Auron's teeth make a nibbling pilgrimage of my ear, and I bite my lip hard to keep from adding to the forest's eerie cries. That hand he usually keeps tucked in his coat is silently unlocking the belts around my hips one by one. His other arm is wrapped tightly around my waist. His fingers brush spiderweb caresses against my inner thigh as he nudges the belts aside. A gruff whisper at my ear dares me darkly, sinking into my soul: Let go, Lulu, stop thinking. I won't let you fall.


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Keeping Warm (theme: "stay awake")

The snow was falling more thickly now. The children -- kids, Lulu had called them in their race on Ohalland's staircase, although Wakka at least was only a few years younger -- were huddled together at the back of the rock alcove. Yuna and Tidus were cuddled together across Kimari's lap, his shaggy arms laid around them; Rikku, improbably, was curled against Wakka, emnities forgotten. The Blitzball player from Besaid was snoring, but the howling of the wind over the outcrop above him nearly drowned out the familiar sound. Thick clumps of snow swirled like pyreflies.

The embers of the fire were low and red. Lulu knew she ought to do something, but there was little left to burn now, and she was dreamily tired. The red coat thrown around her shoulders was barely blocking the wind, and her face and cheeks were numb. The nagging buzz of her thoughts had grown too feeble for the rest of her to remember. Her head drooped forward.

There was a soft sound of footsteps, boots kicking through fresh-fallen snow. Auron flung down another arm-load: a weather-stained wooden shield, bits and pieces of broken wheels and an axle from a wagon, relics of one of the hundred "hard ways" Summoner parties had used trying to beat Mt. Gagazet. Yuna and Tidus stirred together like pups in a burrow as the older Guardian set about adding the kindling to the embers of the old fire. After sleepy glances towards Sir Auron, both of them nuzzled a little closer and drifted off again. Wakka's snoring never missed a beat, and Rikku was probably too deafened by it to notice anything else.

Auron paused in his quiet labors to shake the mage's shoulder. "I thought you were on watch," he said curtly.

"Mmm," Lulu said groggily. "Kimahri... "

"...can't keep the fire going in this storm." Bare to the shoulder, and apparently unaffected by the biting winds, the grizzled swordsman settled beside her and gave her braids a short, sharp tug. "Guardian."

Lulu flinched, frowned more at herself than at his presumption, and molded her irritation into a sullen red knot between her fingers. It was too weak. She mentally catalogued indignities: the volume of Wakka's snoring, Yuna's smile that should have melted Sin to soft rain if the world were less cruel, the deceitful puffs of frosted breath around Auron's stubbled chin that fooled everyone else in the party. Red turned to a claws-and-teeth sputtering sphere of orange that seemed more sparks than flame. She threw it across the cold wood and sat back with weary satisfaction as the fire blazed up again. It was a risky beacon, but a vital weapon against Gagazet's deadliest fiend, the cold.

The others were well and truly asleep; even that professional display had not roused them. Auron gathered her against him, heat radiating from his bare arms like pyreflies from the Moonflow. "Stay awake," he said gruffly at her ear, lips brushing against her blue skin.

She shivered. "Stop that," she muttered. "Someone might see."

"Then," Auron said conversationally, "someone had better stay awake, lest I resort to emergency measures." His ungloved hand slipped under the heavy coat.

"You are the troublemaker, after all," she sighed appreciatively.

The Ronso's yellow eyes gleamed on the far side of the fire, but he kept his own counsel.

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Flesh is Glass (theme: "smooth/soft")

Her hands are whisper enfleshed, long white fingers that she keeps hidden in sleeves most of the time as if they were too delicate for the sun or even a gaze to glance across. Time given over to kissing them is well-spent, not only for the soft breathy sounds she makes, but for the way her fingerpads move against my lips, a deft light pulse that seems to be coaxing my dead heart to beat.

Those hands. Have you ever wondered what she does with them on those rare nights when we are snug in our rooms in an inn where one Ronso or Blitzballer in the hallway is adequate for a guard?

Have you ever seen her reach carelessly into the fading body of a fiend that's just fallen to someone's sword or her thunderbolt? In that last second before it's gone, she'll pluck out a bone or a tiny knot of crystal or a feather or a scale, working it loose gently with her nails, and hand it over to Rikku for her mad little experiments. It's a scavenger's caress, but Lulu makes that, too, look like poetry.

Have you ever noticed that pitiless, emphatic twist as she brings her cupped palms together in a mockery of Yevon's prayer? I expect the fiend's neck to snap spontaneously, without need for a lightning bolt to do the job.

I have sampled those nights and survived them, possibly because a second death is not an option. I wonder if Chappu ever received the treatment. That moment when sparks are tumbling off her nails like flying embers, and the lines of fleeting fire across my hips and scarred chest are flickering stealthily towards one goal, I just might get religion again if I don't kill her first. Unnerving danger turns to cool, clear water at the last moment.

"Still alive?" she asks, her fingers smooth and knowing as she begins to work that damned magic in places where magic absolutely should NOT be used. The frost constricts my throat, although it's nowhere near my face.

That's right. Soft. Like new snakeskin.

Smooth as a sword-blade arcing down for the spot where head and neck part ways.


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Hindsight/Foresight (theme: "mistakes")

Crack.

Lulu stooped, picked up the bent frames, and inspected them for damage. She straightened them while Auron leaned against the bulkhead. He drew his hand back into his coat. His breathing steadied. His face set like potter's clay.

She kissed his dead eye and slid the glasses back in place to hide it. "Sorry. I phrased that badly. No, I suppose Braska didn't know what he was doing. But none of us do, Auron. Even you. That's not your fault."

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Unsaid (theme: "fake")

You pretend to frown the way Yuna pretends to smile. For most of your lives those expressions didn't need faking. You're all armor. Monastery training does not include mandatory mirth.

This time, you are frowning for others to see. Your glance my way is more than farewell. The lights rising from your shoulders recall the burning ecstasy I have seen loosen your mask in rare moments of release. My cool nod must serve as reply. I do not fall to my knees when pyreflies make a sincere bolt for freedom.


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Free (theme: "farplane")

At first, Lulu feared her longing might conjure up his rugged body, a landscape her fingers remembered so well. No, the Farplane seemed to observe rules of decorum. Her breath caught at the blaze of red and softened at the sight of his scruffy grey hair.

Unlike other visitors, she was not fooled. No one was looking back at her. The fire of a burning soul had moved on.

Lulu wiped her damp cheek with a knuckle and smiled. "I'm glad one of us is free."


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Knight Falls (theme: "sky")

Lulu's hand twined with Yuna's. A starry sky over Besaid's beach was a precious commodity, usually hidden by the sea fog that came rolling in each night. Tonight was clear. Tonight ex-Guardian and ex-Summoner stole out for a bit of peace. Yuna needed it more; Lulu could define solitude by a glare or glance. Now they lay side by side on the sand.

"There," the mage said quietly. "Did you see?"

"Star-fall," Yuna whispered back. "Yes, I saw. That's the third. What does it mean, Lulu?"

The mage laughed. "Nothing, I imagine. It happened once in the Calm Lands. The whole sky was dripping stars. Auron would not let me rouse you." It was a white lie, of course. Lulu remembered how she had wept to see them for reasons she could not explain. Auron had guarded her pride while they guarded their Summoner, keeping vigil beside her and raining rough kisses on her exposed skin until a trivial matter like the sky falling was quite forgotten.

"They look like pyreflies," Yuna observed wistfully, as another streaked down with a long streamer of color that faded slowly.

The older woman sighed. "I know."

In her mind's eye, Yuna was back on the deck of Cid's ship, watching her Aeons come apart one by one. Lulu was farther away in dream-Zanarkand. She stood at the edge of a Blitzball stadium lit by a thousand lights. A precious swirl of pyreflies was drifting upwards, merging with the darkened sky--

"Lulu!" Yuna reached over and touched her cheek. "You're crying? What's wrong?"

Amethyst lips twisted into an enigmatic smile. "Just remembering. When you Send, the pyreflies spiral up into the sky. I can't help wishing, sometimes, that we could call them back. But he would not come, would he? This is our world now."

"Chappu?" Yuna asked gently.

Lulu remained silent. A red ember fell from the spine of heaven, and she watched it all the way down. It is our world, but oh, brave star, I wish it could still be yours.

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Shameless Pimpage: I have a few more non-smut one-shots and one well-received serial (some chapters smut, others not) on ficwad.com. I invite you to drop in while we're waiting for AFF to get fully back on its feet!