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18 October 2007 @ 07:16 pm
Sagramore/Gaheris, flutter
Gaheris' heart flutters, his hands are hesitant. Sagramore draws him into a practised kiss, and tells himself not to make comparisons.

"Look, you ass," Sagramore says quite gently, when they've struggled to an impasse, "you needn't take it out on me," and Agravain, scowling up at him, recognizes the quiet, disappointed hurt in his eyes. He twists against the hand that holds him, and Sagramore presses against him, and for a little while both of them are more than second best.

"I had a son once," the young man says, and there's an old, old pain in his clouded eyes. Luther rests a hand on his thin shoulder, asking no questions.

Sometimes he cries out in his sleep, lady, my lady, no, and Rosana is angry on his behalf, and kisses him roughly awake.
16 September 2007 @ 09:30 pm
Word of the Day: Spice
Current Mood: excitedexcited
Current Music: for the thrill on her tongue of stolen sweets
15 September 2007 @ 04:34 pm
Word of the Day: Flag
Current Mood: excitedexcited
Current Music: I am thinking about a teacup, suspended and half-served
13 September 2007 @ 08:52 am
Word of the Day: Sunrise
Current Mood: nervousnervous
Current Music: Before another sunrise wakes me, before another night has gone
12 September 2007 @ 07:31 pm
Word of the Day: Kingdom
Current Mood: exhaustedexhausted
Current Music: won't you die for me?
11 September 2007 @ 11:26 pm

Word of the Next Thirty-Four Minutes: March
Current Mood: soresore
Current Music: come see God's mistakes
10 September 2007 @ 07:29 pm
Word of the Day: Pride
Current Mood: thoughtfulthoughtful
Current Music: sweet sir galahad
09 September 2007 @ 01:38 am
Word of the Day: Gleam
Current Mood: sleepysleepy
Current Music: and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden
09 September 2007 @ 01:31 am

There's a straightforward sweetness in Sagramore (Niko thinks), the warmth of a young man who opens his heart suddenly and without reserve, and a wry humor in Justitia, even at his most passionate, that echoes the laughter on the open moor long ago (thinks Sagramore).

The damsel's hair is crow-black as his brother's, her eyes fierce and mocking; she cares nothing for his disgrace, she tells Gaheris, and less for his cursed kin. She shares her coarse supper with him, and later her bed of bracken. In her strong, sunburned arms he does not dream.
Current Mood: busy
08 September 2007 @ 04:36 pm
Word of the Day: Hero
Current Location: grommetik
Current Mood: hothot
Current Music: and the canopy in red, or was it blue?