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If I can't be a star, well I'll be the next best thing
I'm going to repeat that I don't claim that any of these fics are works of art XD Just doing what I can with the limited mental capacity I possess these days. K requested hate-sex and I could not provide, sadly.
Series: Gesma (in some vague future time)
Characters: Warren, Quinn
An outdoor parlor, only an apple's throw from the shade of the orchards, mixed nature and luxury esquisitely, as only a royal family could dream of and afford. It suited Warren perfectly on this late afternoon, but Quinn less so, for reasons entirely unrelated to the crisp autumn air. They sat quietly upon benches opposite of each other, he at his reading, and Quinn to her whittling. She took her knife to the chunk of oak in rapid strokes, curls of wood falling upon her lap and around her boots as if she were peeling potatoes.
A full hour had passed by the time Warren sighed, lowering his leather bound book. His eyes fell to her whittling. "Must you make such a loud display of your temper?"
She twitched, shocked by the comment moreso than enraged, though only for a moment. Before she could let herself even begin to process her anger, Quinn closed her eyes, took a breath, and gave herself a few breaths. When she opened her eyes again, she found that he still looked to her, awaiting an answer. He remained in his place as she leaned forward.
"I will put this simply," she said, in the patient, measured tone of a teacher instructing a child. She did not stop her whittling, though the tempo slowed until there was no questioning the deliberate, deep slices she made into the wood, and how she pointedly oriented the knife in his direction. "If I must always put up with your roars and complaints, then I will have you tolerate mine in turn."
He kept his chin up at the obvious threat, gauging her in the fashion that neither were unfamiliar with. After all, not a day passed between them without a sizing up of some nature. And at the end of this evaluation, Warren merely chuckled. He shifted forward, abandoning his book to the side.
"Perhaps I should find a servant to attend to our meal," Warren said. He leaned close to her, not going out of his way to avoid her whittling, and kissed her upon the cheek.
She put down her knife and wood, and raised a hand between herself and him. To his second chuckle, Quinn frowned much more deeply than she needed to. "Splendid idea."
Series: Gesma (in some vague future time)
Characters: Warren, Quinn
An outdoor parlor, only an apple's throw from the shade of the orchards, mixed nature and luxury esquisitely, as only a royal family could dream of and afford. It suited Warren perfectly on this late afternoon, but Quinn less so, for reasons entirely unrelated to the crisp autumn air. They sat quietly upon benches opposite of each other, he at his reading, and Quinn to her whittling. She took her knife to the chunk of oak in rapid strokes, curls of wood falling upon her lap and around her boots as if she were peeling potatoes.
A full hour had passed by the time Warren sighed, lowering his leather bound book. His eyes fell to her whittling. "Must you make such a loud display of your temper?"
She twitched, shocked by the comment moreso than enraged, though only for a moment. Before she could let herself even begin to process her anger, Quinn closed her eyes, took a breath, and gave herself a few breaths. When she opened her eyes again, she found that he still looked to her, awaiting an answer. He remained in his place as she leaned forward.
"I will put this simply," she said, in the patient, measured tone of a teacher instructing a child. She did not stop her whittling, though the tempo slowed until there was no questioning the deliberate, deep slices she made into the wood, and how she pointedly oriented the knife in his direction. "If I must always put up with your roars and complaints, then I will have you tolerate mine in turn."
He kept his chin up at the obvious threat, gauging her in the fashion that neither were unfamiliar with. After all, not a day passed between them without a sizing up of some nature. And at the end of this evaluation, Warren merely chuckled. He shifted forward, abandoning his book to the side.
"Perhaps I should find a servant to attend to our meal," Warren said. He leaned close to her, not going out of his way to avoid her whittling, and kissed her upon the cheek.
She put down her knife and wood, and raised a hand between herself and him. To his second chuckle, Quinn frowned much more deeply than she needed to. "Splendid idea."
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