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metamorphosis2011-12-29 02:44 am
flair) wrote in metamorphosis2011-12-29 02:44 am
Entry tags:
264;
Title: homecoming night
Characters: Spada Belforma, Luca Milda
Rating: G
1/365. From some dumbshit high school au.
“What're you doin' out here all alone?”
Luca jumps at the sound of the low voice, strong and with a touch of warmth (and maybe fondness, if he fools himself; fondness, from a bully like him) and inclines his head a little, an embarrassed flush making its way up his neck. It's not so dark that they can't see each other; the lights from the cafeteria provides Luca with a multitude of different views of Spada (every little shift and stance changes it; sometimes he looks like he's smiling, with the way the shadows play on his face, and sometimes he looks angry, and-- there's a million different faces and he can't decide which one he likes the best on him) and a silky silhouette, hunched over and unsure of himself, for Spada. A smirk plays on his lips (at least, Luca thinks it's a smirk) as he takes a seat beside the younger boy and threads his fingers together in front of him loosely, feeling the beat and bass of the step inside through the pavement. Luca realizes he still hasn't answered him and sighs, laying his head on his knees, eyes turned from Spada and watching the flickering streetlight across the street.
“I had a date, but... well...”
“She stood you up, huh?”
“... Yeah.”
“Why ain't you in there findin' a new one?”
Luca wraps his arms around his knees slowly, squeezing as hard as he can and closing his eyes. It had taken him weeks to get up the courage to ask her to go with him to Homecoming in the first place – barring that that hadn't been who he had wanted to ask anyway, but she was nice enough and he had liked her for a few years – and he had been excited when she accepted, with a friendly smile and told him to meet her in the front around seven. Seven had come and gone; it was half past nine now, if the sliver of moon still hanging in the sky (almost as if by a thread, something delicate and close to being snapped) was anything to go by. To try and ask someone to dance now, when his own date had stood him up-- he can't imagine it, and he his shakes his head a little.
“I doubt anyone would want to dance with me anyway. I'm a little clumsy when it comes to that kind of thing.”
“You ever tried?”
“Well, no, but--”
“Once you learn the steps, it's easy. Just follow me.”
“Wait, what do you--”
Spada grins (yes, it's definitely one) and takes his hand, standing and tugging him along the paved path, past carefully planted flowerbeds and to the center of the courtyard. It's wide and ideal for a dance, and Luca wonders why they hadn't had it out here; with some lights it would look beautiful, although it's a little cold right now. They face each other, feet parted slightly, and Spada raises Luca's hand just enough to fake a kiss (and Luca can't ignore the erratic beat of his heart when he feels his lips brush against his knuckles in an not-fake-enough kiss; even though he's a guy, even though they're both guys, he can't help feeling a little warm and happy at the attention) before pulling him close and sliding his hands down to rest against his hips. It feels a little awkward, Luca has to admit, but he lets his fingers drift up Spada's arm (and smiles to himself a little when he feels skin pimple and shiver under his touch through the white cotton shirt) and slips his arms around his neck. They sway at first, just getting used to the feel of each other, before Spada starts the dance.
He moves to a rhythm all his own; it's a little fast and Luca can barely keep up. He manages to, after a while, have some success with the pace and (even though there's no music and there never will be, not this far away from the cafeteria where the dance actually is) they slide and sway to some beat that Spada's got in his head. As they press closer and closer, getting fast and faster, he thinks he hears little snatches of it, little hums and parts sung low under his breath, and after a time he closes his eyes and just lets it be. When the dance finally pauses – when the music slows and clears from Spada's mind, the notes dropping slowly and softly (a music box winding down, the sharp and gentle metallic clinks waiting longer and longer to reveal themselves until there's nothing left to hear) – they're nearly wrapped in each other's arms; Spada's are snug around his waist, keeping Luca close and balanced, while Luca's stretch and ache from the strain of trying to get closer, closer, closer to his dance partner, to feel the heat and the music. For a moment, they're only a few inches apart; if either of them wanted to, all it'd take was a little leverage (Spada picking him up a little, holding him close and letting his toes stay on the ground, or Luca straightening up a bit and standing on his tiptoes to close the distance) to sweeten the night with a kiss, but Luca hesitates in doing it (mostly because it's a feeling, an impulse, and on one he doesn't think he should act; Spada was his friend, of sorts, albeit one that gave him some confusing feelings and a few close calls with his parents peeking on and seeing their son with his eyes squeezed shut and a breathy name straining against his lips) and the moment passes without a second thought. Spada lets him go and Luca unwinds his arms from around his neck and they both take a step back, just to let the night air cool them both down and clear their heads.
Luca's the first to move and all it is is tilting his head down, eyes closing a little and watching his feet; his fingers dance at his sides awkward, in the same slow-to-fast rhythm they had practiced before, doing it solo and feeling silly for it; Spada's hands join his against his thigh and Luca jerks his head up, thankful for the darkness of the courtyard that eagerly hides his blushing face, and he's a little short of breath when their fingers shift awkwardly and find each other and curl together slightly (soft to calloused pads, with bitten nails uneasily resting against the latter and torn against the former) and while nothing else happens (just that, and Spada takes him home and gives him a wave before Luca opens the door and lets the light wash over the front yard and spill into the street, an overflowing river than illuminates the back of Spada's heels and touches shyly at the shadows he slips into with ease) it's enough to make Luca toss and turn in his bed and fall asleep with his arms folded over his eyes, exhausted from the exasperation of thinking a little too much on the night's events.
Characters: Spada Belforma, Luca Milda
Rating: G
1/365. From some dumbshit high school au.
“What're you doin' out here all alone?”
Luca jumps at the sound of the low voice, strong and with a touch of warmth (and maybe fondness, if he fools himself; fondness, from a bully like him) and inclines his head a little, an embarrassed flush making its way up his neck. It's not so dark that they can't see each other; the lights from the cafeteria provides Luca with a multitude of different views of Spada (every little shift and stance changes it; sometimes he looks like he's smiling, with the way the shadows play on his face, and sometimes he looks angry, and-- there's a million different faces and he can't decide which one he likes the best on him) and a silky silhouette, hunched over and unsure of himself, for Spada. A smirk plays on his lips (at least, Luca thinks it's a smirk) as he takes a seat beside the younger boy and threads his fingers together in front of him loosely, feeling the beat and bass of the step inside through the pavement. Luca realizes he still hasn't answered him and sighs, laying his head on his knees, eyes turned from Spada and watching the flickering streetlight across the street.
“I had a date, but... well...”
“She stood you up, huh?”
“... Yeah.”
“Why ain't you in there findin' a new one?”
Luca wraps his arms around his knees slowly, squeezing as hard as he can and closing his eyes. It had taken him weeks to get up the courage to ask her to go with him to Homecoming in the first place – barring that that hadn't been who he had wanted to ask anyway, but she was nice enough and he had liked her for a few years – and he had been excited when she accepted, with a friendly smile and told him to meet her in the front around seven. Seven had come and gone; it was half past nine now, if the sliver of moon still hanging in the sky (almost as if by a thread, something delicate and close to being snapped) was anything to go by. To try and ask someone to dance now, when his own date had stood him up-- he can't imagine it, and he his shakes his head a little.
“I doubt anyone would want to dance with me anyway. I'm a little clumsy when it comes to that kind of thing.”
“You ever tried?”
“Well, no, but--”
“Once you learn the steps, it's easy. Just follow me.”
“Wait, what do you--”
Spada grins (yes, it's definitely one) and takes his hand, standing and tugging him along the paved path, past carefully planted flowerbeds and to the center of the courtyard. It's wide and ideal for a dance, and Luca wonders why they hadn't had it out here; with some lights it would look beautiful, although it's a little cold right now. They face each other, feet parted slightly, and Spada raises Luca's hand just enough to fake a kiss (and Luca can't ignore the erratic beat of his heart when he feels his lips brush against his knuckles in an not-fake-enough kiss; even though he's a guy, even though they're both guys, he can't help feeling a little warm and happy at the attention) before pulling him close and sliding his hands down to rest against his hips. It feels a little awkward, Luca has to admit, but he lets his fingers drift up Spada's arm (and smiles to himself a little when he feels skin pimple and shiver under his touch through the white cotton shirt) and slips his arms around his neck. They sway at first, just getting used to the feel of each other, before Spada starts the dance.
He moves to a rhythm all his own; it's a little fast and Luca can barely keep up. He manages to, after a while, have some success with the pace and (even though there's no music and there never will be, not this far away from the cafeteria where the dance actually is) they slide and sway to some beat that Spada's got in his head. As they press closer and closer, getting fast and faster, he thinks he hears little snatches of it, little hums and parts sung low under his breath, and after a time he closes his eyes and just lets it be. When the dance finally pauses – when the music slows and clears from Spada's mind, the notes dropping slowly and softly (a music box winding down, the sharp and gentle metallic clinks waiting longer and longer to reveal themselves until there's nothing left to hear) – they're nearly wrapped in each other's arms; Spada's are snug around his waist, keeping Luca close and balanced, while Luca's stretch and ache from the strain of trying to get closer, closer, closer to his dance partner, to feel the heat and the music. For a moment, they're only a few inches apart; if either of them wanted to, all it'd take was a little leverage (Spada picking him up a little, holding him close and letting his toes stay on the ground, or Luca straightening up a bit and standing on his tiptoes to close the distance) to sweeten the night with a kiss, but Luca hesitates in doing it (mostly because it's a feeling, an impulse, and on one he doesn't think he should act; Spada was his friend, of sorts, albeit one that gave him some confusing feelings and a few close calls with his parents peeking on and seeing their son with his eyes squeezed shut and a breathy name straining against his lips) and the moment passes without a second thought. Spada lets him go and Luca unwinds his arms from around his neck and they both take a step back, just to let the night air cool them both down and clear their heads.
Luca's the first to move and all it is is tilting his head down, eyes closing a little and watching his feet; his fingers dance at his sides awkward, in the same slow-to-fast rhythm they had practiced before, doing it solo and feeling silly for it; Spada's hands join his against his thigh and Luca jerks his head up, thankful for the darkness of the courtyard that eagerly hides his blushing face, and he's a little short of breath when their fingers shift awkwardly and find each other and curl together slightly (soft to calloused pads, with bitten nails uneasily resting against the latter and torn against the former) and while nothing else happens (just that, and Spada takes him home and gives him a wave before Luca opens the door and lets the light wash over the front yard and spill into the street, an overflowing river than illuminates the back of Spada's heels and touches shyly at the shadows he slips into with ease) it's enough to make Luca toss and turn in his bed and fall asleep with his arms folded over his eyes, exhausted from the exasperation of thinking a little too much on the night's events.