repositorian: (my fandom is a total spaz)
The whisper through his fingertips leaves Ganymede half-expecting to have stains the color of unsweetened cocoa on his skin as he finger-combs Vlad’s hair. It’s long, much longer than his own has ever gotten, and much better looking at that length, too. It’s no secret the immortal can get high, and that’s precisely where he is right now as he’s playing with the vampire’s locks. Every so often he’ll wind one around a tapered finger and tug on it, watching it pull the man’s face to one side. It must make reading that book Vlad has quite interesting, but the immortal prince can’t quite find the motive to care.

He’s laying spread out in that artful way he has, limbs all akimbo around the cushions of the couch; Ganymede doesn’t ever not look beautiful that way. His shirt’s half-undone and the hookah beside him is warm--the hose is strewn across his lap and up his chest like a particularly inviting sort of snake. The metal bit rests on his bottom lip, and he’s clearly got no problem with producing the dozens of smoke rings he’s watching float up to the ceiling. In fact, the only real problem he can find is that such pretty hair, when loose, falls around Vlad’s face and blocks it from view.

This is a problem.

The solution to which is, clearly, plaiting and undoing it dozens of times over until he’s satisfied that it won’t come undone. He slides the ribbon his companion has been using as a bookmark off his thigh and ties the end of the braid with it, absently fluffing and smoothing the bound ends. Much better.



----
Yeah, it's short and it's silly, but the thread it came from lent itself to that. I like it.

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Alice Bluebonnet Seeks Johnnie Fedora

June 2015

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