|Laylah (laylah) wrote in ironman7,|
@ 2007-10-04 16:49:00
|Entry tags:||final fantasy xii, laylah, week 7: prompt 3|
Final Fantasy XII (Venat/Cid) [week 7, prompt 3]
Word Count: 200
Summary: Am I thy muse, to fire thy blood to glory? she will ask, her words brushing his skin.
It becomes a game, after a time, something Cid suspects Venat enjoys, as much as she is capable of such transient emotion.
Am I thy muse, to fire thy blood to glory? she will ask, her words brushing his skin. The flame of inspiration given form?
Cid sets down his pen, leans back in his chair to indulge her. He closes his eyes, that he will look at nothing else. "A muse seems to me an ephemeral thing, wispy and insubstantial." He thinks of Ffamran's flirtations with poetry, when the boy was first growing into his stubbornness. "And you, my dear, might lack corporeality, but never substance."
How noble are thy words, how kind thy tongue. She sounds as though she's laughing. Cid fancies that she learned that from him. The partner, then, who aids thee in thy work?
Cid smiles. Her touch lingers, energy dancing across his skin. "Why not my god?"
Dost thou believe in god?
"Never less than I do now," Cid says, and Venat's amusement is a rush of warmth. She teases at his mind, and he lays it bare for her to stroke. "Why need I believe, when you prove yourself to me so admirably?"