Gundam 00/Black Blood Brothers
Title: A Chance Encounter Author/Artist: shiegra Fandom: Gundam 00/Black Blood Brothers Pairing/characters: Zelman Clock, Sumeragi Ri Noriega Rating: PG13/R Prompt/challenge you're answering:* The beginning of Sumeragi and Zelman Clock's passionate love affair.
The room was beautiful, and it held all of the finiteness of space that only Earthside dwellings did. Full gravity still felt a little strange; she kept expecting to see the pale amber liquid in her glass float from the open top.
She’d worn velvet to this occasion, the gun strapped securely to her thigh and a cold, reassuring weight. This was a room full of vipers andmalice and ringed by bodyguards, but it made her feel infinitely better that among the guests she was the only one who could kill another guest on her own initiative.
The roof arched above her head, light glinting off a thousand pretty chips of glass in the chandelier, too-bright and too-intense. She was glad she didn’t have a hangover, because that might have made it unbearable.
When the young man split apart from a group of painfully obvious sycophants, she took a second to realize he was heading in her direction. Wariness tripped over alarm in her head, and the need for decorum kept her still even as he came close enough to offer his hand, smile sharp enough to cut.
Surprising among the finely adorned elite, he wore almost scruffy clothes, a sweater and jeans with a cap tugged down over his forehead. None of that detracted from the sheer, fiery mixture of menace and beauty on that face, the feline eyes and slow grin, all sharp cheekbones and blood-red hair.
“Aren’t you underdressed?” She asked, letting a careful hint of amusement color her tone, and more condescension. There was little the ‘rebellious’ teenagers of rich families liked less than being patronized, and she was putting it out full force in the hopes that he’d go away.
But he only laughed, and that low sleek voice was surprisingly full of genuine amusement and satisfaction. “Aren’t you a little...overdressed?”
For a split, bemused second she thought he was referring in sarcasm to her scooped neckline and the long skirt as opposed to the shorter, often sheer outfits of other girls and women—but then his eyes dropped, slow and unmistakable, to the leg where she had holstered the gun. A cold chill danced up her spine and when he looked leisurely up her body—arrogant bastard—she smiled with a cool, veiled inquiry.
“I don’t,” she said mildly, “know what you’re talking about.”
His teeth flashed in feral amusement and he performed an elaborate bow, one of perfect grace and etiquette that had been discarded with the wallowing rich alongside of manners and morals. Startled, she allowed him to take her hand. “If you’ll grant me a dance?”
Sumeragi lifted the hand with the wine glass in it, eyebrows arching. “As you can see...”
He snapped his fingers and an unobtrusive servant appeared. No, not a rebellious son; there was too much assurance, too much power in every gesture. Someone who was just too damn confident to be interested in conforming, then. She hadn’t decided whether that amused her yet.
Strategist that she was, and undecided, she allowed the waiter to take her glass and accepted his hand, letting him lead her onto the dance floor. She’d never had a particular fondness for following—he was her height if not shorter, she realized with amusement—but he led well enough, and she had no desire to do anything particularly interesting in this place.
The dance was more enjoyable than she expected, and his hands warmer on her skin. He didn’t venture a grope, but there was enough predatory heat in his eyes, sliding her amusement into irritation, that his interest was clear. When he pulled her closer she spun away, forcing him into a different position if he wanted to gracefully keep a grip on her, and when she returned, her skirt swirling around their legs, his lips had curved off his teeth in an appreciative smile.
A little amused respect was more to her tastes; she danced closer, matching each step as perfectly with his own as was humanly possible, and his hand spread against the small of her back. “Sumeragi Ri Noriega, I presume.” He said, and she smiled, close lipped and guarded.
“A gentleman introduces himself first.” She said; he stepped into her body, close enough that his breath fanned her cheek and red sparked gold in his eyes, and the gun brushed his thigh.
“Zelman Clock.” He said courteously, and pulled away as the music lulled. She realized she was smiling, hard and hot, eyes narrow with challenge. And breathing a little faster, deep and quick. When he bowed this time, she matched it with some approximation of an archaic curtsey.
“Pleased to meet you.” She said, eyelashes dropping, and almost meant it. “I believe I’ll reclaim my drink.”
His teeth showed again, a slice of hunting white. “I’ll accompany you.” He offered, and extended his arm.
A split second consideration and then calculation, and she nodded politely. “You may.” She consented, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, and he grinned and stepped forward with her.