“Winter,” Cinder starts — and then, lips curling up appreciatively, “Ooh, that’s new. You should have told me you were coming like that.”
Winter tugs self-consciously on the lapels of her blazer, avoiding her gaze. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
Cinder looks her up and down, scrapes her raw. Trapped inbetween her and the wall, Winter swallows thickly, aware of the places where her gaze lingers and where it doesn’t like she’s aware of her own heart beating against her chest. When she speaks again, her voice is low, sharp: “You have. You’ll save me a dance?”
“My dance card is looking a little full,” she says, unusually high-pitched. Cinder’s answering smile unwinds slowly, pins her in place — she knows she’s trying and failing to tease her. Not for the first time, Winter wishes she was a better liar. “I’ll have to find you later.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she grins.
//
Cinder winds up filling as much of her dance card as she can get away with. She looks gorgeous tonight, which is why Winter lets her take up as much time as she does — she has no idea who she had to kill to get her hands on that dress, but it makes her seem starbound, limitless — and the smirk she gives her when they finally wind up arm in arm makes it almost worth the hassle of politely telling Henry Marigold to fuck off about twenty times in a row.
It’s a good thing the music is loud enough to hide their conversation, because Cinder does an awful lot of talking.
She steps up to Winter’s ear and talks rapidly, low and urgent and heated: “You’re looking awfully busy tonight. Mind stepping away with me later?”
“You’re the reason I’m busy,” Winter mutters, brushing her fingers against her arm. Cinder’s entire body shivers at the contact.
“So you won’t have a problem accompanying me home, then.”
She looks up at the chandelier overhead, at the ceiling of the ballroom, and imagines Cinder’s mouth on her neck, fingers curling into the back of her shirt, pressing her closer — “I’ll have to see.”
“We’re adults. We can do what we like.” Cinder’s fingers slip through hers, tugging them closer and closer until their shoulders are bumping. “Who’s going to stop you, hmm? Who’s going to find out?”
It doesn’t matter, is the thing. Winter has a suit and a dance card and Cinder’s hand in hers, and it’s getting harder and harder to give a shit anymore.
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FILL: Team Anime/Manga
Date: 2024-07-15 10:12 pm (UTC)word count: 415
pairing: winter schnee/cinder fall
fandom: RWBY
//
“Winter,” Cinder starts — and then, lips curling up appreciatively, “Ooh, that’s new. You should have told me you were coming like that.”
Winter tugs self-consciously on the lapels of her blazer, avoiding her gaze. “I thought I’d surprise you.”
Cinder looks her up and down, scrapes her raw. Trapped inbetween her and the wall, Winter swallows thickly, aware of the places where her gaze lingers and where it doesn’t like she’s aware of her own heart beating against her chest. When she speaks again, her voice is low, sharp: “You have. You’ll save me a dance?”
“My dance card is looking a little full,” she says, unusually high-pitched. Cinder’s answering smile unwinds slowly, pins her in place — she knows she’s trying and failing to tease her. Not for the first time, Winter wishes she was a better liar. “I’ll have to find you later.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” she grins.
//
Cinder winds up filling as much of her dance card as she can get away with. She looks gorgeous tonight, which is why Winter lets her take up as much time as she does — she has no idea who she had to kill to get her hands on that dress, but it makes her seem starbound, limitless — and the smirk she gives her when they finally wind up arm in arm makes it almost worth the hassle of politely telling Henry Marigold to fuck off about twenty times in a row.
It’s a good thing the music is loud enough to hide their conversation, because Cinder does an awful lot of talking.
She steps up to Winter’s ear and talks rapidly, low and urgent and heated: “You’re looking awfully busy tonight. Mind stepping away with me later?”
“You’re the reason I’m busy,” Winter mutters, brushing her fingers against her arm. Cinder’s entire body shivers at the contact.
“So you won’t have a problem accompanying me home, then.”
She looks up at the chandelier overhead, at the ceiling of the ballroom, and imagines Cinder’s mouth on her neck, fingers curling into the back of her shirt, pressing her closer — “I’ll have to see.”
“We’re adults. We can do what we like.” Cinder’s fingers slip through hers, tugging them closer and closer until their shoulders are bumping. “Who’s going to stop you, hmm? Who’s going to find out?”
It doesn’t matter, is the thing. Winter has a suit and a dance card and Cinder’s hand in hers, and it’s getting harder and harder to give a shit anymore.