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said_scarlett) wrote2016-09-07 02:03 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2016-09-07 02:03 pm
Entry tags:
AU ficlet- Persim Party
Title: Watching Henry
Pairing: Henry/Lust
Word Count: 521
Rating: PGish
Summary: Lust finds herself watching Henry. Often. And Thinking.
Henry was out in the yard, doing...some sort of photography.
Lust didn't really know of what, he was crouched down and appeared to be aiming his camera at nothing, but she was watching from the window. Who knew what he was seeing, through his lens. It didn't really matter. She wasn't interested in what he was photographing, she was interested in him. Something happened to Henry, when he was lost in his work. An intent focus came over him, none of the nervous, hesitant man Lust had known left. It was like he knew precisely who he was and how everything ought be, when he got behind a camera.
It really was fascinating to watch. How sure he became, the sense of quiet control that radiated off of him. Even his face changed. There were hidden depths to Henry Townshend, but sometimes those hidden things crept to the surface. Lust found herself rather charmed by it, really. She paused in her dish washing, a small smile curving her lips while she observed him. The mind beneath that shaggy mop of hair was fast at work, seeing things she doubted most people could ever appreciate. She wondered, sometimes, just how he saw the world.
She wondered about him a lot, if she was perfectly honest with herself. It wasn't as though she hadn't noticed, how she'd found herself going out of the way to be where he was. Making excuses to spend more time in his company. Musing over the way he interacted with his Pokemon, how good he was with them. Wondering what sort of things filled his mind when he couldn't sleep. She could tell herself it was just because he fascinated her, he was such a unique man, but that only accounted for so much. And certainly didn't have anything to do with the fact that she't been taking note that his face was a striking one, if often haunted. But even that held an appeal.
Maybe it was only natural. Spend so much time with a person... what was that old saying? Familiarity breeds affinity? They'd known each other for so long, and shared the same house. It didn't mean anything, surely. It was just what happened when humans spent time together.
But that wasn't it, either. She knew plenty of men. She didn't find herself losing spaces of time to staring at them out the window. She wasn't idly contemplating what strange and beautiful thoughts might be swirling around behind their distant eyes. No. That was reserved for Henry. Among other thoughts. Even now she found her gaze following the line of his neck to the collar of his shirt, and noting the way he held himself when he held his camera. Was his hair as soft as it looked? That thin layer of stubble that so often dusted his cheek...was it scratchy?
The dishwater was rapidly cooling at the sink. Guttle bumped against Lust's leg, squeaking out an inquisitive 'pheeeal?' and snapping her out of her reverie. She was still holding the dishrag, her hand half raised. There was half a sink of dishes left and she'd been standing there for god only knew how long, thinking about kissing Henry Townshend.
Oh god damn it.
Pairing: Henry/Lust
Word Count: 521
Rating: PGish
Summary: Lust finds herself watching Henry. Often. And Thinking.
Henry was out in the yard, doing...some sort of photography.
Lust didn't really know of what, he was crouched down and appeared to be aiming his camera at nothing, but she was watching from the window. Who knew what he was seeing, through his lens. It didn't really matter. She wasn't interested in what he was photographing, she was interested in him. Something happened to Henry, when he was lost in his work. An intent focus came over him, none of the nervous, hesitant man Lust had known left. It was like he knew precisely who he was and how everything ought be, when he got behind a camera.
It really was fascinating to watch. How sure he became, the sense of quiet control that radiated off of him. Even his face changed. There were hidden depths to Henry Townshend, but sometimes those hidden things crept to the surface. Lust found herself rather charmed by it, really. She paused in her dish washing, a small smile curving her lips while she observed him. The mind beneath that shaggy mop of hair was fast at work, seeing things she doubted most people could ever appreciate. She wondered, sometimes, just how he saw the world.
She wondered about him a lot, if she was perfectly honest with herself. It wasn't as though she hadn't noticed, how she'd found herself going out of the way to be where he was. Making excuses to spend more time in his company. Musing over the way he interacted with his Pokemon, how good he was with them. Wondering what sort of things filled his mind when he couldn't sleep. She could tell herself it was just because he fascinated her, he was such a unique man, but that only accounted for so much. And certainly didn't have anything to do with the fact that she't been taking note that his face was a striking one, if often haunted. But even that held an appeal.
Maybe it was only natural. Spend so much time with a person... what was that old saying? Familiarity breeds affinity? They'd known each other for so long, and shared the same house. It didn't mean anything, surely. It was just what happened when humans spent time together.
But that wasn't it, either. She knew plenty of men. She didn't find herself losing spaces of time to staring at them out the window. She wasn't idly contemplating what strange and beautiful thoughts might be swirling around behind their distant eyes. No. That was reserved for Henry. Among other thoughts. Even now she found her gaze following the line of his neck to the collar of his shirt, and noting the way he held himself when he held his camera. Was his hair as soft as it looked? That thin layer of stubble that so often dusted his cheek...was it scratchy?
The dishwater was rapidly cooling at the sink. Guttle bumped against Lust's leg, squeaking out an inquisitive 'pheeeal?' and snapping her out of her reverie. She was still holding the dishrag, her hand half raised. There was half a sink of dishes left and she'd been standing there for god only knew how long, thinking about kissing Henry Townshend.
Oh god damn it.