I... have no idea what this is. It's more abstractly related to your prompt than you would have liked, perhaps. It's my first time writing Marluxia/Larxene, and the first since last year that I wrote KH fic, so be gentle with me? 8D;; Nevertheless, I hope you like it!
"What the hell is this?" she asks him, eying the flowers in his hand with apprehension.
He withholds a chuckle and a sarcastic response, says instead: "Roses, Larxene. Virtually harmless, if you beware the thorns." He extends the bouquet towards her, elegantly raising an eyebrow in challenge.
She doesn't take it, just folds her arms against her chest and glares. Only in the Organization, Marluxia thinks, more than a little amused, would a woman be afraid of roses. But he knows it's not the roses. Whatever is going on between them, Larxene would never lower herself to trust him so easily.
He could hold out his hand forever, it's not as if pain is something he's not accustomed to, but he withdraws it, settles the bouquet against his chest. He pretends it means something, when the roses liven at his proximity.
Now that the perceived threat is further away, the intensity in her eyes dim. She snorts uncouthly, at him or at herself Marluxia isn't sure. "What the fuck are they for?"
He hesitates, considering her. Though blonds are not his usual flavor, he has to admit that she's indeed beautiful. Deadly, and dangerous, all true, but beautiful. It hits him then how alike they are, the flowers in his hand and the woman before him. Maybe it's because of that realization that he extends the bouquet again, that he settles for a partial truth: "An apology of sorts," he says.
Now it's her turn to look amused. "What for?" she asks, and it's the tone in her voice, the way she stares at the roses with consideration, that he knows he has her. "Have you done something wrong?" She smirks, and her face has a brightness to it that he's seen before, though never in the daylight. Or what passes for daylight in this World That Never Was. It’s interesting, and he wonders what caused it this time.
"Not yet," he answers, as she finally reaches forward to take the flowers from his hand, and her smirk grows sharper, a match to the one blooming on his face.
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Date: 2010-04-30 09:56 pm (UTC)"What the hell is this?" she asks him, eying the flowers in his hand with apprehension.
He withholds a chuckle and a sarcastic response, says instead: "Roses, Larxene. Virtually harmless, if you beware the thorns." He extends the bouquet towards her, elegantly raising an eyebrow in challenge.
She doesn't take it, just folds her arms against her chest and glares. Only in the Organization, Marluxia thinks, more than a little amused, would a woman be afraid of roses. But he knows it's not the roses. Whatever is going on between them, Larxene would never lower herself to trust him so easily.
He could hold out his hand forever, it's not as if pain is something he's not accustomed to, but he withdraws it, settles the bouquet against his chest. He pretends it means something, when the roses liven at his proximity.
Now that the perceived threat is further away, the intensity in her eyes dim. She snorts uncouthly, at him or at herself Marluxia isn't sure. "What the fuck are they for?"
He hesitates, considering her. Though blonds are not his usual flavor, he has to admit that she's indeed beautiful. Deadly, and dangerous, all true, but beautiful. It hits him then how alike they are, the flowers in his hand and the woman before him. Maybe it's because of that realization that he extends the bouquet again, that he settles for a partial truth: "An apology of sorts," he says.
Now it's her turn to look amused. "What for?" she asks, and it's the tone in her voice, the way she stares at the roses with consideration, that he knows he has her. "Have you done something wrong?" She smirks, and her face has a brightness to it that he's seen before, though never in the daylight. Or what passes for daylight in this World That Never Was. It’s interesting, and he wonders what caused it this time.
"Not yet," he answers, as she finally reaches forward to take the flowers from his hand, and her smirk grows sharper, a match to the one blooming on his face.