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this_heroineTitle: battleground
Fandom: Vampire Hunter D
Characters: Doris Lang/D
Prompt: 005. Anger
Word Count: 298
Rating: PG13
For my otp_100 table.
The whip coiled at her hip. The corner of her mouth was smeared with blood; her cheek was puffy, her arm carried limply, her eyes burning-bright with adrenaline and urgency.
“D,” she said when she saw him, the low honeyed drawl of her voice scraped raw, “I cleared the West entrance.”
His chin dipped briefly as he studied her, and the dark stillness of his expression tautened briefly, the air giving a soft heated roil around him. “Evacuate them,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “No, I can still—“
Suddenly he was beside her. She could hear the roar of flames and the sharp retort of gunfire; when his hand closed over her arm, she looked down.
“Your shoulder?” He said, only the faintest lilt making it a question.
Memory socked her, adrenaline’s force slipping slightly and reminding her of the hot throb. Doris gritted her teeth and braced herself against the wall. “Yeah. Quick.”
She made a muted sound, a muffled whimper when it popped back into the socket, and he braced her, planting one hand on the wall, her throat briefly pressing against the cool skin of his wrist. Panting, she gingerly moved the arm, then tucked it against her waist. “All right,” she conceded—an arrogant hunter was usually about as dead as a crippled one on a battlefield. “I’ll get ‘em out.”
He nodded silently. She looked up at him, pale face smeared with ash and soot, eyes luminous. “Hey,” she said, one corner of her mouth turning up. “Watch my back.”
His thumb touched the bruise, exquisitely lightly, and she blinked, her breath catching as darkness bloomed heavy in his eyes. “Yes,” he answered.
Doris licked her lips. She recognized the promise, elegantly restrained, of carnage. “Okay,” she said, and her breath came out in a whoosh. “Let’s go.”
Fandom: Vampire Hunter D
Characters: Doris Lang/D
Prompt: 005. Anger
Word Count: 298
Rating: PG13
For my otp_100 table.
The whip coiled at her hip. The corner of her mouth was smeared with blood; her cheek was puffy, her arm carried limply, her eyes burning-bright with adrenaline and urgency.
“D,” she said when she saw him, the low honeyed drawl of her voice scraped raw, “I cleared the West entrance.”
His chin dipped briefly as he studied her, and the dark stillness of his expression tautened briefly, the air giving a soft heated roil around him. “Evacuate them,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “No, I can still—“
Suddenly he was beside her. She could hear the roar of flames and the sharp retort of gunfire; when his hand closed over her arm, she looked down.
“Your shoulder?” He said, only the faintest lilt making it a question.
Memory socked her, adrenaline’s force slipping slightly and reminding her of the hot throb. Doris gritted her teeth and braced herself against the wall. “Yeah. Quick.”
She made a muted sound, a muffled whimper when it popped back into the socket, and he braced her, planting one hand on the wall, her throat briefly pressing against the cool skin of his wrist. Panting, she gingerly moved the arm, then tucked it against her waist. “All right,” she conceded—an arrogant hunter was usually about as dead as a crippled one on a battlefield. “I’ll get ‘em out.”
He nodded silently. She looked up at him, pale face smeared with ash and soot, eyes luminous. “Hey,” she said, one corner of her mouth turning up. “Watch my back.”
His thumb touched the bruise, exquisitely lightly, and she blinked, her breath catching as darkness bloomed heavy in his eyes. “Yes,” he answered.
Doris licked her lips. She recognized the promise, elegantly restrained, of carnage. “Okay,” she said, and her breath came out in a whoosh. “Let’s go.”