Cuddling

Hello, hello, Jasha here! I missed last week's post (oops! I'll have to remember to make up for that), but i'm on time with this week's! This week's prompt was "You don’t like snuggling or a lot of touching, but when you’re asleep, you’re a cuddler, for better or worse." and our challenge was the Alphabet Challenge, which each sentence had to start with the next letter of the alphabet, starting at A. It was also decided, last minute, that we would start the alphabet backwards if we reached the end of the end before we finished writing.

So, here is my post! Hope you enjoy it!

~~~

As it was, when she and Quinton first started dating, Xandra knew that he was not very physically affectionate, and would not often initiate anything. But if she was the one to initiate it, he wouldn’t pull away unless he wasn’t feeling comfortable - for the most part. Cuddling was, generally, out of the question - he just wasn’t interested in wrapping his arms around her.

Despite that, however, Xandra loved him. Even if he did often sit on the opposite end of the couch to avoid her using him like a pillow. For the most part, she was fine with it; she had her moments where she needed something more than idle conversation across the room, but she adapted to his needs quickly enough, while he adapted to hers.

Generally speaking, though, while she was fine with things how they were, her friends were not too happy about the situation.

“He’s taking advantage of you,” they would tell her, when she met them for coffee. “If he really loved you, he wouldn’t spend so much time avoiding you!”

“Just because you want your boyfriends to be affectionate with you,” Xandra would tell them, every time they started up the argument again, “doesn’t mean I have to want that myself.”

Kelly, her so-called best friend, was one of the worst of them for insisting that he didn’t really love her. “Look, Xandra,” she’d often say, whenever they were out together - Xandra had quickly learnt that it meant she was about to point out a good-looking guy, or a cutesy, affectionate couple, on the street. “Maybe he’s the one for you,” or “wouldn’t you like to be like them,” she would continue, while Xandra did her best to ignore whoever she was pointing out.

“No means no,” was often her response, though she knew such a thing went in one ear and out the other with her friends, “I’m fine with things the way they are, so how about we drop the subject now?”

Other than her friends being insistent that he wasn’t the right man for her, however, her life was as peaceful and normal as anyone could ever hope for. Plus, she had a secret; one she dared not tell her friends, because she knew better than to trust them with secrets.

Quinton was a cuddler was he was asleep.

Rather early on, when they’d moved in together, Xandra had noticed that he seemed to actively seek out something to hold when he was asleep. Sometimes, if he dozed off on the couch, it was pillows or blankets - once, it had been his laptop - but when they were in bed, no matter if he fell asleep facing towards her or away, she’d always wake up wrapped in his arms. Time after time, she’d literally have to fight her way out of his arms if she woke up before him - which she often did.

Unfortunately, he was not only a deep sleeper - she was certain he’d sleep through the end of the world - but he was also a clingy bugger. Very rarely would he wake up while she was struggling to free herself - more often than not, he’d wake up some time after she’d taken a shower in the mornings.

When he did wake up, however, he was often surprised - if not by the fact that he’d been cuddling, then by the odd positions they often ended up in during her daily struggle to free herself.

Xandra would ignore his expression each time, wriggle free of his arms, and wander off to the bathroom.

“You’re going to be late for work again, if you don’t get up,” she would call over her shoulder at him as she closed the door to the bathroom behind her. Zoned out, as if unsure if he should be confused, embarrassed, or something else entirely, was a cute look for him, but she didn’t have the time to admire his expression.

Yes, Xandra was quite content with her life indeed.

Fine Wine and Sea Wash

Hello, hello!

This is technically my first official post. My other post was a filler, and something I wrote during Nano of 2016. 

This week, I teamed up with two others (The Writer and Inkblot) to do a little challenge, of sorts. We agreed to use the same prompt - "Whatever doesn't kill me...had better start running." - and the same set of names - Alexia for the main female, Damon for the main male, and Blair for a unisex extra. 

This is, due to several false starts that wouldn't flow and felt painfully forced, and a lack of time in the end, part one of...I dunno, might end up being a bit of a series, might be just a two parter. We'll see, I guess. So, enjoy part 1, part 2 should be coming at you, hopefully soon!

~~~

“The ocean is no place for a respectable young lady!” The voice was shrill, loud and strict, and it was accompanied by the ear-splitting crack of a solid stick - a cane, perhaps, or maybe just something picked up off the ground some time in the past - coming down on a wooden surface.

Alexia jumped, eyes snapping away from the window, back to the source of the voice. She was met with the stern, disapproving face of her tutor - a woman whose name she had forgotten almost as soon as she’d learned it. Which had been fairly recent, as the woman was only the newest link in a long chain of tutors who had been hired - and, often not too long later, fired - by her mother.

She had long since given up attempting to learn the names of her tutors as they came; her mother was more interested in finding someone who could significantly distract her from her “foolish daydreams of the ocean”, than she was of her education. The tutors were only the daytime distraction; Alexia knew that, come evening, there would be a suitor in the entrance hall, and a chaperone hovering nearby, ready to lavish her with gifts she never used, and praise that was as hollow and meaningless as the polite smiles they wore.

“I was only looking at it.” She tried to defend herself, but the frown on the woman’s severe face deepened - Alexia wondered if the woman had ever smiled - and she knew that the woman was not convinced of her lie.

“There is nothing out there, Lady Solarin, except for cutthroats and thieves. They are not safe, nor are they worthy of the company of a well-bred young woman such as yourself.” The woman sniffed, striking the table again when Alexia’s eyes began to wander. She jerked back, snatching her hand to her chest when she noticed just how close the stick had been to striking her hand, and stared at the woman, aghast. Her mother would never approve of a tutor that struck her students, but she wouldn’t stop one that came close.

“It hardly seems all that bad!” She protested, flicking another glance at the window. She didn’t allow her gaze to linger, though, as the woman seemed prone to smacking the table, and Alexia valued her fingers being unbroken too much to risk her wrath a third time.

The woman sighed, lifting the stick from the table, and strode across the room. Alexia watched her go curiously, only to frown in frustration and disappointment when she drew the curtains across the window, blocking her view of the clear blue sky, and glittering blue ocean.

“Lady Solarin,” the woman said as, deed done, she strode back across the room to stand in front of the table Alexia was sitting at, “allow me to put this simply. You are a blue blood; a noblewoman of high class. The only ones who exceed you are those of royal blood.”

“So?” Alexia demanded, crossing her arms across her chest in a display of stubbornness. The woman frowned down at her, hands twisting around the stick, as if she should very much like to strike her for her audacity, but was restraining herself because she knew what the repercussions of doing so would be.

“You are like a fine wine, one that will grow even finer with age; delicate and sweet, with a sharp undertone. Only the rich deserve the pleasure of your company, because only the rich can afford you.” Alexia resisted the urge to launch herself over the table and wrap her hands around her skinny neck; the way the woman spoke, it seemed as though she were implying that she was something that could be bought, for the right price.

“Those... sailors down at the port, and out on the ocean are like sea wash; coarse and unrefined. No matter how fancy the bottle may appear, they’re nothing but filth inside.” Her tutor turned away from her, waving the stick oddly. Alexia followed it with her eyes warily. “Do you understand?”

“What I understand.” Alexia started, after a moment of contemplative silence. She wondered if she should pick her words carefully, but decided against it. She’d never been one for politeness. “Is that you just implied that I’m something that can be purchased, for the right amount of gold.”

The woman turned to her, an eyebrow raised. “Is that not how it goes for Noble Families? Your younger brother is the first born son; he is the heir to your family’s estate.” Alexia clenched her fists, narrowing her eyes at the woman. “As the only daughter, your parents need to find you a suitable husband to marry, to expand your family’s reach. How else would they do that, except to promise your hand to the highest bidder? I doubt any man alive would marry you for your personality.”

“I,” Alexia hissed, rising to her feet slowly, fists trembling with rage at her sides, “would rather spend the rest of my life amongst the people you call ‘sea wash’, than I would consent to marrying someone who believes I belong to them!” By the end of her sentence, she was yelling, but she hardly cared who heard her. As the woman gaped at her, seemingly unprepared to deal with a student who dared to raise her voice, Alexia spun on her heel, the layers of her pretty, fancy dress swirling around her, and stormed out of the room, banging the door shut as loudly as she could behind her.

~~~

Alexia jerked into consciousness at the sound of an almighty bang - not that of a door slamming behind an enraged noblewoman, but the bang of something exploding. The air around her was hot, but beneath her the floor was cold and wet. She hacked out a cough - one that tasted of smoke and blood - as she rolled awkwardly onto her stomach, and pushed herself up onto her hands and knees.

She could hear noises all around her; the crackle and pop of fire, the thundering of boots overhead and yelling. Lots of yelling. As she forced her eyes open, and lifted her head, another loud explosion filled the air, and everything around her rocked dangerously. She was sent tumbling sideways, and crashed into the curled wall of the Lunaris. Somewhere beyond the wall, she heard the loud splashes of several things hitting water, and the increased sound of yelling. She felt things crash into her as anything that hadn’t been lashed down was sent tumbling across the ship as well, and a wave of water washed over her, soaking her already wet clothes completely.

She paid it little mind, though; upon impact against the wall, her side had exploded with pain, and as she rested a hand against it, she discovered that the fabric of her shirt was torn, and the skin beneath it tender and wet in a way that certainly wasn’t water. She almost didn’t want to look, but she knew she wouldn’t have much choice, in the end. Live or die, she’d see it soon enough; there was no point in avoiding the inevitable.

Pulling her hand away from her side, she lifted it into her line of sight, and grimaced. Her fingers were stained with red, though the water still splashing around her washed it away quickly enough.

“Fantastic.” She hissed as she clenched her fist, twisting her head in an attempt to view the damage to her body. She had been in worse situations before; she could handle it. But it didn’t stop her from gagging slightly as she swallowed thickly, tasting blood on her tongue.

“Alex!” A voice drew her attention from her wound as the ship around her rocked awkwardly again, and she looked up, in the direction of the voice. Standing at the far end of the hold, clutching a noticeably bloody cutlass in one hand, and one of the support beams with the other, was a man in torn, bloody clothing. “You’re alive!”

“Apparently.” Alexia grunted back, pushing herself onto her feet as the man slid the cutlass into his belt, and began to wade through the water flooding the hold - which, she noted, was steadily increasing, and was already at knee height - towards her. “What’s going on?”

“Pirates, that’s what.” The man responded as he reached her, hands already outstretched to grab her shoulders. “Are you alright?” He asked, already forcing her this way and that to examine her.

“Damon, are you seriously asking me that?” Alexia snapped at him, not in the mood for stupid questions. He had the good sense to look sheepish as he shrugged off his bloodstained coat, and wrapped it around her shoulders. She accepted it gratefully, sliding her arms into the sleeves and not caring that it was slightly too big.

“Sorry, force of habit.” without preamble, he wrapped an arm around her back, and swept the other one under her knees, knocking her feet out from under her, and lifting her into his arms. She squawked in outrage, but struggling in an attempt to break free of his grip only caused her pain.

“Put me down, Damon!” She growled instead, glaring at him as he slowly waded back towards the stairs. Another explosion rocked the ship, and she yelped as he stumbled, hitting the wall with his shoulder and her head. There was an awful snapping, cracking noise overhead, and a voice yelled, over the chaos, “it’s coming down!” before the loudest splash she’d heard so far came from somewhere nearby.

“Well, there’s goes the mast.” Damon grunted as he pushed himself away from the wall, pointedly ignoring her demands to be put down. “About bloody time, I was starting to wonder how much more that thing could withstand. Blair owes me a round at the next port.”

“If we see a ‘next port’.” Alexia grumbled, rubbing the back of her head with one hand. The other was clutching his shoulder, keeping her in place as Damon struggled his way through the quickly increasing water. “You know, at this rate, you’re gonna have to put me down and swim.”

“Don’t worry, Allie,” Damon grinned down at her, “we’ll see the next port. It’s yours, after all; remember?” He didn’t seem too bothered that he was reminding her of the fact, and he ignored the disgusted grimace she made at the mention.

“I’ve told you not to call me that on the ship...” She grunted, instead of addressing the comment about the port. The less she had to think of it, the better.

“Who’s gonna hear? Most of the crew’s either dead, or abandoned ship on the row boats.” There was an almighty splash as Damon suddenly jerked out of the increasing water, and Alexia frowned as she realised he hadn’t need to put her down after all. “The only ones still around are those determined to stay with the ship, and Blair, who’s waiting on us.”

“I knew that the captain lived by something he claimed his father told him...” Alexia shifted her weight as Damon began the ascent of the awkwardly tilted stairs, “But I didn’t expect much of the crew would live by it as well.”

“Yeah, the captain lives by ‘whatever doesn’t kill me had better start running!’ but it’s hardly a noticeable number of the crew that follows those ideals.” Damon shrugged, and Alexia tightened her grip to prevent herself from falling. He might’ve had a decent grip on her, but with the awkwardness of the ship’s tilt, and her own discomfort, she still feared that he might drop her.

“You do know that I live by that too, right?” She asked curiously, peering up at his out-of-place grin.

“I’m not leaving you behind.” The grin dropped immediately, as did the cheerful tone of his voice.

“Wasn’t asking you to.” She responded quickly. “I was just saying.”

Damon’s grin came back, as the ship groaned awkwardly, and shifted. He dropped her legs, allowing them to hit the stairs, and grabbed onto the railing next to him with his free hand to keep them from falling back down the stairs.

“The captain can go down with his ship if he so chooses,” Alexia grumbled, reaching out for the railing as well and hauling herself awkwardly up the stairs, “I want off.” ‘

“Couldn’t have said it better myself, lass.”