kimaracretak | sunday six-or-whatever

You know that thing where you desperately need good angsty emotionally-driven porn of yr faves from that brief window of time when they were trying to keep each other alive before they had to start trying to kill each other but the war was still There and everything was filled with so much longing even though nothing had really gone wrong yet, but no one wants to write that so you decide to write some yourself, but then you remember you don't actually Get anything, emotionally out of writing porn even when you feel like writing it, so you start a bunch of the setup for one of FFA's 100 words prompts (here: '100 words of the post-workout shower') and then just. Leave it. Gathering dust. For who knows how long? Yeah.

Anyway, have some Ana/Amélie.

"You did very well today, Amelie," Ana says, brushing her hair out of her eyes and smiling down at the other woman.

She's gratified to see Amélie smile back - one of her training room smiles, not quite a real smile, but it's something. "I wish I did not have to," Amélie sighs as she pushes herself to her feet, and Ana's heart twists at the words. Sometimes, when they spar, they can pretend it's just for them, and not for the war outside.

Today was not one of those days.

"Come on," Ana gestures towards the changing room. "Let me make it up to you."

Amelie needs no further encouragement, bounding forward with a grace unhindered by her workout - or by how much of it was spent on the mats with Ana kneeling her over, pinning her wrists. What they have is not regular enough to be a ritual, but has happened enough that they both look forward to it, that Ana knows to follow at a slightly more sedate pace.