Standard disclaimers apply.
Smudges of Ink
By: karisome
She sketches in ink.
She likes watching the shapes emerge, dark and permanent, because there's something entirely thrilling about creating things that are impossible to take back. Her brush leaves sinuous smears of black on white, and today she decides that they will be shadows.
Shadows on snow, she amends, watching the figure training in the white-frosted courtyard at a speed almost too fast for her to follow. Yoruichi-sama's movements are like everything about her: sleek and languid, flowing and continuous as if she were created to be forever in motion. The morning is crisp and fresh and silent, save for the muted shuffle of footsteps and the quiet breaths that mist in quick puffs of clouds upon exhale. The sunlight glints off ice like broken glass and sets the snow to sparkling as Yoruichi-sama dances with her shadow and Soi Fong follows, mesmerized, with her ink-trailing brush.
Black on white is starkly elegant, Soi Fong muses later as Yoruichi-sama catches her breath, body heat leaving in curling wisps of barely-there vapor. It is beautiful, and all the more powerful in its simplicity. And yet…
The sunlight makes the sweat on Yoruichi-sama's back glisten like ice crystals in the snow, only darker. Soi Fong wants to trace the glinting pattern, wants to press her palm and spread pale fingers against the expanse of chocolate skin exposed by the ridiculously impractical outfit. She wants to draw slow patterns with her mouth (impossible to take back) against each vertebrae on Yoruichi-sama's spine. She wants to take the tip of an exposed shoulder-blade between her teeth and outline it with flicks of her tongue, (dark and permanent).
…She cannot get the thought of white on black out of her mind.