A / N :

Characters : Lobsang Ludd, Susan Sto Helit, Binky.

Setting : Post "Thief of Time."

Prompt word : Stars.

Binky stamps his hooves on surprisingly thick air, and tosses his head. The silver on his bridle jingles, and Susan puts out a hand and slaps his broad neck. "Settle down, please," she says sharply.

Does she ever stop trying to take charge? Lobsang turns away quickly, hiding his smirk, because oh, how he looks forward to finding out . . .

Susan cuts through his reverie before he has a chance to really enjoy it. "And you can settle down too," she snaps. "Don't think I can't see you." She taps his reflection, distorted in gleaming silver, and Lobsang laughs.

It is a clear, bright night, and the air is cold enough to slice the skin from his cheeks. The sky is the indigo-black of a deep sea trench, and this high above the Disc, the eye sees nothing but stars. Spinning, shifting, sparkling, more than even he can count. The effect is dizzying, and he has to fight the urge to discarnate.

He knows what she's doing. She's trying to trump him, to prove that he may be the anthromorpophic personification of Time, but that doesn't mean he knows everything. ("Nobody likes a know-it-all, you know." )

He gave her a perfect moment, and someone like Susan could never let that lie.

Lobsang leans forward, so that his breath tickles her ear. "What are you giving me?" he whispers, battling the brilliance of the stars, the part of himself that wants to break on the edge of that hard, sharp light, and break again. Now, his body screams. Now, and now, and now . . .

Every moment is perfect. Everywhere. Such is the nature of the present. But it takes effort to confine himself to just one.

Susan smiles. Her fingers curl around his collar as she pulls him closer, and it suddenly becomes a lot easier to stay precisely where he is.

"What else would I give you?" she says. "A Present, of course."

She catches him in a kiss that tastes of chocolate and cherry liquer, as fleeting and bittersweet as now.