Distractions
Monday, July 18th, 2016 12:19 pm.
I visited a fic request post
lijahlover pimped. I was only moved to answer one request, as the ones there were all on things I have no knowledge of whatsoever. But I used to read a couple of comics when I was a kid, and Elektra joined my pantheon when I read Elektra: Assassin in the 80's. (Yeah, Frank Miller was actually worth reading once upon a time.) So I tried this, my one and only foray into comics fanfic - Matt/Elektra. Enjoy!
Distractions
From the fire escape above, she drops soundlessly onto the ground behind him. His overcoat is drawn up around his ears as he cups his hands around the match, its light illuminating the palm of his hand and his profile as she circles slowly, silently. The sound of the flame touching the cigarette, tobacco catching, is thunder next to her silence, but still -
"Again," he says, and takes a pull of his smoke, then exhales with a note of boredom. "And this time, watch where you place your hand." She looks down at her palm and sees a tiny smear of rust between thumb and forefinger. "You're getting sloppy. Half a second more, and -" The blade is at his throat just as his throat is no longer there, and she's slammed to the pavement, arm twisted behind her back.
One second, two, and the pair of them are suddenly a twisting snake, muscles tight, loose, tight, warring in and out. She kicks in and shoves out, the blade clatters and then she's slamming her fist downward towards his face, stops a centimeter short. In the pause, his eyebrow lifts. "Well? You gonna bash my head in or are we going to work?"
As it turned out, they did neither.
.
I visited a fic request post
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Distractions
From the fire escape above, she drops soundlessly onto the ground behind him. His overcoat is drawn up around his ears as he cups his hands around the match, its light illuminating the palm of his hand and his profile as she circles slowly, silently. The sound of the flame touching the cigarette, tobacco catching, is thunder next to her silence, but still -
"Again," he says, and takes a pull of his smoke, then exhales with a note of boredom. "And this time, watch where you place your hand." She looks down at her palm and sees a tiny smear of rust between thumb and forefinger. "You're getting sloppy. Half a second more, and -" The blade is at his throat just as his throat is no longer there, and she's slammed to the pavement, arm twisted behind her back.
One second, two, and the pair of them are suddenly a twisting snake, muscles tight, loose, tight, warring in and out. She kicks in and shoves out, the blade clatters and then she's slamming her fist downward towards his face, stops a centimeter short. In the pause, his eyebrow lifts. "Well? You gonna bash my head in or are we going to work?"
As it turned out, they did neither.
.