yueni (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} yuenidezi) wrote,@ 2003-07-08 06:40:00 |
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Dance
Title: Dance
Author:yueni
Fandom: LotR
Pairing: LT/OB
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: 100% imagination. If this is real, then pigs can fly.
Notes: Forlynneybean who requested some Orli/Liv. Thanks to snapesvixen for the beta. Crossposted in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
rpschallenge and yuenidezi.
She watched the clock as the hours run past, the minutes fly by and the second tick mercilessly away. Inevitably, the clock would chime, and the bells would ring. Confetti would fly and voices would sing. But for now, people were mingling and dancing, and watching the clock with one eye. Liv, too was watching. But not only the clock. Her eye always came to rest upon the dark head of one of the dancers on the floor. One of the more flamboyant ones. One who had no compunctions in wearing shirts reminiscent of table cloths.
Only Orlando could pull that off with insouciant flair. Only Orlando could make grinding on the dance floor an art form that transcended fun and games. He had the controlled physicality of the athlete and the dramatic flair of the artist. He was mesmerising.
And so she watched from the sidelines, gracefully declining dance offers, watching the vibrant bundle of energy on the floor as he twisted and turned, flailed and gyrated in time to the pulsing beat. She turned to watch the clock again. One hour to midnight… and turned back to find him bouncing in front of her.
"You haven’t danced all night."
"I’m a terrible dancer."
"Nonsense!" And he dragged her out to the dance floor.
Title: Dance
Author:
yueniFandom: LotR
Pairing: LT/OB
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: 100% imagination. If this is real, then pigs can fly.
Notes: For
lynneybean who requested some Orli/Liv. Thanks to snapesvixen for the beta. Crossposted in rpschallenge and yuenidezi.She watched the clock as the hours run past, the minutes fly by and the second tick mercilessly away. Inevitably, the clock would chime, and the bells would ring. Confetti would fly and voices would sing. But for now, people were mingling and dancing, and watching the clock with one eye. Liv, too was watching. But not only the clock. Her eye always came to rest upon the dark head of one of the dancers on the floor. One of the more flamboyant ones. One who had no compunctions in wearing shirts reminiscent of table cloths.
Only Orlando could pull that off with insouciant flair. Only Orlando could make grinding on the dance floor an art form that transcended fun and games. He had the controlled physicality of the athlete and the dramatic flair of the artist. He was mesmerising.
And so she watched from the sidelines, gracefully declining dance offers, watching the vibrant bundle of energy on the floor as he twisted and turned, flailed and gyrated in time to the pulsing beat. She turned to watch the clock again. One hour to midnight… and turned back to find him bouncing in front of her.
"You haven’t danced all night."
"I’m a terrible dancer."
"Nonsense!" And he dragged her out to the dance floor.
