Writing Exercise: Night

[StillStunned]

Who else is bored? Here's another Writing Exercise! This time the theme is Night.

What goes on in the dark? What secrets does it keep, and what does it reveal? A hot summer's night that seems to never end, or a cold crisp Midwinter's Eve with frost and invisible spirits. A night of overtime, a night on the road, a night of celebration. Sunset, midnight, sunrise. Lying in sleepless anguish wondering what your lover is doing and with who, or making silent love while the whole world sleeps. The horrors that lurk in the dark, and the blankets that keep us safe.

Because, as the poet said, the night belongs to lovers. Because the night belongs to us.

The usual rules apply. It only has to be a snippet. No introduction needed, no conclusion. In medias res is fine, but you can begin in medias mediae if you want. Just write the interesting bit. Keep it short: no more than 250-350 words. Don't write anything that wouldn't get published on the story side: nothing underage, no bestiality. Stick to the spirit of the site's publishing rules.

Have fun!

 

[StillStunned]

The night sounded quiet.

It was odd, Marcus thought, but it was true. If you didn’t think about it, if you didn’t actually listen, the night was silent. It was only when you stopped, bent your ears and mind to it, only then did you hear the night.

A nightbird calling once, twice. A door closing. Far off in the distance the buzz of the motorway, and much closer the thrum of a heat pump. Another bird, or a pair of birds, engaged in some important exchange overhead. The low, menacing yowl of a cat warning off some foe.

Marcus always liked listening to the night. Wrapped in darkness, it was as if he didn’t have a body. As if he was part of the black, adding to the silent sounds with his breathing, the regular be-beat of his blood in his ears.

It was the perfect moment. The stillness before the excitement. The cradle of anticipation.

And then…

A door opening. Closing. Muffled words. A low laugh, then a squeal of pleasure.

A growling voice. “Come here!”

Another voice. Lighter, laughing, teasing. “Come and get me!”

More growls, more squeals. A thud or two, the creaking of furniture. A bed, Marcus knew. A high, wooden bed with a slightly loose headboard.

It was always the same. Every Thursday night. The words might change, but the play was the same. It always led to gasps and soft moans, grunts and muttered curses. Moist sounds, regular and even, punctuated by whimpers and louder moans and the steady creaking of the bed.

It was the bed that his brother and sister-in-law shared. Every Thursday that was their ritual. And every Thursday this was his. Wrapped in the blackness, one with the sounds of the night, listening outside the window for Jess’s moans to turn into strangled cries of ecstasy and choking release, and desperate murmurs and gasps and satisfied sighs.

Marcus listened, like he did every Thursday. Then, when all he could hear were the silent sounds of the night again, he made his slow way back to his own home and his own bed, hating himself and the night.

 

[NotWise]

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

She put her pen down to answer. “I have an assignment. I’m supposed to write about the night. How am I supposed to write about the night? How does ‘night’ sound? What does it feel like? What does it taste like?”

“Night tastes like bourbon and pussy.”

“I don’t think I can write that.”

“OK. Night sounds like you, when you’re too excited to make words. Can you write that? It sounds like you gasping through my fingers when I try to keep you quiet.”

“I can’t get very far with just onomatopoeia.”

“Night feels like you—your breasts in my hands and your nipples between my fingers, your long hair on my shoulder. Night feels like your soft skin under a sheen of sweat. Night feels like your body when I take you.”

“I know I can’t write that.”

“You didn’t ask about what night looks like. Night looks like you when I wake up and find you asleep beside me. Night looks like you when I have you warm and safe. Night looks like you when there’s no-one in my world but you.”

“Fuck this. Take me to bed.”

 

[NotWise]

Hey, @StillStunned, was our act too much to follow?

 

[TheRedChamber]

I'm sure the right inspiration will hit me eventually. At the moment, this is the state of my muse...

 

[NotWise]

I'm sure the right inspiration will hit me eventually. At the moment, this is the state of my muse...

Black is good. You're working in the right direction.

 

[SimonDoom]

StillStunned sat at his keyboard, forehead bathed in a fine coat of sweat. The air conditioner had broken down, and he'd opened the back door after sunset, hoping for a breeze, but none came. The hot, suffocating delta air distracted him from his goal of writing a story that evening for the challenge he'd laid down to his fellow authors.

A sound came from the doorway. A woman he had never seen before stood in it, staring at him. Perspiration trickled into his eyes and clouded his vision. He saw little beyond soft but extravagant curves, pale luminous skin barely covered in a clingy, short black dress, and wide green eyes.

"Who are you?"

"Call me 'Miss,'" she said, in a husky voice.

"Miss what?"

"It changes," she said. "How about 'Miss Directed'?"

Stillstunned took his fingertips off the keyboard and swiveled in his chair to the woman. She walked closer, and he could almost taste the moist skin of her exposed limbs and breasts.

"You need a break," she said, touching long graceful fingers to his cheek.

"I . . . I don't know about that," he said. "Miss --"

"How about 'Miss Givings'?" she replied.

He gulped. She sat on his lap and he could not contain the moan that rose at the press of her bottom against his thighs.

"I don't know who you are."

"Oh well then." Her red lips curled into a smile and her eyes twinkled. "Call me 'Miss Laid.'"

StillStunned felt arms enfold him and crush his face into the gap between her breasts, bursting from the cleavage in her dress. There was something he was supposed to do, but he forgot all about that now and lost himself in the hot, black, sticky night.

 

[Actingup]

I stared groggily at the screen. Meaningless numbers and letters swam before me, refusing to cohere. I rubbed my eyes. What had I been working on?

There was a presence behind me, a soft hand on my shoulder.

"You didn't get a nap before you came in for your nightshift, did you?" she asked gently. "I heard the sound of your head hitting the keyboard."

I slowly turned my head, my neck creaking in protest. She was standing right behind my chair. Her soft, pillowy breasts filled my vision, clothed in a cashmere cardigan. Emerald green. It suited her, worked with her eyes.

She chuckled quietly, held her hand up, fingers outstretched. "How many?"

I made an effort, looked up at her. "Four fingers. Two breasts. Two eyes."

She laughed out loud. "Is that any way to talk to your supervisor at work?"

"Did I count them correctly?" I asked.

"Yes," she admitted.

"Well," I said, "it's a start."


(edit: wrote this before reading Simon's! We all love a pair of green eyes )
(and addendum: obviously I'm still in the OnTheJob mode!)

 

[StillStunned]

Hey, @StillStunned, was our act too much to follow?

Honestly, I was expecting this theme to strike a chord with more people.

 

[Bazzle]

The night was long.

Darkness drifted, the hours ticked by. Sleep evaded me. Closing my eyes, I could see her.

Her hair, her shape, her delightful body. I was convinced I could reach out and touch her.

Yet opening my eyes, through the gloom the white ceiling was above me. Closing them again was bliss. My heart beat harder.

We had danced all night, we had hugged and we had kissed. My fingers could still feel the sweat from her body as our bodies entwined to the music for what felt like hours.

Her breasts had been squished against my chest, I could feel the full weight of her on me as our tongues danced their own routine.

Her nails dug into my shirt, scraping against my skin, as when we stepped back her blue eyes sparkled like the lights.

She then had to go to the toilet.

I never got her name.

Gone.

I searched and searched.

Gone.

My erection hasn't.

 

[missywri1es]

I woke up to the wind rattling the window of our bedroom, the curtains billowing gently from the cool air kissing the fabric on its way in.

The moonlight encasing your sleeping form in a soft glow and your lashes casting their soft shadows on your cheeks, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight.

Strands of your hair dancing with every huff of breath from your lips that always say the kindest things to make someone’s day.

Your hand that rests atop the sheets, always busy creating and improving everything it touches.

Every day you wake up, determined to make a difference, to leave the world a better place than you found it.

You’re an example for many people and you do it all with the utmost love and care for your fellow human.

You command order with your very presence, yet I’ve never seen you get angry or raise your voice.

People look up to you because you’re worth following and I’m so proud to be standing by your side in this journey we call life.

I turned around to shut the window but you were already reaching out to me in your slumber, searching for me as if being apart for even mere moments would be unacceptable.

You pulled me into your embrace, your hand on my waist anchoring me with the forces of a thousand suns.

I locked my legs with yours, my hand snaking under your shirt and to your shoulder, my nose in the crook of your neck.

We fit together like two halves of a whole.

Not by any miracle or fate, but by choosing each other, day after day, year after year.

And even though we both changed so much since that first date, your radiant smile is still the very same I fell in love with all those years ago and I know that I will never get enough of this feeling as long as I am breathing.

———

(am I doing this right? first times are always nerve wracking; I wrote this over a year ago but it fits here I think)

 

[Vammatar]

The last sliver of the searing sun slid over ther edge of the horizon, and the light began to pale as the first stars emerged cautiously nto the gathering darkness.

I arose from my bed pulling on the red dress, its silken fabric accentuaing my form deliciously, I smoothed the tangles from my long dark hair, wrapped a cloak around my pale shoulders and ventured out onto the darkened streets.

It didn't take long to find him, he was leaning against a railing, staring out at the river, a youngish man, his emotional turmoil obvious to me.

"It's a beautiful night, is it not?"

He turned towards me, his expression pained "It's the worst night of my life"

"How so?" I smiled sympathetically, placing a comfoting hand on his broad shoulder.

"She left me, for my best friend" it was almost a sob.

I nodded, moving closer "an age old tale, you're not the first, and you won't be the last."

He started to turn from me, but I was quicker, I kissed him hungrily, pricking his lower lip with my fangs, his arms were around me, he was mine.

"We should go somewhere more private."

He nodded his agreement, taking my hand in his, we strolled back towards my lodgings. Hunger gnawed at me, I could sense the strong pulse of blood as it coursed through his veins.
I was ravenous.

"What's your name?"

I smiled "Nightshade."

 

[Vammatar]

Urrgh..typo. accentuaing should be accentuating

 

[onehitwanda]

She shifted her weight slightly, turned her head. I heard the faint inhalation, the soft hiss as she breathed out again.

"Snow," she announced.

I stared upwards at the bright stars above us, then glanced at her. "Really? How long this time?"

"Two hours. Maybe three. Twenty centimeters. It will be chaos for several days until the partial thaw."

I stared around at the lights of Annecy that glittered below us in the valley. There was no denying the chill on the air, but snow - and in the first week of October?

"You still don't really believe I can do that," she said. She shifted again, turned slightly inwards to face me. Her eyes had narrowed, but I saw the smile.

"It might still be a fluke. That's what I tell myself."

I shivered as she ran her finger down my cheek.

"You know, you would save yourself a lot of energy if you just admitted that I always know what's going to happen."

"I'm... working up to it," I whispered, then groaned softly as she traced the outline of my left breast through my thin jumper. "I'm a... mm... logical creature. It's not natural for me to... to... subscribe to faith..."

"I have faith you'll come around - sooner rather than later," she breathed. She pinched my hardening nipple through the fabric that hid it and smirked up at me. I stared down at her, stared into those shadowed eyes that had captured and captivated me on that mad, week-long holiday in Delphi and the slopes of Parnassus.

She always knew just what I needed. She always knew just what to say. She always knew just how to melt me.

"So... given that it's going to be chaos in a couple of hours, what do you... uhn... recommend we do?"

She smiled.

"Well. We could build an altar to Boreas, but he's always been a bit of a dick and frankly he's probably drunk as a Lord right now so he'd never notice a libation. It would be a criminal waste of good wine. A better idea would be for us to go back to the chalet and... amuse ourselves while we wait for this nonsense of his to blow over. I've been reading. There are some things I know you'll love."

Clouds had appeared on the horizon, silver in the moon's waning glow. Now I, too, could smell the crisp tang of the first snow of winter.

Nyx pressed up against me and stood on her toes. Her lips were warm, her fingers cool against the nape of my neck, and I forgot all else but Night's love.

 

[Actingup]

She shifted her weight slightly, turned her head. I heard the faint inhalation, the soft hiss as she breathed out again.

"Snow," she announced.

I stared upwards at the bright stars above us, then glanced at her. "Really? How long this time?"

"Two hours. Maybe three. Twenty centimeters. It will be chaos for several days until the partial thaw."

I stared around at the lights of Annecy that glittered below us in the valley. There was no denying the chill on the air, but snow - and in the first week of October?

"You still don't really believe I can do that," she said. She shifted again, turned slightly inwards to face me. Her eyes had narrowed, but I saw the smile.

"It might still be a fluke. That's what I tell myself."

I shivered as she ran her finger down my cheek.

"You know, you would save yourself a lot of energy if you just admitted that I always know what's going to happen."

"I'm... working up to it," I whispered, then groaned softly as she traced the outline of my left breast through my thin jumper. "I'm a... mm... logical creature. It's not natural for me to... to... subscribe to faith..."

"I have faith you'll come around - sooner rather than later," she breathed. She pinched my hardening nipple through the fabric that hid it and smirked up at me. I stared down at her, stared into those shadowed eyes that had captured and captivated me on that mad, week-long holiday in Delphi and the slopes of Parnassus.

She always knew just what I needed. She always knew just what to say. She always knew just how to melt me.

"So... given that it's going to be chaos in a couple of hours, what do you... uhn... recommend we do?"

She smiled.

"Well. We could build an altar to Boreas, but he's always been a bit of a dick and frankly he's probably drunk as a Lord right now so he'd never notice a libation. It would be a criminal waste of good wine. A better idea would be for us to go back to the chalet and... amuse ourselves while we wait for this nonsense of his to blow over. I've been reading. There are some things I know you'll love."

Clouds had appeared on the horizon, silver in the moon's waning glow. Now I, too, could smell the crisp tang of the first snow of winter.

Nyx pressed up against me and stood on her toes. Her lips were warm, her fingers cool against the nape of my neck, and I forgot all else but Night's love.

It’s about time the meteorologists got some love.

 

[onehitwanda]

It’s about time the meteorologists got some love.

And now you've just given me a plotbunny.

You bastard.

 

[SashaFrost]

Decided to do something a little darker.

Still Stunned's fingers hovered over the keyboard, paralyzed. The room temperature plummeted as icy breath brushed against his neck.

"Still Still Still mine. Always mine."

Her voice slithered into his ear canal like frigid water. Twenty years hadn't dulled Samantha's presence. If anything, death had concentrated her essence into something sharper, more potent.

"That wife of yours. Can she make you tremble like I do? Can she? CAN SHE?" The last words came as a shriek that vibrated through his skull.

His monitor flickered. In its reflection, nothing stood behind him, yet he felt her. The weight of her presence pressing against his back, phantom fingers trailing across his shoulders.

"Remember how I tasted? Better than her. I know you think of ME when you fuck her. MY name almost slips past your lips. I hear it in your mind. Still Still Still."

He tried to swallow but his throat closed up. The wedding photo on his desk suddenly crashed to the floor, glass shattering across hardwood.

"Property. MY property. Not hers to take. I DIED for you. What has SHE sacrificed? Nothing nothing NOTHING!"

The scent of alcohol and blood filled his nostrils. The same smell from that night when police knocked on his door. The night her car had wrapped around a tree at ninety miles per hour.

"You're mine even in death, especially in death, ONLY in death," Samantha whispered, her voice fracturing into multiple tones speaking simultaneously. "She borrowed you. Temporary arrangement. Temporary temporary TEMPORARY!"

Still Stunned felt something wet drip onto his shoulder. Looking down, he saw dark liquid blooming across his shirt. Not water, something thicker.

"I love you I hate you I need you I'll KILL you I'll keep you forever mine mine MINE."

​

 

[StillStunned]

This orphan was left on my doorstep.

===

Missing him…

Business trips suck. I wonder if he’s missing me as much. Can he not sleep either, or has the crisp cotton of freshly laundered hotel sheets claimed his consciousness? I could message him. But he’s got an early start. It’s not very fair if he is asleep.

I pick up my watch: 2:38am.

The room is dark, but a hint of streetlight penetrates the blinds. Enough to make out the ceiling, the stationary fan. Which gives me an idea, maybe some white noise. The control is on his nightstand. I wriggle and stretch and retrieve it. The blades swing slowly into motion, gathering pace, until a soft whir fills the room, and a soft breeze flutters on my cheeks.

I snuggle down. This is fine…

2:54am. And sleep still feels so far off.

And then it hits me. Sometimes I’m not the sharpest tool. I never struggle to sleep next to him, so let’s pretend.

I wriggle down my panties, but keep on my T. The fan has made the room cooler. I stay under the covers, but close my eyes and imagine. Imagine him under the covers too, and between my legs. The grip of his hands on my thighs, making more room for himself.

I lick my index finger. The first contact of his soft tongue, circling my hood, sending nascent tingles through me. Another application of spittle, and then his glossal tip exploring, finding a tiny hardness, already throbbing; yearning for his touch.

I make myself more comfortable, and lower my second hand. Now he circles my sensitized clit as digits find a welcoming opening. Penetrating. Probing. Pushing deeper.

I can feel the heat of his excited breath, the trembling of his body where it pushes against my legs. Now he laps cat-like at me, while my cream bathes his fingers. I squirm a little. No one knows my body like him. No one reads my needs like him. I can visualize myself pushing his head harder onto me, his fingers deeper.

I begin to moan and my breath quickens, racing to catch up with my speeding heart. He switches, dextrous digital dancing on my now pulsing pink prominence. Languid lingual lapping of my lubricious orifice.
My squirms become twitching, less voluntary, more primordial. I’m losing control. I breathe his name repeatedly. I vocalize my desire for him to push me to the edge and then over. Twitching becomes thrashing, and pleading words become unintelligible groans.

I’m panting and shaking and tensing my muscles so hard. Trying to resist the irresistible, as the moment of hovering above the abyss is so sweet. No longer whispering, I scream his name. I tell him what he’s doing to me.

And, as I plummet down, my body in flames, my heart pounding, my limbs spasming, I quietly say “I love you,” knowing I have never spoken truer words.

Breath calming, heart slowing, little aftershocks still coursing through me, I look sideways.

3:18am… and I think I can sleep at last.

 

[elizaloo]

He's sitting in the living room, pensively staring at the actors on the screen. They're young, hip and cool with a great life in his hometown, spending their days bickering in a coffee house, living a care-free life neither he nor I ever did.

I pause in the doorway, hidden in the shadows of the dark house. "You're mom is asleep," I tell him softly as I walk into the room.

He's been her caretaker for years, more years than he wants to admit, and those years have taken a toll on his body, his life. A widower, he has no family to ask for help, and I am simply a neighborhood friend who has begun stopping by at night so that he can have a short break.

"Thanks Lucy." He lifts his head; still a deeply attractive man in his mid 60's, fit, active when he can get away, and I have found myself more and more attracted to him every time I've come by.

"Welcome Ben. Anything else you need before I head home?" I'm single, an ugly divorce only a year or so behind me, and this is the closest I've been to a date in ages. Sometimes I want to ask him out, after all, he does have Agency help available when he needs it, but something stops me, and I lie awake at night in my lonely bed wondering what it is that holds me back.

He's wearing a swimsuit under his robe, bare legs and feet tell me he's going out to the hot tub in a minute. He goes every night that I'm here, and probably nights I'm not. It's his relaxation time, and he has told me how much he enjoys sitting back in the tub, in the hot water, watching the clouds and stars in the dark sky above.

Several weeks ago I was teasing him about his alone time and he said softly, his head turned away and down, "The only thing missing from my tub is a woman to share it with." Spoken so quietly, I was unsure if he expected an answer, so I ignored the comment, thinking he was merely expressing sorrow over his lost wife.

Standing, he shuts off the tv, the annoying laugh of a now-dead former 20-something abruptly quieted, and makes his way over to where I am standing.

"Do you own a swimsuit?" He asks, both of us in the shadows now.

"Yes, it's at home though." I stammer; he's closer to me than ever before and I realize just how attracted to him I am.

"Want to run home and get it, then join me in the tub? I think we can both use some relaxation time." There's a smile on his face, the first I've seen since we met.

"I'll be back in five minutes." I smile in return and he opens the front door for me as I dash out into the night.

 

[Erozetta]

From my Pink Orchid entry I never got to finish:

Call me whenever you need me.

It was a simple phrase on its surface. One many would be able to heed without issue. Yet I paced along the wet ground, my feet screaming at the cold as I held my phone in my hand. I could call, but it was 3 AM. He'd be asleep. It would mean waking him up and he had to work in the morning.

No, it could wait. A few more hours and the thoughts would pass anyway. I just had to stay on the grass, damp beneath my feet, but tactile enough for me to stay present. I shut my eyes tightly, trying to block the images from my mind as the waves crashed against a rocky shore nearby.

It would pass, it always passed, right? I flicked my wrist, an involuntary move, as though my body were screaming to remind me that it didn't always pass. I shoved it aside. No reminders, I don't need them.

Admitting it to myself was hard, but I knew this was a dangerous time. When I tried to turn around and leave I felt lightheaded. It was keeping me there. The moon, I mean, full above, beautiful, orange and so big. I imagine its largeness was having an effect on the tide. The water was over the sea wall and flooding the grass beyond the beach. I squished my feet in the wet earth… That's why the pull is so strong tonight.

I remember reading once that hypothermia wasn't the worst way to die. You kinda go numb before and don't feel much of anything. Or, at least, that's what I read somewhere at some point. Who knows if it's actually true.

The water sloshed over my toes and I shivered before backing up slightly.

I want to go home.

Dark and raging and beautiful. The ocean was home in many ways, but if I gave in it would be my grave. Why didn't that scare me? My core tingled as the chill of the water stole my breath. So cold. I needed my coat, but he had it. Would he bring it if I called?

 

[Devinter]

A Night Enchained

There is a place I know that stirs when the sun retreats,
Where daylight's illusions are stripped away.
Where names are forgotten 'tween silken sheets,
And masks are dissolved in shadow's play.

There is a place I know with walls padded in leather,
Where those who are bound are free.
Where those that seek pain find their pleasure.
And masters can play with their devotee.

There is a place I know where each gasp lifts us higher,
Where moans rise like hymns through the air.
Where the night will reveal your inner desire,
And every breath lays your true feelings bare.

There is a place I know where I kneel and rise the same,
Unshackled by shame or disguise.
Where surrender's not weakness, but flame,
And we are reborn in our lover's eyes.

 

[Jorunn]

Annelies said, "The moon has risen, and it is a warm night. Perhaps we can go outside and let the moon inspire you."

As soon as we stepped outside, we saw a red deer scamper away. "That's the first one of those I've seen. But I'm not usually outside this late at night."

We walked onto the tall grassy lawn and stood for a moment. I looked at Annelies, her beautiful face lit by the silver-blue moonlight. I had an idea. Leaving Annelies, I went over to a small flower garden, and using a pocketknife, sliced off several flowers with their stems, then quickly wove them into a fragrant crown. As I approached Annelies, she removed her green bandanna, allowing me to place the floral crown on her head.

"I can hear the sounds of nature," she said. "Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot again. It's never this quiet in the city. I hear delicate sounds that get covered over by the din of the city. Nature is speaking to me."

"What does nature sound like," I asked.

Annelies formed her mouth into a small circle and blew on my face. "There is a soft swishing sound from the wind passing through the leaves of the trees."

She pointed into the underbrush near the trees that lined the canal. "The leaves are softly rustling as small nocturnal animals try to hide from us."

Then she pursed her lips. "I hear the song of a single bird. A nightingale. Three short sharp tweets, a few alternating high and low tweets, followed by a quick staccato. It is a wonderful sound, so much like music."

Annelies cupped her ear then she pointed to the west. "There is a faint sound of a ship far out at sea, blowing its deep heavy horn. One long blast, followed by two short ones." She put both hands to her mouth and let her fingers explode outward three times, mimicking the horn.

My eyes began to water. Not because I have missed these things, but because I was sharing them for the first time with Annelies. "Thank you, Annelies."

 

[Erozetta]

And a LW's-esque tale I've had in the works for about six years:

Vaughn slipped the flask into his pocket as he came around a large tree and grabbed Grace, pushing her against the rough bark, causing her to yelp.

His body pressed against hers. He'd been careful through their drunken game of tag beneath the star-filled sky. He'd toyed with her, implored her to play along, and now she moaned at the weight of his body forcing hers into compliance.

That set something off in him.

Grace gasped as his lips connected with her neck. His teeth raked across her skin as his hand slid beneath her shirt. She didn't object. If anything, her knees felt weak from the gesture. His firm cock pressed against her ass and she whimpered while flexing her fingers. She closed her eyes, needed to get away, but it felt good to be wanted. She pushed herself back to him and he groaned.

His hand cupped her breast, causing her to cringe and tense. “Stop, stop,” she cried out.

He hesitated, but pulled himself away from her. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat and Grace subtly wiped tears from her cheeks.

“It's okay. We're both a little drunk.”

“I'm not that drunk, Grace.”

She tried to hide the tremble in her voice as she said, “You’re drunk enough to kiss my neck."

“Sober enough to want to do more.”

Grace ran toward the treeline and Vaughn followed her. He grabbed her wrist before they emerged back into the lamplit path in the otherwise dark park, then turned her to face him. “Hey,” he said as pulled her closer, “I'm sorry.”

She nodded. “Yeah. Me too, sorry. I… if I did anything to lead you on. I'm not into you. Not like that. I mean, maybe we could be friends, but…”

"You don't have to make excuses.”

“I'm not making excuses. It's just…”

“You're married. I crossed a line I shouldn't have. I'm not too drunk to recognize that. And, I don't want to be your friend.”

“Oh.” She pulled away from him, the hurt of the implication evident on her face. “Okay, that's… that's good to know.”

 

[Erozetta]

Honestly, I was expecting this theme to strike a chord with more people.

I've been working 10-12 hour days, lol. Most of my stories have long night scenes, but the only Indication is generally the mention of the moon or looking darkness.

 

[NyxAvatar68]

I swear I am no good with these low word limits, but I tried.


"So you actually decided to show up," a lone figure with black hair said, standing in the middle of the chamber. Light from the full moon illuminated the chamber through a hole in the ceiling and a light breeze flowed in.

"Why did you call me out here so late at night, Marco? If Master finds out we're here, she'll kick both of our asses," Lee asked.

"This afternoon's duel. You backed out of fighting again."

"That's because you and Aleister were trying to kill each other during training again. I didn't see any reason to fight," Lee replied with a shrug, turning away and taking a few steps towards the door. He stopped and quickly turned when a wooden sword came flying at him. He caught the blade and turned back towards Marco, who had turned around and pointed his own training sword at him.

"Don't give me that excuse, Lee. Don't think I haven't seen you sneaking off late at night for secret training every night since we started. Why are you hiding your potential?" Marco said. Instead of answering Marco's question, Lee let out a sigh and stepped into the moonlight.

"Even if I told you, I bet you wouldn't accept my reasons. When Master finds out about this, I'm blaming you for this," Lee said.

After that, there were no more words. Even though they were supposed to be sparring, the two clashed blades as if the battle was real. It wasn't long before a woman interfered in their battle and dragged the pair outside into the night and down the road back to the cabin. As the two were dragged around outside, a third man had been watching the entire situation from underneath a tree with a magic tome in his lap. Getting just a glimpse of Lee's true strength had caught his interest, and the result had not disappointed him.

"Maybe he'll be useful one day," the man said to himself as he looked up at the night sky.