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Dragonskin
Title: Dragonskin
Show: Avatar: the Last Airbender crossover with Disney's Sleeping Beauty.
Pairing: Prince Ozai/Maleficent
Genre: Writing-dribble/brain-spurt?
Rating: Implied adult-ish...?
What happens when a dragon takes off its skin?, he wonders. Not the gross anatomical question, but one with very real bearing, considering it's what he seems to have slept under.
When she is at her zenith, she blacks out the sky, wings flared hot and dark and purple. When she walks about, it is as a nearly- not- human woman, sleek horns drawn back from an elegant face, all else hidden beneath flowing billows of robes, her furled wings framing delicate wrists.
It is that which lays about him now, rustling like silk and like scales and heavy and thick like the warmest damask. Her castle is chill and damp, and he knows were he to step out from the bed and touch feet to floor, it would chill his blood. Under her abandoned robes, however, it is supremely warm.
Unnaturally warm.
He takes a breathless moment, nothing like panic- and then relaxes, feeling no pulse within the thickness of its black tatters.
Still, it is with a little reluctance that he bundles deeper into its sleek warmth and goes to seek his hostess, and the fate of his clothes.
Show: Avatar: the Last Airbender crossover with Disney's Sleeping Beauty.
Pairing: Prince Ozai/Maleficent
Genre: Writing-dribble/brain-spurt?
Rating: Implied adult-ish...?
What happens when a dragon takes off its skin?, he wonders. Not the gross anatomical question, but one with very real bearing, considering it's what he seems to have slept under.
When she is at her zenith, she blacks out the sky, wings flared hot and dark and purple. When she walks about, it is as a nearly- not- human woman, sleek horns drawn back from an elegant face, all else hidden beneath flowing billows of robes, her furled wings framing delicate wrists.
It is that which lays about him now, rustling like silk and like scales and heavy and thick like the warmest damask. Her castle is chill and damp, and he knows were he to step out from the bed and touch feet to floor, it would chill his blood. Under her abandoned robes, however, it is supremely warm.
Unnaturally warm.
He takes a breathless moment, nothing like panic- and then relaxes, feeling no pulse within the thickness of its black tatters.
Still, it is with a little reluctance that he bundles deeper into its sleek warmth and goes to seek his hostess, and the fate of his clothes.
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Ah, here it is. http://j-scott-campbell.deviantart.com/art/Maleficent-sketches-78965618
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