In the half-darkness beneath the water, she doesn’t have to really see him. She can pretend that his eyes softened at her touch, that he’s telling her that he wants her. A lack of imagination has never plagued her, but she refuses to be so foolish as to fall for it. This – him. her. them together – is already a mistake, but she will save her regrets for the morning. She might wake alone on the shore (tomorrow and forever), but she is not alone tonight.
Her first kiss had been gentle, her mouth against his. His is much the same. Neither of them are predictable creatures, but it’s too late for caution now. She kisses him back, deep as she can, even as he moves around her. His touch against her shoulder is met with a bubbling sigh, an invisible smile curving around her serrated teeth when he presses himself beside her. Curious, she tries to pull away (only for an instant) and when she finds herself unable it colors the groan as he kisses his way down her throat.
She does not understand why he can hold her when nothing can. She does not understand anything about him, yet as he speaks of trust she cannot help but nod. She does trust him. Sometimes. With Sylva. With Ivar. Djinni trusts him to be unpredictable.
Her eyes close as he settles over her, a sensation she remembers. A sensation she’d missed. Avoiding him had been safer, but there is no pleasure in safety. His words might have been cautionary but she does not heed them. Caution has no place here in the deep water.
Like a musician he plays her; she sings for him in the darkness. There is pain in her shoulder, but she has bled before. His mouth against her neck is little more than a distraction from the other palces they are touching – her back, her hips, his arms around her sides, drawing her closer. It’s easy to forget the taste of copper in the water as she bucks against him.
She moans as he gives and laughs as her makes her take, the full spectrum of positive emotion. Never completely passive, she meshes pleasure and magic in a way she has never done before. Whispers that are little more than bubbles rising the surfaces, wishes for his pleasure, his satisfaction. She might even wish that he loves her, but it is hard to remember with the haze of pleasure. Such wishes never work, no more than her own gurgled admission of the same will.
The haze grows, euphoria spiraled into numbness into pleasure again. Her opened eyes find that the watery moon is growing dimmer overhead. She opens her mouth to say – something – but the words are only a trio of bubbles that she watches rise to the surface. Beautiful, she thinks as they disappear. She blinks and it is harder to open her eyes than it should be. The effort to press against Stillwater, to demand more – harder, faster – is too much, but his warmth above her is reassuring even as the cool silt of the lake presses against her folding legs.
Djinni shivers. Her sleek hide is horsehair again, and her black eyes fade to brown. With her fading strength, she turns to pace her cheek to his as well as she can. Her blood is more concentrated here, and it flavors the weak kiss she presses to his drinking mouth.
“I wish you were satisfied,” she says as her eyes drift closed.