06-20-2017, 08:16 PM
you can have my isolation,
you can have the hate that it brings.
you can have the hate that it brings.
Where there is only a dark, dimly lit fire burning in his own gaze, there is stardust and the pale reflection of the bright, wanton moon shining in her own – a plethora of color reflecting in the deep, bottomless depths of her eyes, boring into his own, while a heat long since thought to be dormant slowly stirs to life between them. The air is thick and rife with electricity; he can feel it crawling the length of his dark, scarred skin, seeping into his flesh and finding its way into his bones – his heart, hammering relentlessly against the wrought iron cage of his broad chest, thrums with adrenaline against her body. Gently, his teeth press yet again against the ridge of bone and muscle at the nape of her neck, and his warm, wanting breath brushes across her skin, while his dark lips lightly caress what lay beneath.
So many times before, he had taken her beneath a starlit sky, entangled with her with fervent need and insatiable desire – and it had been too long. Too long since he had pressed his teeth into her soft, supple flesh; too long since he had drawn her closer to him, his mouth hot and greedy against the tender flesh of her neck, tugging the wavy, carefree tresses away from her dampened skin. The memories emerge to the forefront of his mind as his lips press higher against the length of her slender, beautifully carved neck, tracing the thick muscle that lay beneath, before breathing hotly with the deep rumbling of a growl that he had never meant to let into his throat.
He could take her, even now, with tension and too many unspoken words lingering in the atmosphere, enveloping their bodies in an unseen but palpable apprehension of secrecy and uncertainty – he could take her, with his teeth gripping at her, pulling at her, with a writhing ecstasy that would bring the seemingly distant starlit sky to them – but he does not. It is not enough to feel her merely yield to his own desire; it is not enough for her to simply submit to him – he wants her to feel the same longing, the same urgent need churning through her own veins, the same insatiable hunger, the same unquenchable thirst.
Her lips press softly against his forehead, with rivulets of perspiration trickling down the length of his hardened features. All the while, the fiery brimstone of his gaze is settled upon her, unmoving, though he presses his own cheek to hers, tracing the curve of her jawline with his mouth, tasting the sweetness of the soil and the sulfur of the air on her as his tongue presses into the delicate crease of her neck. I see you, she murmurs, and he does not doubt it – she has always seen him; she has always known him.
But his mouth does not linger against the fragility of her throat, nor does he taste her pulse for long – her own searching kiss finds him, and it is him that is drawn in deeper like the moth to a flickering flame, though the fervent, feverish fire inside of him is burning brighter with each ardent moment passed. Breathless and aching for more, her words are a delicious torture, stirring him out of the hazy lust clouding his mind just long enough to keep his desire at bay. You’re changing, she says, and he can only open his half-lidded, smoldering gaze to seek out her own, glancing from one eye and to the other, and then, but you’re changing without me.
Not allowed, each syllable lined with one part humor, one part solemnity.
”The fire,” he breathes against the crease of her mouth, where his own lips press again, and again, breathing her in slowly. ”I cannot stop it – it has become a part of me, in ways I cannot even begin to describe.” He murmurs, his voice ragged and raw, his confession laced in precarious danger. But then the heavy lashes close over the endless sea of her eyes, and he is outlining the delicate curve of her jaw, the hollow of her cheek – the simple, yet beautiful way the russet of her skin gives way to the bright, gleaming alabaster, framing her beauty and grace in its light.
You’re mine. Do you still want that?
Do you still want this?
He touches the coiled muscle of her shoulder then, the girth of his massive, towering physique circling around her, grazing the blunt ridge of his teeth along the swell of her rib cage, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing against his tongue. His eyes, brooding and wicked, seek out her own, while his jaw rests at the small of her back.
”I want this – I want you,” he breathes, his voice dark and dim, though the burning ember in the hearth of his chest stirs the light to the surface of his skin, and the once dark canvas of his skin is glowing with heat – a simmering coal, hot to the touch, alight. ”I have never stopped wanting you, Isle,” and another kiss brushes over her two-toned skin, his memories shifting to the chasm growing in between them – her wary glances, her worried stares, the flinching of her body beneath his touch. ”but you’ve kept yourself apart from me. You do not look at me as you once did – I see the uncertainty, Isle. The fear.”
He is quiet, then – the weight of his words settling into the heavy night air. He is all too aware that he might never touch her again, with the burden of his confession expanding between them, distancing her all the more from him. As such, the heat of his mouth finds the curve of her hip, pressing one kiss after another, bracing for her to pull away from him, to scorn him. Bracing himself for the inevitable heartache to find its way into her beautiful face (still so beautiful, even with the gentle caress of time leaving its mark – so beautiful; more beautiful than he had ever known or seen). There is a familiar ache inside of his chest – he did not deserve her forgiveness; he did not deserve her.
He had always known it. He had been a fool to think he deserved anything more.
”I have betrayed you again,” he murmurs against her skin, the fire inside of him lowering to a quiet simmer – nothing but a flickering, wavering flame.
So many times before, he had taken her beneath a starlit sky, entangled with her with fervent need and insatiable desire – and it had been too long. Too long since he had pressed his teeth into her soft, supple flesh; too long since he had drawn her closer to him, his mouth hot and greedy against the tender flesh of her neck, tugging the wavy, carefree tresses away from her dampened skin. The memories emerge to the forefront of his mind as his lips press higher against the length of her slender, beautifully carved neck, tracing the thick muscle that lay beneath, before breathing hotly with the deep rumbling of a growl that he had never meant to let into his throat.
He could take her, even now, with tension and too many unspoken words lingering in the atmosphere, enveloping their bodies in an unseen but palpable apprehension of secrecy and uncertainty – he could take her, with his teeth gripping at her, pulling at her, with a writhing ecstasy that would bring the seemingly distant starlit sky to them – but he does not. It is not enough to feel her merely yield to his own desire; it is not enough for her to simply submit to him – he wants her to feel the same longing, the same urgent need churning through her own veins, the same insatiable hunger, the same unquenchable thirst.
Her lips press softly against his forehead, with rivulets of perspiration trickling down the length of his hardened features. All the while, the fiery brimstone of his gaze is settled upon her, unmoving, though he presses his own cheek to hers, tracing the curve of her jawline with his mouth, tasting the sweetness of the soil and the sulfur of the air on her as his tongue presses into the delicate crease of her neck. I see you, she murmurs, and he does not doubt it – she has always seen him; she has always known him.
But his mouth does not linger against the fragility of her throat, nor does he taste her pulse for long – her own searching kiss finds him, and it is him that is drawn in deeper like the moth to a flickering flame, though the fervent, feverish fire inside of him is burning brighter with each ardent moment passed. Breathless and aching for more, her words are a delicious torture, stirring him out of the hazy lust clouding his mind just long enough to keep his desire at bay. You’re changing, she says, and he can only open his half-lidded, smoldering gaze to seek out her own, glancing from one eye and to the other, and then, but you’re changing without me.
Not allowed, each syllable lined with one part humor, one part solemnity.
”The fire,” he breathes against the crease of her mouth, where his own lips press again, and again, breathing her in slowly. ”I cannot stop it – it has become a part of me, in ways I cannot even begin to describe.” He murmurs, his voice ragged and raw, his confession laced in precarious danger. But then the heavy lashes close over the endless sea of her eyes, and he is outlining the delicate curve of her jaw, the hollow of her cheek – the simple, yet beautiful way the russet of her skin gives way to the bright, gleaming alabaster, framing her beauty and grace in its light.
You’re mine. Do you still want that?
Do you still want this?
He touches the coiled muscle of her shoulder then, the girth of his massive, towering physique circling around her, grazing the blunt ridge of his teeth along the swell of her rib cage, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breathing against his tongue. His eyes, brooding and wicked, seek out her own, while his jaw rests at the small of her back.
”I want this – I want you,” he breathes, his voice dark and dim, though the burning ember in the hearth of his chest stirs the light to the surface of his skin, and the once dark canvas of his skin is glowing with heat – a simmering coal, hot to the touch, alight. ”I have never stopped wanting you, Isle,” and another kiss brushes over her two-toned skin, his memories shifting to the chasm growing in between them – her wary glances, her worried stares, the flinching of her body beneath his touch. ”but you’ve kept yourself apart from me. You do not look at me as you once did – I see the uncertainty, Isle. The fear.”
He is quiet, then – the weight of his words settling into the heavy night air. He is all too aware that he might never touch her again, with the burden of his confession expanding between them, distancing her all the more from him. As such, the heat of his mouth finds the curve of her hip, pressing one kiss after another, bracing for her to pull away from him, to scorn him. Bracing himself for the inevitable heartache to find its way into her beautiful face (still so beautiful, even with the gentle caress of time leaving its mark – so beautiful; more beautiful than he had ever known or seen). There is a familiar ache inside of his chest – he did not deserve her forgiveness; he did not deserve her.
He had always known it. He had been a fool to think he deserved anything more.
”I have betrayed you again,” he murmurs against her skin, the fire inside of him lowering to a quiet simmer – nothing but a flickering, wavering flame.
you can have my absence of faith,
you can have my everything.
you can have my everything.
OFFSPRING