01-26-2018, 09:55 AM
Castile, she repeats with a tongue lined in silk and honey. He wants her to say it again, like she is a foreigner, like his name is an orgasm that she gasps and struggles to express. It holds his attention, her voice, and he cannot rip his eyes away from the softened edges of her face. A low hum rattles through him, a lopsided and boyish grin tipping the corner of his mouth. ”So fancy,” he humorously replies, blinking languidly as to not pierce her with his mismatched, predatory gaze. It isn’t an adjective he would use for his name; his mind considers it as plain as Nerine’s sandy shore. If there is a meaning behind it, he doesn’t know. Perhaps, mother had her subliminal reasons for the naming of her children.
What distance painfully lies between them stretches but retracts again like magnets failing to escape each other. He notices how her lavender eyes glide along his body and face, taking him in and memorizing every grizzly detail. Unlike mother, Castile is not finer boned; he is robust with chiseled sinew woven around his bones – an image that nearly mirrors his father. The quiet scrutiny doesn’t faze him. Content, he returns the gesture with periodic glances to her sleek torso, intrigued by the scales and contrasting colors. Beautiful is the word that comes to mind, but never escapes past his lips. It echoes in his mind, bouncing from wall-to-wall, but his mouth never betrays him. Her questioning uncertainty saves him from his embarrassment, forcing his mind to spiral in another direction and away from the physical allure she possesses. The predicament nearly rattles him in how familiar it sounds. He nods, a single brow lifting underneath his forelock. ”Sometimes, it’s good to run away from reality for a bit,” it’s what he did when he feared his poor control of shifting, when he tasted blood for the first time and couldn’t handle the unfamiliar entity that growled inside him.
But Nyxa doesn’t remind him of a monster; she is fairer, enticing, beautiful.” What, he wonders, could she possibly be running from?
He is almost too eager to accept how she inches closer, suppressing her initial hesitation. An urge to close the distance clouds his every thought and almost takes over control of his legs. Only a couple more steps, says a whispering voice in his thoughts, but he holds steadfast with eyes that burn with curiosity and fascination. ”I wish I knew,” he admits, almost in embarrassment, ”but aimless wandering is certainly more enjoyable with company.”
Join me, he doesn’t say.
Let me hold you, his eyes plead.
What distance painfully lies between them stretches but retracts again like magnets failing to escape each other. He notices how her lavender eyes glide along his body and face, taking him in and memorizing every grizzly detail. Unlike mother, Castile is not finer boned; he is robust with chiseled sinew woven around his bones – an image that nearly mirrors his father. The quiet scrutiny doesn’t faze him. Content, he returns the gesture with periodic glances to her sleek torso, intrigued by the scales and contrasting colors. Beautiful is the word that comes to mind, but never escapes past his lips. It echoes in his mind, bouncing from wall-to-wall, but his mouth never betrays him. Her questioning uncertainty saves him from his embarrassment, forcing his mind to spiral in another direction and away from the physical allure she possesses. The predicament nearly rattles him in how familiar it sounds. He nods, a single brow lifting underneath his forelock. ”Sometimes, it’s good to run away from reality for a bit,” it’s what he did when he feared his poor control of shifting, when he tasted blood for the first time and couldn’t handle the unfamiliar entity that growled inside him.
But Nyxa doesn’t remind him of a monster; she is fairer, enticing, beautiful.” What, he wonders, could she possibly be running from?
He is almost too eager to accept how she inches closer, suppressing her initial hesitation. An urge to close the distance clouds his every thought and almost takes over control of his legs. Only a couple more steps, says a whispering voice in his thoughts, but he holds steadfast with eyes that burn with curiosity and fascination. ”I wish I knew,” he admits, almost in embarrassment, ”but aimless wandering is certainly more enjoyable with company.”
Join me, he doesn’t say.
Let me hold you, his eyes plead.