she’s got jumper cable lips
she’s got sunset on her breath. now i inhaled just a little bit, now i’ve got no fear of death
Wishbone has never doubted the security that Khaedrik brings with him. Perhaps she should — perhaps it is dangerous and foolish for her to burn brightly in the darkness of his gaze — and yet she does not. She allows her passionate heart to beat wildly in his slender, bloody fingers (or perhaps it is his shadowy, terrified heart beating quickly in her freckled, scarred fingers) without any fear; a reckless doe placing her nimble head into the hungry, powerful jaws of the lion. Wishbone twines her fingers against the roughened palms of the devil, daring him with sultry sunset eyes to pull her waist a little bit closer.
Perhaps she has gotten too close to the devil this time.
Her heart is beating roughly in her chest with his presence, the patterns of the waves soothing the fire that burns brightly upon her skin. His golden face is close, lips nearly warming her salt-sprayed skin, and the anticipation provides the energy to keep her legs churning (to keep her head above the water, to keep her body from slipping into the depths). There’s a hint of a smirk on her lips at his smooth starstruck words — for he is lost in the constellation that she is, his neck craning toward her shimmery stars with a thousand thoughts riding on the rhythm of his heart — and she paddles closer to press her chest against his.
“I haven’t forgotten you, either.” Her words whisper of childhood innocence that has been swept away, of the nights she has spent cradled in the shadows thinking of his hooded eyes, of the eternal darkness spent in the gaps between the star’s light. The devil — death itself — looms over her shoulder, threatening to pull her life-force from the sea and shred it into scattered, thin pieces. Yet she is caught in the swirl of the dance, too busy looking into the shade of her partner’s eyes to notice the slippery way his fingers might loosen from her hand and tighten around her throat.
Her lungs empty themselves in a hurried gasp when he rushes to combat the dolphin-turned-monster. The ocean chills around her, forcing goosebumps on her mahogany skin at the sight of gold and black tousling among the waves. Wishbone hurries for the shore, her lithe neck straining and her dark legs kicking against the current that could easily drag her back out to sea. When her feet touch sand, the girl turns back to the open water, sunset eyes searching for the mess of puppet and puppeteer.
“Khaedrik!” He’s washed upon the shore, battle-broken and bone-weary, and she runs to meet him. Her nose touches the bruises and tender corners of his body, first hurriedly and then soothingly. A steady stream of apologies flows from his lips, spilling into her ears and drifting against the seafoam that kisses his heels. “Shut up,” she interrupts. Although her heart still threatens to push from her ribcage and race away, the thrill of a near-death experience is something she has felt before. It’s nearly something she longs for. “It’s not your fault.”
It might be.
She touches him softly now, a touch that sparks the wildfire heat they’d both felt only moments ago. “Are you hurt?” She will tend to him, as gently as the lover to her love. A kiss is pressed against his cheek; the shadows that threatened to pull blood from her vessels have already been forgiven.
wishbone
@[Khaedrik] / so, when i haven't written in ten days, you get word vomit <3 sorry, not sorry?