could i use you as a warning sign - kagerus

[Ivar]

I V A R promising everything i do not mean

It is quiet for a time. Ivar, so used to the water, does not realize it is even rising until his calves are submerged. The only current is up, a reminder of the falsity of this world, but it is water. That’s enough of an improvement. He doesn’t struggle as it rises and closes over his head, though he does watch the dim light stretch and grow until it is the surface of the ocean overhead again, and the tug of the tide returns its familiar pull on his bones. That’s better. The whispers have faded, replaced by the comfortable beat of his own heart in his ears, and then by Kagerus’ voice. She’s there, Ivar finds as he turns his head. His body follows, pushed by hands that are miraculously whole again. (He’d wants to see the water red, but this is not his dream). With her within reach Ivar does not hesitate, and he pulls her toward him has he had in the beginning of their dream. This time he is more careful, and one bare leg twines around hers, keeping her evermore anchored. His broad hand finds her hip again, and the curve of it fits against his flawlessly. The hand entangled in her dark hair pulls down slowly. This is exactly what he wants – what he had wanted. She dreams of drowning? This is his own dream, too. The body he wears is not quite his, but it is broad enough to dwarf the slim shape that is Kagerus in a way that is primal and satisfactory. So why does this feel like a trap? His left hand slips up the curve of her waist as his right – still tangled in her hair – cradles the back of her neck. The warmth of her skin in the cold water sends an electric thrill across everywhere they touch. Even knowing she might vanish in an instant, Ivar cannot help himself. It’s not enough for him to want this. She’d be winning too, and even a tie is less than what he wants. “This isn’t any different from the hallway,” he tells her, the word for that closed place coming from some unfamiliar part of his mind. “How do I know this is what you dream of?” How can he know if this is what she wants? He certainly wants it, but he’d have thought someone as bold as Kagerus might have bolder dreams. Perhaps she needs encouragement. “Prove it.” He tells her, the demand coursing through every inch of their tangled bodies. Ivar doesn’t know how she might fulfill his demand (he’s no dreamweaver), but he does hope it will be with a sudden wantoness of this sleek creature in his arms. His right hand reverses its climb, slipping round her to sink his fingers into the supple flesh of her backside, hoisting her farther up his body even as his left hand holds in her place. “Prove it.” He says again, as the hunger finally weaves its way through these unfamiliar neurons. She is not the shape it knows, but her pulse is quick and her blood is warm. It is not familiar with this dream world, but the hunger doesn’t need to be. It only knows (want. need. mine)

I know my lies could not make you believe in my dark times, baby this is all I could be . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .