09-25-2018, 08:13 PM
His body disgusts him, sometimes. He wishes he could unzip it, step out, feel the sun on his bones. The way people look at him doesn't feel right anymore. Nothing at all feels right anymore, really. I guess that's growing old for you.
Skellig feels too old to be here, it feels wrong. Some things ought to stay buried, and ancient green babyfaces fall in that category. But there's something pulling him back and he thinks it might be her. Isn't it always these days? These decades? Sure enough, just as the thought scurries across his cobwebbed mind, she's there. A sense of deja vu almost knocks him off his hooves.
They have been here a hundred times before.
It doesn't matter, it feels like the first. His heart hesitates before each beat, almost as if it has forgotten how. Even as it hesitates, it drums faster and faster, pounding on the walls of his chest as though trying to get his attention-- it has a story to tell and it wants it told-- or else it is trying to burst free and run away with hers. As though that would be enough for him.
As though he could ever get enough of her.
The memories all flood back and jumble together, green and white and blue and for some reason the only thing clear is leaving, leaving, leaving. (All these years and he never learned how to choose love over loneliness.)
He blinks and she's just a few paces away. He doesn't remember moving closer. He doesn't remember much of anything right now other than every other time they've been together. She is so beautiful it is hard to breathe.
(is this real tell me this is real please don't--
"Ryatah."
He's wasted too much time already with distance, silence, longing. Years, decades. He closes the distance between them without blinking.
First is a kiss on her cheek,
(it is hesitant, like playing a song you thought you forgot)
then three down her neck.
A playful nibble at her shoulder then more kisses, up and down her body, and the tune grows insistent, almost possessive. And in each kiss, a message. Some of them are a single word, some are novels, some are prayers. Many are apologies. They are all love letters.
He tastes her on his tongue and and feels her warm and familiar beneath his lips. She is not quite as he remembers her-
She is better.
Finally he curls up next to her, presses his green body to her white and rests his cheek on the familiar curve of her neck. "I've missed you," he says, finally, with another gentle kiss. He's grateful she can't see the depths of his eyes, the ghosts that linger there. "I've missed you so much." Nestled against her, he realizes this is the only place that feels right. How had he ever forgotten?
They'll likely be here a hundred times again.
@Ryatah <3 what are paragraphs
Skellig feels too old to be here, it feels wrong. Some things ought to stay buried, and ancient green babyfaces fall in that category. But there's something pulling him back and he thinks it might be her. Isn't it always these days? These decades? Sure enough, just as the thought scurries across his cobwebbed mind, she's there. A sense of deja vu almost knocks him off his hooves.
They have been here a hundred times before.
It doesn't matter, it feels like the first. His heart hesitates before each beat, almost as if it has forgotten how. Even as it hesitates, it drums faster and faster, pounding on the walls of his chest as though trying to get his attention-- it has a story to tell and it wants it told-- or else it is trying to burst free and run away with hers. As though that would be enough for him.
As though he could ever get enough of her.
The memories all flood back and jumble together, green and white and blue and for some reason the only thing clear is leaving, leaving, leaving. (All these years and he never learned how to choose love over loneliness.)
He blinks and she's just a few paces away. He doesn't remember moving closer. He doesn't remember much of anything right now other than every other time they've been together. She is so beautiful it is hard to breathe.
(is this real tell me this is real please don't--
"Ryatah."
He's wasted too much time already with distance, silence, longing. Years, decades. He closes the distance between them without blinking.
First is a kiss on her cheek,
(it is hesitant, like playing a song you thought you forgot)
then three down her neck.
A playful nibble at her shoulder then more kisses, up and down her body, and the tune grows insistent, almost possessive. And in each kiss, a message. Some of them are a single word, some are novels, some are prayers. Many are apologies. They are all love letters.
He tastes her on his tongue and and feels her warm and familiar beneath his lips. She is not quite as he remembers her-
She is better.
Finally he curls up next to her, presses his green body to her white and rests his cheek on the familiar curve of her neck. "I've missed you," he says, finally, with another gentle kiss. He's grateful she can't see the depths of his eyes, the ghosts that linger there. "I've missed you so much." Nestled against her, he realizes this is the only place that feels right. How had he ever forgotten?
They'll likely be here a hundred times again.
@Ryatah <3 what are paragraphs