holiday party; magnus

[magnus]

desire consumes me like a fire consumes me

Magnus is quiet as they walk together, crossing the bridge side-by-side. The evening, now hitting the point of dusk with the soft glimmer of stars beginning to blanket the sky, is filled with nothing but the faint, faraway sound of laughter and the hushed conversation of those around them who make the trek with them. It is surreal, he thinks, and he often glances down to look at the bridge that carries them, its ability to carry the massive weight a feat that he doesn’t understand but appreciates all the same.

Throughout the trip, he often sneaks glances to the woman by his side—something about her poised and soft and yet as strong as the twilight-bridge beneath them. It’s intriguing and he contemplates it as they continue to walk. When they finally reach the island, when hooves sink into a familiar and yet alien sand, when the sand turns to snow, his handsome face splits with a grin, gold-flecked eyes burning.

He angles his head, catching the soft wonder on her face as the rabbit races forth.

“I think so,” he laughs, the sound impossibly warm in his mouth, wonder clear across the lines of his face. They continue forth and it is filled with the quiet touches, subtle and hesitant, as if they are just learning to discover one another. He wishes, for a moment, that he could read minds. That he could see why she accepted his offer to accompany him to the festival. That he could see what she thinks about this at all. What she thinks of him. But he has never been gifted in such ways—never been gifted more than the sweat of his brow and brawn of his back—and he doesn’t fret over it now.

He would find how she thinks, how she feels, in due time.

All in due time.

He reaches over, pressing his lips into the elegant curve of her neck and breathes her in, wondering at the tightening of his belly, of the way she feels like a memory and the future all at once. His inky lips trail up her neck and to the soft flesh behind her jaw where he lingers for a moment, taking a liberty he isn’t sure that he should but can’t stop himself from asking for all the same. “I am quite sure,” he murmurs, whiskey-voice low and gold-flecked eyes bright. “Although I would love to know what’s going on up there just once.” His scarred lips curve in the corner. “What a gift that would be.”

Another soft laugh as he turns his head toward the gathering, frowning slightly at her confession and pulling her closer into his side. He presses a kiss into her forehead, feeling a surge of protectiveness flood him, a wish that he could mute the world. “It’ll be okay,” he assures her. “And if it gets too loud, we can always find somewhere more…” his voice trails off as he nips her neck just barely, feeling the give of flesh between blunt teeth, “quiet to go.” There’s something a little wicked in his eyes, something a little mischievous that flares but it quiets and he nods. “Let’s go, Isle.”

And then he walks alongside her into the burst of light and the patterns of snow.

Where the crowds begin to mill about, and yet he only sees one.

good shouldn’t need to tempt us above