02-21-2017, 12:15 PM
She notices him tense, watches the ripple of dark, sinuous muscle move beneath the black of his smooth skin. But she does not know why, does not realize that he is remembering something that should exist only in her memories – does not realize that she had already shared this with him. With a furrowed brow and dark eyes that are soft and round and lifted uncertainly to his face, she frowns, touches her lips to his cheek again, “Are you alright, Stillwater?” Her voice is softer than silk, softer than starlight, breathless and worried and she steps closer to press her shoulder against his, to soothe that tension away with the warmth of her lips as they wander absently across the hollows of his chest.
He softens, and she isn’t sure if it is her lips or her words, but there is a smile on her mouth anyway, faint and uncertain even though it tugs warmth at the edges of those beautiful, luminous eyes. He sighs and his nose finds the hollow of her back, brushing gently across the slope of those faded blue withers, and she leans even deeper, closing her eyes and losing herself readily in this almost embrace. She knows, she does, that this is not like what her parents share, not a bond that is so unbreakable that even time cannot pry them apart. She knows, too, that this isn’t love, it isn’t those soft eyes and secret smiles and kisses shared when no one is looking.
Except, why, why does her heart hum like this for him, why does it grow wings when he smiles for her, why is she weightless with his mouth pressed to the hollow of her delicate back.
She opens her eyes again, still luminous, always luminous – there is too much light trapped inside her, too much bright and it must bleed from somewhere – and they settle quietly against his face, tracing every curve and hollow and harsh, beautiful line before he has a chance to notice those eyes on him. She is breathless at once, shy and soft and sinking safely into those eyes when they finally do find her, but she sinks for only a moment before she blinks and turns carefully away for steadier ground. But the words find her anyway, the ones she had meant to save and swallow and hide from his ears, the words she tells him now with her face pressed so sweetly against the curve of his warm, dark neck. “I missed you.” Soft and uncertain, shy and silver and soaked in starlight. Then, softer, lighter, and with a note of quiet teasing as she reaches out to lip at the curve of his heavy jaw, “You must be something special.”
I understand, she thinks silently, I understand why someone would bind you to them indefinitely.
When she glances at his face again, quiet eyes and a quiet smile against a face carved from dark marble, she cannot help but wonder if he knows his immense worth, his weight in her chest.
He places a light kiss against her shoulder and her skin warms immediately, flushed with heat and pleasure and something richer, something more. You said Sylva is home. You can’t trespass in your own home. He pulls her back against his chest and she softens so willingly, so readily, rubbing her cheek against the point of his shoulder. He laughs, a chuckle, deep and amused and she finds that she loves the way it feels when it rumbles against her skin. I’m glad you came back, and she is weightless, his neck across her withers the only thing holding her in place, and I’m glad you will be staying. His mouth is against her mane, his lips in her hair, and she is useless to stop the shiver that wanders curiously up her spine.
You’ve brought someone with you? He asks and she smiles faintly in response, testing his tranquility with teeth nipping lightly at the curve of muscle from throat to chest. “My family, “ she replies after a moment, that smile widening slightly – though he probably cannot see it with her tucked so comfortably against the strength of his chest, “your cave seemed big enough for all of us.” She pauses and her voice is thoughtful , innocent, but the smile is what betrays the truth in her words. She did not, in fact, plan to let her parents near the cave. Nor was she entirely certain he would continue to share it with her. But this levity, this light, this laughter trapped in her chest feels so much easier than the weight in her heart, the pit in her stomach. “That will be nice, yes?”
There is laughter in her voice now, pale and violet and warm when she slips out from beneath his neck to head further down the shore to his lake. But she is deliberate when she slips out from beneath him, pressing another kiss to the soft of his mouth, and then weaving beneath his chin so that his mouth brushes her withers, her spine, the point of a delicate blue hip, further. When she reaches the water and turns her head back over her shoulder to look at him, her eyes are dark and damp, bruised with something that she is struggling to identify. But she pushes it back, for now, quiet and less uncertain than she had been before. “Are you coming?” She asks, and it is so soft, so easy, not even a little demanding.
But then she turns back to the water and lifts her face to the sky, tracing gentle fingers across the power that thrums like electricity within the blue of her small chest. She is strong in this clearing, made stronger by the sunlight that soaks in across the lake, stronger still by the shadows that pool beneath the nearest trees. It the mixed essence of her ability, the plentitude of both light and dark and she absorbs it so easily. She throws shadows into the sky, a small dome of dusk that settles around them, a blanket of half-dark that softens the glow of the sun so that when she next looses a hundred flickering stars in the air around them, they are easier to see. “For you.” She says, light and soft and a little breathless with the adrenaline that still floods her veins in the echo of so much used magic, and she does not realize what it is she has done. Does not realize that this is the mirror of the memory that haunts him, still.
A small mare, slight and slender, peppered through with gleaming light and dark to match the colors on Lusters dusty roan skin appears at the shore by the lake. There is no sound, no smell, no way to touch what is only light and bright and the result of remembering. But it is there and it is quiet, and when it lifts its small, dark face to the night, there are a hundred flickering stars in that sky, too. Stars like sunken ships and lost fireflies, waiting patiently for a pair of deepwater eyes to find them.
He softens, and she isn’t sure if it is her lips or her words, but there is a smile on her mouth anyway, faint and uncertain even though it tugs warmth at the edges of those beautiful, luminous eyes. He sighs and his nose finds the hollow of her back, brushing gently across the slope of those faded blue withers, and she leans even deeper, closing her eyes and losing herself readily in this almost embrace. She knows, she does, that this is not like what her parents share, not a bond that is so unbreakable that even time cannot pry them apart. She knows, too, that this isn’t love, it isn’t those soft eyes and secret smiles and kisses shared when no one is looking.
Except, why, why does her heart hum like this for him, why does it grow wings when he smiles for her, why is she weightless with his mouth pressed to the hollow of her delicate back.
She opens her eyes again, still luminous, always luminous – there is too much light trapped inside her, too much bright and it must bleed from somewhere – and they settle quietly against his face, tracing every curve and hollow and harsh, beautiful line before he has a chance to notice those eyes on him. She is breathless at once, shy and soft and sinking safely into those eyes when they finally do find her, but she sinks for only a moment before she blinks and turns carefully away for steadier ground. But the words find her anyway, the ones she had meant to save and swallow and hide from his ears, the words she tells him now with her face pressed so sweetly against the curve of his warm, dark neck. “I missed you.” Soft and uncertain, shy and silver and soaked in starlight. Then, softer, lighter, and with a note of quiet teasing as she reaches out to lip at the curve of his heavy jaw, “You must be something special.”
I understand, she thinks silently, I understand why someone would bind you to them indefinitely.
When she glances at his face again, quiet eyes and a quiet smile against a face carved from dark marble, she cannot help but wonder if he knows his immense worth, his weight in her chest.
He places a light kiss against her shoulder and her skin warms immediately, flushed with heat and pleasure and something richer, something more. You said Sylva is home. You can’t trespass in your own home. He pulls her back against his chest and she softens so willingly, so readily, rubbing her cheek against the point of his shoulder. He laughs, a chuckle, deep and amused and she finds that she loves the way it feels when it rumbles against her skin. I’m glad you came back, and she is weightless, his neck across her withers the only thing holding her in place, and I’m glad you will be staying. His mouth is against her mane, his lips in her hair, and she is useless to stop the shiver that wanders curiously up her spine.
You’ve brought someone with you? He asks and she smiles faintly in response, testing his tranquility with teeth nipping lightly at the curve of muscle from throat to chest. “My family, “ she replies after a moment, that smile widening slightly – though he probably cannot see it with her tucked so comfortably against the strength of his chest, “your cave seemed big enough for all of us.” She pauses and her voice is thoughtful , innocent, but the smile is what betrays the truth in her words. She did not, in fact, plan to let her parents near the cave. Nor was she entirely certain he would continue to share it with her. But this levity, this light, this laughter trapped in her chest feels so much easier than the weight in her heart, the pit in her stomach. “That will be nice, yes?”
There is laughter in her voice now, pale and violet and warm when she slips out from beneath his neck to head further down the shore to his lake. But she is deliberate when she slips out from beneath him, pressing another kiss to the soft of his mouth, and then weaving beneath his chin so that his mouth brushes her withers, her spine, the point of a delicate blue hip, further. When she reaches the water and turns her head back over her shoulder to look at him, her eyes are dark and damp, bruised with something that she is struggling to identify. But she pushes it back, for now, quiet and less uncertain than she had been before. “Are you coming?” She asks, and it is so soft, so easy, not even a little demanding.
But then she turns back to the water and lifts her face to the sky, tracing gentle fingers across the power that thrums like electricity within the blue of her small chest. She is strong in this clearing, made stronger by the sunlight that soaks in across the lake, stronger still by the shadows that pool beneath the nearest trees. It the mixed essence of her ability, the plentitude of both light and dark and she absorbs it so easily. She throws shadows into the sky, a small dome of dusk that settles around them, a blanket of half-dark that softens the glow of the sun so that when she next looses a hundred flickering stars in the air around them, they are easier to see. “For you.” She says, light and soft and a little breathless with the adrenaline that still floods her veins in the echo of so much used magic, and she does not realize what it is she has done. Does not realize that this is the mirror of the memory that haunts him, still.
A small mare, slight and slender, peppered through with gleaming light and dark to match the colors on Lusters dusty roan skin appears at the shore by the lake. There is no sound, no smell, no way to touch what is only light and bright and the result of remembering. But it is there and it is quiet, and when it lifts its small, dark face to the night, there are a hundred flickering stars in that sky, too. Stars like sunken ships and lost fireflies, waiting patiently for a pair of deepwater eyes to find them.