06-14-2017, 10:27 PM
When the sun sinks and the sky turns autumn, shades of red and gold and rust, she returns to their cave. It smells like him now, sulfur and brimstone, his sweat and his musk made resonant by the humid stone she runs her nose across pensively before stepping outside again. She can barely remember the ice from before, not the scent of it on his skin anyway. It was like a faraway dream whose details faded the faster she tried to remember, watered down and vague and purely theoretical. There was no ice now, no winter. No hint of the Tundra except for the faces of those who had served it. Only brimstone and fire and a pensive king with a strange fever that never seemed to leave him.
Night falls and dark stretches across the sky to erase all color, pinpricks of impatient, twinkling silver the only sign of life. She watches for a long while, counts two stars that burst and fall, chased by their tails as they cut across the black. There is enough time to make a wish before they fade near the horizon, but her eyes are unfocused, her thoughts elsewhere.
It is the heavy stride and the rustle of vegetation brushed aside that calls her back again, and those gentle brown eyes drop from the sky to find him. “Offspring.” She says in that quiet way, her face soft and unreadable as he approached, wondering at the tension she saw in the furrow of his brow and cheeks. She turns hesitantly to greet him but he pushes his nose against her hip, tastes the salt on her skin and she softens instantly, leans into the touch with a whispery sigh that looses itself from her pale and pink lips. His mouth finds her spine next, that dark, gentle ridge, and he travels it with the graze of flat teeth and a warm breath that makes her shiver beneath him. “Offspring?” She says again, a tremulous whisper, breathless and beautiful. His teeth close over her withers in a request she recognizes and she stills reflexively, turning her head to watch him with soft, needing eyes.
But he doesn’t take her, doesn’t touch her further except to bury his lips against skin that shivers expectantly at this closeness. Isle, he says, murmurs against her, look at me.
She does, twists so that she can claim those beautiful eyes lit red like living coals. She traces the furrows in his cheek, long lines of quiet tension, traces the soft hollows of a strong face she had long since memorized - a face she would know by touch. “I am,” she says, so quiet, reaching up to press a kiss to the heat of his forehead, “I see you.” But she saw all of him, more than she understood, more than he had shared. So she saw it in glimpses and hints, in echoes and instinct, and none of it made sense. A silhouette full of holes, familiar and same, yet somehow so changed, unrecognizable.
But still hers.
Always hers.
Always?
She turns to his chest, curls against an impossible heat that prickles at her skin and draws dampness in the curve of her dark shoulders. Her mouth lifts to find his jaw, to trail whisper-soft kisses along the curve and to his mouth, claiming it with a kiss that drew him deeply to her. “You’re changing,” she says against his lips, and it isn’t a question, isn’t an accusation, but there is a soft worry in her voice when the next words take shape, “but you’re changing without me.” Her kisses shift sideways, finding home in that impossibly soft hollow just past the corner of his mouth where she closes her eyes and settles, breathes in that familiar scorched scent of brimstone. “Not allowed,” she whispers, finds his mouth again with lips that are soft and smiling in a light, quiet way, “you’re mine.” Her nose reaches to the curve of his throat, follows his neck down to his chest with teeth that pinch gently and lips that soothe with quiet kisses. “Do you still want that?” She asks, and this question is so quiet, so vulnerable, etched in shadow across that dark, beautiful face. “Do you still want this?”
i am well aware of the shadows in my heart
Night falls and dark stretches across the sky to erase all color, pinpricks of impatient, twinkling silver the only sign of life. She watches for a long while, counts two stars that burst and fall, chased by their tails as they cut across the black. There is enough time to make a wish before they fade near the horizon, but her eyes are unfocused, her thoughts elsewhere.
It is the heavy stride and the rustle of vegetation brushed aside that calls her back again, and those gentle brown eyes drop from the sky to find him. “Offspring.” She says in that quiet way, her face soft and unreadable as he approached, wondering at the tension she saw in the furrow of his brow and cheeks. She turns hesitantly to greet him but he pushes his nose against her hip, tastes the salt on her skin and she softens instantly, leans into the touch with a whispery sigh that looses itself from her pale and pink lips. His mouth finds her spine next, that dark, gentle ridge, and he travels it with the graze of flat teeth and a warm breath that makes her shiver beneath him. “Offspring?” She says again, a tremulous whisper, breathless and beautiful. His teeth close over her withers in a request she recognizes and she stills reflexively, turning her head to watch him with soft, needing eyes.
But he doesn’t take her, doesn’t touch her further except to bury his lips against skin that shivers expectantly at this closeness. Isle, he says, murmurs against her, look at me.
She does, twists so that she can claim those beautiful eyes lit red like living coals. She traces the furrows in his cheek, long lines of quiet tension, traces the soft hollows of a strong face she had long since memorized - a face she would know by touch. “I am,” she says, so quiet, reaching up to press a kiss to the heat of his forehead, “I see you.” But she saw all of him, more than she understood, more than he had shared. So she saw it in glimpses and hints, in echoes and instinct, and none of it made sense. A silhouette full of holes, familiar and same, yet somehow so changed, unrecognizable.
But still hers.
Always hers.
Always?
She turns to his chest, curls against an impossible heat that prickles at her skin and draws dampness in the curve of her dark shoulders. Her mouth lifts to find his jaw, to trail whisper-soft kisses along the curve and to his mouth, claiming it with a kiss that drew him deeply to her. “You’re changing,” she says against his lips, and it isn’t a question, isn’t an accusation, but there is a soft worry in her voice when the next words take shape, “but you’re changing without me.” Her kisses shift sideways, finding home in that impossibly soft hollow just past the corner of his mouth where she closes her eyes and settles, breathes in that familiar scorched scent of brimstone. “Not allowed,” she whispers, finds his mouth again with lips that are soft and smiling in a light, quiet way, “you’re mine.” Her nose reaches to the curve of his throat, follows his neck down to his chest with teeth that pinch gently and lips that soothe with quiet kisses. “Do you still want that?” She asks, and this question is so quiet, so vulnerable, etched in shadow across that dark, beautiful face. “Do you still want this?”