"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
I'm the only one who will walk across a fire for you.
it's only fear that makes you run, the demons that you're hiding from.
”Maybe,” she murmurs softly, thoughtfully. Maybe.
And she had. She had longed for him to open up to her, to tell her of all the ways his heart ached, of all the awful devastation that had ravaged his heart so – and he did, for a moment. One fleeting moment beneath a starlit sky, where the heaviness of his confession very nearly drew them further out to sea before pulling them down into its murky depths, drowning them both in his despair.
It had been a painful moment – her, longing to be his strength, yearning to be anything more to him, and him, a wavering pillar, crumbling beneath a history too heavy to carry with a heart buried too deeply to be found. Yet, he had pushed her away, before pulling her back in again. Back, and forth. A never-ending, heart-wrenching exchange that left her weary, lonely, and bitter.
Though her heart had been left in mere pieces when he left, she had found some deeper meaning to her life. Her children were her heartbeat, and in time, she had learned to let down her own barrier – if she had learned nothing else from him, it was that one cannot spend an eternity living with regret. She still faltered – a sharp tongue, and a sharper wit – she often did not have a filter, and it occasionally had repercussions, but her heart was more open and softened with each day.
And though his words hurt (and oh, how the knife twists and turns gently inside of her chest – never before has a stranger stirred such misery), they are his own truth – and not her own.
He mutters about his capability, and she does not argue. She, too, wondered about how one could love anyone else without loving themselves, and loving himself was most certainly not one of Magnus’ strong points. Even so, he had kept her warm beneath a quiet, frigid dawn, and he had coaxed her out of her own bone-carved armor, vulnerable beneath her covering. He had defended her when no one else would, and he had followed her where no one else would go. He had given her the gift of motherhood, not once, but four times – and he had wept beside her as their first, a slick and too-still daughter, fell stillborn beneath the pale moonlight.
He was imperfect, but he had been enough, and even if he had never loved her at all, it had been enough for her.
His apology is quiet, and more selfish than sincere – he is not apologetic for what he has said; only for the truth behind his bitter words. ”I’m not going to accept your apology. You haven't told me anything I don't already know." She mumbles quietly, the ridge of her brow line furrowed as her gaze holds steady to the deep, almost grotesque scarring of his eye.
Gently, and perhaps foolishly (he may have a beast within, but she is none the wiser, and he is frail – she could take him, should she need to), she touches the plush velvet of her nose to his cheek where thick scarring lay. It is a momentary touch, a brief and fleeting one, but the only semblance of comfort she can give. ”You’re hurting, maybe for reasons that I can never – and will never understand,” (how familiar a thought; he was more like his father than he realized) ”but if yelling in a wide and empty field at someone you think you know is any respite, at least I have done that much.”
There is a lacing of humor in her final words, but it is fleeting, as her deep, golden eyes watch the warm summer sun fade behind him.
when all your promises are gone, I'm the only one.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
Perhaps his words were too harsh. There are small fleeting memories. The first time he had properly met his father, when he had been pulled into his embrace and felt true affection for the first time in his whole existence. Of laughter beneath the beautiful tree that had once stood proudly in the Gates. The swelling of pride in his chest when people compared father and son for it had been wonderful to be acknowledged as his. Of him being by his side when he had thought he had killed him, after escaping from Carnage’s sadistic hands. But it’s that final memory that brings the anger back up, scorching and crackling within him. It all could have been avoided from the start, it all could have been so very different from the beginning.
She won’t take his apology and with a certain stubbornness (a trait that seemed to come more from his mother’s side of the family) he refuses to accept that. ”I’m not sorry for what I said.” Because it’s true, Ledger doesn’t tell lies. Only what he feels, what he sees. ”I’m sorry for yelling at you. I don’t even know you. But you’re not the one I should be yelling at.” Another roll of bony shoulders as he turns his head away. Having one eye was sometimes useful, helped him avoid awkward situations and pretend he wasn’t there.
A soft touch beneath the empty hollow makes him go stiff. Ears flicking slightly back, so unused to the touch of another. He can’t help but shudder, not because it was unpleasant. Far from it. It’s almost too much to bare. The softest caress, she’s pulled back so quickly that he doesn’t realize it. Can feel the tingling over his puckered skin as if she was still there. Quieting a moan that threatens to escape from pursed lips for she has no idea how painful it is. How his hurt controls his life, constantly swirls about inside him. He carries it like a cross, this heavy burden he wears and has worn since the day he was born.
Despite the lightness in her voice, the small attempt at humor she offers like a lifejacket, he can’t grab it. ”I am drowning.” The confession falls from him, unable to hold it back. He is succumbing to a sea of depression and destruction and has no idea how to stop it. She is a complete stranger and yet he can't stop this tidal wave of emotion she brings out of him. Something about her has stirred the darkest part of himself.
The sky is turning to brilliant shades of pink and purples, casting a soft haze over them. Darkness threatens to come and he knows that once again he will not sleep tonight. ”I am drowning…” He repeats to himself and in the back of his mind the little colt wishes with all it’s might that Magnus was here.
I'm the only one who will walk across a fire for you.
it's only fear that makes you run, the demons that you're hiding from.
Her own memories were so different than his – as the daughter of an unusual creature (an equus lepidoptera; with the slender, muscled body of a horse, and the delicate, yet remarkable features of a moth - large compound eyes, six sinewy, too-flexible legs, large and intricately patterned wings, and so much more), she was already too familiar with how odd and peculiar life could be. The memory of her father nestling her close beneath his light, fragile wing, his probiscus tickling the crook of her jaw line to provoke any hint of her soft, bubbling laughter is still heavy on her mind, even now, as longing clutches tightly to his wistful tone.
She hardly knew her own mother – a flittering figment of her imagination, at most, but she had never yearned for anything more than what she had. She cannot help but to wonder if his anguish is born of so much more than the agony of a life cursed without his father to guide him, but she is not so brazen as to ask the whereabouts of his mother, knowing with a gentle roll of apprehension within her belly that the likelihood was that there were no warm, loving memories to find there.
His apology is more intricate, then, but she does not say a word – she knew the meaning behind it, and she still would not accept it. Heartache is a heavy burden, one that cannot be carried too long before its weight is too much for the sufferer to take. Her gentle prying had been just enough for his knees to buckle, stirring the rage, disappointment, and sorrow from deep inside of him – and if she had to ensure his scathing truth, his biting words, so be it, if it gave him any sort of release at all.
She could remember a time not too long ago in which she had held her own broken heart in her proverbial hands, weeping and grieving a love never truly had. As the memories of her children (so rebellious, wild, and free) move to the surface of her mind, of the stillborn daughter that had laid quietly before her, she is reminded of how deep and how harrowing the torment of losing a child was – and in turn, how much it must hurt to lose a father. A mother.
When her skin touches his, it is fleeting, but it elicits a low moan from his ragged vocal cords, and a flicker of concern emerges in the glimmer of her eye – but it soon wanes, wondering how long it had been since he had had any contact at all. Even she longed for the comfort and solace of another – her, the solitary one, so content to be alone and isolated from all the rest. Even she yearned for the touch for another; the most simple and primal of necessities. Gently, she touches him again, brushing her nose over the puckered scarring gently, quieting his soft, aching confession.
I am drowning,
”No, no – “ ah, but he is, and she is powerless against the current of his own emotion to stop it, and so she can be little else but a buoy, drifting out to sea with him.
I am drowning, he whispers again.
”No, Ledger,” she mumbles softly against his skin, a deeply rooted instinct stirring – wanting to protect him, to shield him from the onslaught of the storm waging war in his own mind. He does not remind her at all of her own children, but his voice is so soft, so meek, she can almost hear her son in his own youth, pleading with her to stay by his side under the shadow of a summer storm passes by. ”it will pass,” she says softly, as she has said before, touching is neck where his pulse thrums rapidly. ”it will pass.”
when all your promises are gone, I'm the only one.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
The ocean is tumultuous and expansive, a never ending sea of regret and disappointment. It constantly threatens to pull him down, fill his lungs. He chokes on his anguish and wonders how he has been spared this long, when will it finally swallow him once and for all. He is always barely treading water, just barely hanging on. The self caused neglect will eventually wear him down, he will be lucky to survive another season. He will be lucky to survive another week and if he doesn’t, his life will fade. A waste. A disgrace.
Her pleas are half hearted, not trusting her own words. She sees his truth as he does. He is drowning in his own hate and heartache. The softness of her muzzle against his ragged scars elicits another involuntary sigh and he can not help but succumb to her touch. The buoy he needs so desperately to cling on, the lighthouse that gives him a way out of his invincible dark sea.
It matters not that this was a mare that his father had made love to and created life with. The thought is so far from his mind, a story he has never seen. To him she is not Magnus’s ex lover. She is a mare that has been hurt by the same hands as he, a woman who has seen him at his rawest form and hadn’t turned away. They barely know each other and yet she probably knows him better than anyone else.
Her breath is sweet and warm against his cheek and his eyelid closes as he leans into her touch. ”It never passes.” He disagrees quietly, the pounding of his heart increasing at her caress. He can’t help himself, his muzzle finding the crook of her neck. It trails lightly down towards her chest until his head is hidden in the damp tresses of her mane. Never has he felt so safe, it’s unnerving. The beast within him stirs with want and desire but he does nothing more. Merely inhaling her scent, greedily stealing every second of contact that he can.
”This is what I am.” He mumbles into her skin, hesitating if he should break away. ”It will never change.” His words are laced with defeated acceptance. It would always be this way. Regretfully, he begins to pull away. It was foolish to think he could seek such comfort here with her.
I'm the only one who will walk across a fire for you.
it's only fear that makes you run, the demons that you're hiding from.
. His anguish takes her mind to another time, another place – beneath the fading sunlight, with the hungry sea drawing her into its depths, pulsating around her with every rise and fall of the tide. The tumultuous ocean had so much meaning to her (Magnus, and some deep, dark piece of him that longed to drown to the very bottom of it, and Warrick, the one tethered to her – each an anchor to the other), and she can see him sliding beneath the salty brine of his own misery, as the anger slowly dissipates.
In its place, heartbreak – a heartbreak she knew too well. Gently, her cheek touches his, feeling the warmth beneath the bare, scarred tissue – feeling him quiver beneath her touch. He was as fragile as she had been (and on the darkest, quietest nights, still was), wavering between ire and sorrow, as melancholy seeps through his pores and into the very marrow of his bones. His heartbreak is deeper, somehow – more raw. The heartbreak of a child longing for their father is much more powerful, and much more aching and tender than that of a love lost, and she is quiet, letting him seek comfort in her presence.
Her mouth touches the jutting bone of his shoulder, observing the way it protrudes from his deep sienna skin – dehydrated, and wasting away. A shadow of what he had once been; what he was – buried deep within beneath all the pain. A soft whisper of a sigh traverses the length of his spine as her jawline rests along the ridge of his shoulder, nearly missing his forlorn murmur. It never passes.
”But it will,” she says quietly, a hum against his skin. His mouth is soon tucked within the crook of her neck, trailing along the muscled line of her chest, as her pale tresses drape over him – sheltering him from the falling, wayward sun. Her own heart has moved once more from its steady rhythm into a quickened tempo; she can feel him pressing against her (longing for contact – yearning for friction to remind him he is not alone; perhaps more) and she cannot bring herself to pull away from him.
She is a broken thing, in her own way – aching to chase away the darkness in his eyes; a burning desire pooling somewhere in the pit of her belly. This is what I am, he mumbles, his words vibrating through her skin and jarring her already pounding heart.
It will never change, he laments, defeat etched into every syllable, but she drapes her neck over his own, pulling him closer even as he tries to pull away from her. As the moon rises into the sky, bathing them in its celestial light, dancing across the gilded plane of their skin, she presses her mouth against the skin hidden beneath his flaxen tresses, tasting the salt of sun and sweat that lay across the fine hair there. ”It doesn’t have to be what you are,” she mumbles softly. ”it can change, and it will pass. You have to want it to, and you don't have to face it alone.”
when all your promises are gone, I'm the only one.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
There’s no point in disagreeing with her even though he knows she’s wrong. It was too hard to let go now, not when he had been caring this burden since the day he was born. This was what he was. It could never be any different. Never. Instead he merely allows himself a moment of reprieve, to fall into her soft words of comfort and pretend like they could be true. Her lips lightly brush against his shoulder blade and his body quivers, unable to control the responses she brings out of him. Had he ever been touched this way? He can’t remember but he doesn't want it to stop.
This feeling of excitement that heats from deep within is a much more pleasant warmth then the anger that had just coursed through his veins. Her neck overlaps his, bringing him closer when he should pull away. Her lips are at his neck and he is barreled over with confusion. Part of him wonders why she comforts him, how exactly does she see him? To be fair, he doesn’t understand his own feelings towards her, what exactly is she now to him? No longer a stranger although she should be and yet he had laid his soul bare before her within a matter of seconds. Surely that makes a difference, changes things. Makes them... Something.
Her muzzle traces underneath his mane and reflex brings his own lips to graze lightly against the curve of her shoulder, tasting her golden skin in the pale moonlight. His breath is ragged and hot as he suppresses a quiet whisper of a moan. He has never been held like this, never had his body pressed against the softness of a woman. It’s almost too much for him to take. The creature in him writhes with the new emotion, for once they are aligned and in agreement.
His eye darkens with his newfound desire as he breathes her in deeply, smelling ash, soot, and sweat as well as the sweetness of grass and dew. His lips trail further down her body, grasping lightly but firmly at her withers. He’s not sure exactly what he’s doing but it comes naturally, as if he has done this for years. As if he had explored many feminine bodies in his life, as if this wasn’t the first. Instinct and desire drowning out any remaining doubts.
”Ellyse…” Her name tumbles out, breathless and dark with the rapid beating of his heart. He’s not sure what exactly he’s asking or if he’s even asking anything. Lipping gently at the small strands of white at the base of her neck, feeling the tickling of her wings against his side. Tarnished gold meet one’s of hazel, pulling back slightly. "What I want right now is for you to stay. Right now, I don't want to be alone."
I'm the only one who will walk across a fire for you.
it's only fear that makes you run, the demons that you're hiding from.
She cannot change his mind – he is as swift as the coursing river, and as unruly and temperamental. He is not unlike his father, a thought she decides then to tuck away somewhere within the deepest, darkest recesses of her own mind – the tension embedded deeply beneath the surface of his skin is already a telltale sign that he has had enough. The silence is shared but heavy, its burden settling between her shoulder blades – an ache is building, but she is loath to acknowledge it, quietly festering in the remnants of her own heartbreak. Uncertain.
Uncertain.
Once, she might have scoffed at the word – bitter, biting, scathing reproach towards a word that had always meant frail, weak, unstable to her. Uncertainty meant indecisiveness, and in her youth, she had been anything but. Powerful, unyielding and a force to be reckoned with, she had built a name and reputation with a spiteful ruthlessness that not many could muster nor manage, and yet it had come easily to her, bitterness wrought into her every word, as poison festered in her every calculated action. Yet, as time went on, it had worn her down – it had not built upon her seemingly impermeable foundation, but rather, it had set a single, solitary crack – slowly growing, spreading, tearing apart what had once been strong and able.
She is not broken, no – the only piece broken is what she thought she was; who she thought she was. Companionship (her heart pined for Warrick in a way she knew it should not - he longed for another, his mind and heart elsewhere, but he was her closest friend), motherhood (her children were her lifeblood; her deepest reason for being), love (what she had thought to be love – but it hadn’t been; not truly) – it had all softened the hard, jagged edges of what she had been, of what she had been born to be. Yet, in the wake of the aftermath, she was uncertain.
Evolving, changing – but uncertain.
Even now, as her heartbeat quickens within the suddenly too-tight confinement of her chest, she is uncertain. Her lips softly caress the crease of his neck and his jawline, feeling his pulse against her mouth, pounding rhythmically beneath her tongue as her warm breath wafts over the surface of his dark, amber skin. Mere moments ago (or so it seemed – the sun had long since fallen, and in its place, the bright and blinding moon had risen), she had come across the shadow of a troubled stranger, and yet now, with him buried close to her breast, she is rife with emotion, with adrenaline and arousal and once more she is uncertain.
Two hearts, broken, by one.
It drew her to his pain (oh, foolish, she is), and he, drawn to her understanding and comfort.
His mouth is pressed against her shoulder, and his breathing is quickened, hot with a suppressed moan that nearly causes her heart to leap within her chest – it had been so long since she had felt anything stir beyond a physical need (she is a sexual creature – but this is somehow different). There is a shadow of familiarity in his touch, in the darkness settling over his strong, masculine features – he is handsome, in a way he can never see, can never understand; but she does not linger on the deep hollow of his cheek, nor the alluring shadow of his strong jawline. She cannot.
(He is not Magnus; he is Ledger – she is not a fool, nor foolish enough to think or pretend otherwise – but the tendrils of darkness seeping from his broken, damaged heart tether her to him, and his presence is enough to set her on fire.)
Soon, his mouth is traversing the length of her spine, teeth pressing into her withers, and she suppresses a soft gasp that becomes a quieted, strangled moan. There is a heat in his touch that had not been there before, and she is torn, her hazel eyes meeting with his own amber. Uncertain, but wanting – she hardly knew him, but somehow felt that she had always known him, having seen the broken, jagged pieces of him that remain from cruel hand dealt to him by life.
Ellyse, he murmurs, and she is shivering. Stay, and I don’t want to be alone.
”You don’t have to be,” she whispers softly, pressing her pale lips beneath his ear, where his tangled tresses lay, trailing her mouth to the crease of his jaw where she can taste his pulse beneath his skin again. Gently, beside him, her feathered wing stirs and caresses the curve of his flank and along his underbelly, as the rounded curve of her hip presses against his own, seeking his warmth. Seeking something that leaves her feeling warm, lightheaded and anything but uncertain. ”and I am not going anywhere, Ledger – not if you don’t want me to.”
when all your promises are gone, I'm the only one.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
There is a hardness in her, he had sensed it from the beginning. Feels it now, tension that ripples through her muscles. Uncertainty. He sees it in the depths of the cool greens and curling browns of her beautiful autumn eyes. How funny life is. What she feels is usually meant for him. Yet right now, in this very moment, he has never been more certain of anything in his life. Their hearts are close to bursting with the pain caused by one. The mutual bond they share, the writhing anguish that threatens to consume them. It’s only right that they should burn together.
Despite his weathered and neglected appearance, she sees something in him. Her own lips part softly, a soft sigh and it quickens his pulse. Makes him press harder into her. He holds back, his own body quivering with anticipation, for he won’t do a thing unless she wants it. Acknowledges that this need isn’t in his head, that she feels it too. Magnus is pushed into the darkest recesses of his mind, he refuses to think about the bigger picture. Doesn’t think of how badly this could all end. How much worse could it possibly get, why didn’t they deserve this small suspended moment in time?
He’s not stupid enough to think she could possibly love him, no he’s not worthy of that. Love was evasive and certainly not something one can create in a few minutes or an hour. No this was beyond that, he can’t fully understand it. Can’t place a finger on exactly what this is. There’s a hunger in his belly, painful and starving. It’s never been satiated and here is this exquisite tantalizing piece of fruit just dangling mere inches from him. Her body trembles against his as she meets his gaze, her lips at the base of his throat as he swallows hard but his gaze doesn’t waver from hers. ”I’m not going anywhere…”
The consent is given and he freezes slightly, he hadn’t expected it. For a second the doubts surface but only for a second. The bear consumes them and his body seems to explode. His features darken with his desire for her as they easily press into each other’s curves and hollows, as if they had always belonged there. Feathers stimulating his sides, hardening him as his teeth gently nip at the soft skin above her shoulder. Trailing up to her neck in firm kisses before his lips find hers. This alone is worth everything to him, this feeling is pure ecstasy. It doesn’t matter if they are exposed in the open meadow, nothing matters anymore but her.
Soft caresses become slightly rougher as they find the spots that make her gasp and writhe beneath his touch. Placing love bites along her back, kissing the rounded curve of her flank as he moves behind her. He takes his time, exploring the length of her body, what she likes. He has never done this before but what he lacks in experience he makes up for in enthusiasm.
The harsh tones from the argument are forgotten, now softer words fall from his tongue as he succumbs to her. She is beautiful and he does not hesitate to tell her so, his breath harsh and heavy even as his lips find her withers again, unable to keep his lips from the sweetness of her skin. What was ecstasy before is pure euphoria now. The feeling of her around him..He is a man addicted and as soon as they finish the first time, he takes her again.
For one so close to death he is suddenly reenergized, the promise of what he could be hanging in the air. The moon keeps watch, silent and stoic, she keeps her judgement to herself. Silver light clings to the sweat that glistens across his amber coat, his sides heaving from exertion. The exhaustion he feels is new, this need he had long suppressed finally subsiding. His appetite whetted. ”Ellyse..” He mumbles softly into the damp strands of her hair, pulling her to him. There are no words to explain to her how he feels, this rare snapshot of happiness that leaves him speechless.
For the first time in years… He finally feels tired enough to sleep. Exhausted enough that he’s not afraid of the nightmares that lurk behind the darkness of his eyelid. ”Stay with me.” A soft kiss pressed to her forehead, tasting the salt of her sweat. Wanting nothing more then to hold her beside him, entangled in each other. To be safe within her and knowing that for once the night terrors won't appear.
I'm the only one who will walk across a fire for you.
it's only fear that makes you run, the demons that you're hiding from.
All sensibility is lost; his breath is warm and tempting against her tingling skin and she is altogether breathless and captured within the moment. She is lost in the sheer, unimaginable power of it, their bodies pressed against once another beneath the enveloping light of a waning moon as There is some part of her that yearns to be wanted, and not at all unlike him – a deep desire, rooted in the very marrow of her bones, longing (for him, it is to be held, and for her, it is to be coveted – but either way, it is an all-consuming craving, threatening to swallow each of them whole).
And yet, as he presses a fervent kiss to her golden skin, she can hardly breathe. There is a flickering flame beneath his touch, warm and yearning for the surface of it skin, where it can fester and burn and leave her quivering under the scalding caress of its ember. Where he had once been quiet, brooding and pining, there was a soft vulnerability carved into his hardened features – a darkening desire; a roiling, growing desire pooling within the pit of his belly as it had grown in her own.
There is so much to fuel the fire crackling within the heat of their bodies – two flittering, fading embers, stoked into a powerful, raging inferno – much of which she, herself, would never be able to fully understand. He is aching, longing, and she is heartbroken, barely pieced back together, and yet their anguish has only served to bring them together – doused in kerosene; lit with a feeble but flickering match, setting the friction into a fiery blaze.
She is burning beneath his touch, surrendering to the hunger stirring (his caresses are passionate, with such sudden fervor, pressing hardened, warm kisses wherever his pale mouth can reach, eliciting soft, breathless moans from within). His trailing kisses, firm and insistent along the length of her slender neck, stir a deep, reverberating moan, vibrating against his lips as he finally finds her own.
She is left wanting for more when his teeth travel elsewhere, touching and grazing the surface of her skin, plucking softly and pressing her supple flesh in between, lightly nipping along the subtle slope of her spine. She is writhing beneath him, unaware of any inexperience - he is aching, hungry, and her mind is heady and taken by the sheer power behind his lustful touch. She is reaching, longing to draw him nearer to her so that she, too, can make him burn beneath her own touch, but he is too captive by her own skin, finding each and every part of her that can make her gasp and croon for more of him, and she is powerless to resist.
He is passionate (she had already known this – he is passionate in his conviction, passionate in his anger, and thus, passionate in his love making) and she is entirely undone by him, drawn in with the rhythmic movement of him pulling her closer and the softly spoken words pressed against her ear. It is not long before ecstasy is rolling over her in waves, and she is breathless again and wanting, gasping his name softly as he pulls her closer again, taking her again.
In the end, she is left spent, her breaths coming in soft but heavy puffs against his dampened skin, satisfied in a way she has never been before. Softly, her murmurs her name, and she can only manage to whisper his own to him, tucking the smooth plane of her forehead beneath the crook of his neck, feeling his hammering heartbeat pound quickly within his throat.
She is laughing, then – a soft, incredulous laugh – euphoria of her own leaving her quivering and lightheaded as she presses warm, needing kisses to his skin, tasting the sweat and moonlight lingering there. ”That was ..” she begins, but there are no words to describe it (she had never felt anything like it; a satisfaction so deep it has left her quiet and thunderstruck), and so she merely touches his neck as his own touch her forehead, a soft “mm” fading away in her throat.
Stay with me, he whispers, and she reaches up to press a single kiss to the line of his jaw, where beads of sweat are shaken loose – trickling in rivulets down the length of his neck. ”I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers again, entangling herself with him while her heartbeat still thrums swiftly but steadily within the hearth of her chest.
when all your promises are gone, I'm the only one.
Bound for trouble from the start I've been walking through this old world in the dark
Despite the wave of exhaustion that sweeps across him, his body prickles with heat. The stirring of excitement still rolling in his belly as he touches her, nibbling lightly at the base of her nape. Tongue tasting and probing, unable to keep his wandering hands off her svelte figure. He is a man in a haze, foggy and unclear but blissfully happy, wrapped in the warmth of their postcoital embrace. Her moans still fill his head and he has half a mind to take her again, wants to feel her beneath him, but his body protests. His eyelid half closed, sleepiness fighting against his brain and body’s desires. As her words linger, he can’t help but grin into her mane. ”I know.” He finishes, beyond pleased with himself that he had obviously done things right.
Sweat drips off the curves of his ravaged body, he is sticky and humid but he doesn’t care. For once the heat melting his insides doesn’t bother him. It was worth it for this. Her kiss finds his jaw and he presses his lips to hers once more. Nothing... Nothing was better than this. Gently he pulls her down with him, folding her against his bony side and entangling himself with her as if they had been doing this forever. As if this hadn't been the first. His neck stretches as his teeth graze lightly along her backside, soothing movements to lull them further into this comforting safe space. Although he longs to fall into the blackness that awaits him with welcoming arms (how long has his tired mind been waiting for this?), he forces himself to stay awake a bit longer. ”If I hadn’t found you…” He murmurs softly, lips brushing gentle kisses along the length of her supple neck before resuming the scratching of her back.
”Ellyse…”. Stifling a yawn, scratching fading into nuzzles as light as butterfly kisses. ”Whatever happens after tonight…I just…” But whatever had been nagging at the back of his mind, whatever he had meant to say, is lost. For sleep has finally overwhelmed him and with his skull nestled against her feathers he falls into the darkness. Not once does he wake, not once do his old friends (the terrors of night) visit him. He sleeps a dreamless sleep and it’s almost as blissful as entwining himself with her.
