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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    awake my soul | isle
    #11
    ** WARNING: subtle mentioning of sex **


    lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all.
    but lend me your heart and i'll just let you fall.

       Her eyes bore into him like the bright light of a thousand suns, blinding him with possibilities and awakening pieces of him he had long since suspected were dead. His skin bristled from the intensity of her eye contact; his flesh felt as if it were on fire and the night was still so young. He listened to her words closely as his lips traveled the length of her body - he could never grow tired of her soft, sweet words, nor her gentle touch, and he never would. Carnal desire throbbed deep within him as he listened to her awe over his words. He had searched for her endlessly, night after night and day after day, seeking the ambrosia that was her scent and another fleeting moment against her skin.

       He now savored it, allowing himself to drape over her once more, caressing her with his cheek and lip as a massive sigh fills his cavernous lungs with stale, heady oxygen. She is quieter now, the tension drawn away from her skin as she melts against him, victim to his affectionate gestures. He cannot stop himself, as he is too far gone now, wrapped up in a tight embrace that would surely never release its iron grip on his heart which batters against his steel ribcage with a fire all its own. If this is a dream, I want to live in it forever, she whispers against his skin, and he is all but undone.

       Reveling in the thought of such a fragile, yet powerful creature pining over him as he had for her is an overwhelming thought. He has spent so long enveloped in tortuous desolation and loneliness that her touch is so deeply craved for so many reasons; he has spent too long in isolation and yet something tells him that fate has weaved its intricacy into this very moment. It laces between them, sewing their flesh and their souls together, drawing him to her like a moth to a flame and her to him and he knows now that life will never be the same.

       He cannot linger on the darker thoughts that loom over his mind's eye, threatening to fill him with the same terrified dread that had haunted him for so long. Life was fleeting, as was time, and he refused to think of anything else in this moment. He needed this, he needed her and the idea of losing her had already become so unbearable it has set his heart alight with a burning, searing flame, scarring and irreparable. Her soft voice rouses him from his determination, pulling him back from the depths of the abyss found in his own mind. Never is an awfully long time, and he knows this more than anyone. He has lived a life without her, without the touch or presence of any for so many decades - likely before the time of her father, or grandfather - but he could not let her know it.

       To tell her of his immortality would be to reveal a grave weakness. She would surely see the pain etched in his eyes then, carved into his delicate pupils after years of anguish and despair, and she would flee. He steeled his mind against her then, not willing to allow a few moments of pleasure to weaken his resolve. He had to protect her from the inevitable. She would not and could not understand his life, nor the expanse of isolation that had once filled his existence to the brim. She would will herself away from him, to protect him, but he did not want protection. He wanted her, he needed her, he craved her in all of the ways a soul could need and want another.

       She presses into him, seeking his touch and aching to merge with him as he too desires her to, and her words evoke feelings he has longed to feel again. He begins an onslaught of light, burning kisses, tracing her dark tresses and following the line of her delicate withers. He does not cease at the base of her spine, but follows the length of it, feeling her rise and arch to his touch. Her breathlessness presses him forward, and he recognizes an urge within himself that he cannot contain. I want things with you I have no right wanting, she utters, and he muffles a rumbling laugh that bubbles from the depth of his throat. He traces her faintly visibly ribcage with his cheek, brushing it along as he nuzzles and presses into her skin, drawing her closer to him.

       "There is nothing I want more than you, Isle." His voice is now deep, gravelly and filled with an innate need for her that he cannot deny nor quench. And there, beneath the pale moonlight that has begun to peek through the damp, dripping and dense canopy above, he makes love to her, careful and slow, drawing out their needs as a magnet could to an array of splintering glass. She is everything and anything to him, filling his senses with her salty, sweet taste and her soft, subtle scent of blossoms and rain, and he unravels with her in the dark shadows of night, which shrouds them in its delicate embrace. When he has finished, long after she has, he draws her close again with a pounding heart and bated breath. His lips taste her skin again, longing to be closer to her.

       And then, "Stay with me. I never want to spend another day without you," but he knows he will, it is the inevitable, "and I never intend to." He cannot make such promises; he has no right making such promises. She will fade with time and wither away as blossoms do at the end of a warm, sweet summer, crumbling to ashes before his very eyes. He knows this, but he cannot imagine a life without her now, and so he will hold onto his beautiful lover and savor her every touch and kiss with every fiber of his being.

       "I want more than this night, Isle. I want you. Come with me, to the North - to the Tundra," He urges gently, his breath warm against her ear. "it is frigid but bearable, and beautiful in a way that no place else can compare to. I will keep you warm, if you will keep me at all."




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