07-20-2020, 09:54 PM
all i want is to flip a switch
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
He is growing far too comfortable with her constant presence, far too attached to the warmth of that porcelain angel body curled beside him in the dark each night. Every morning feels as impossible as the night that came before it, and there is a very guarded part of him that expects to wake and find her as distant a memory as the dreams he comes untethered from each new dawn. But just as the morning before, and so many before that, he wakes to her warmth and her light and gentle motion of her breathing chest.
He knows, by her own admission, that this is not forever, that it is only for now. But it is hard to keep any kind of distance between them in his chest when all these days feel like a balm on every broken part of him. He is forgetting to be afraid of losing this, of losing her. He is forgetting how much the dark loves him, that it will always come for him.
He is forgetting himself, and it is a beautiful feeling.
Her halo lights the dark of their sleeping place, and he is glad for it because he uses it to find her and pull her closer to him, pressing his nose to her mane and breathing in the smell of her. “You are starting to smell like me.” He warns with that morning roughness to his voice and almost crooked smile finding recently well-worn paths across his dark mouth. That fact pleases him, feeds that dark sense of possessiveness she is so good at keeping at bay. “I hope you don’t expect me to apologize for it, because I am absolutely not even a little sorry.”
His eyes are nearly smiling now, an almost warm shade of dirty gold as he pushes her mane aside to run his lips across her neck, tracing a slow path to her shoulder, leaving a constellation of kisses over that glowing white. He is slowly learning what she loves, memorizing every piece of herself she is willing to give him, committing these pieces of her to a forever place inside his chest to have even after she is gone again.
“Angel,” he murmurs, knowing she is slow to wake, but also just loving the way that words tastes on his tongue. His attention wanders, and his heart feels oddly light in his chest as his lips move from her shoulder to over her ribs, settling on the ever-growing swell of her belly. He knows what it means, though he has not spoken of it aloud, just as he knows the life inside must be his. It has been only them for more time than he has means to count, just them.
The sound he makes is almost a groan, and completely involuntary as he kisses her stomach, rubbing his dark cheek against the shining white in a way that is more possessive than he means to be. “Angel,” he says again, mouth climbing her neck again to press against the heat of her delicate jaw for the briefest moment, “what piece of you do I get to learn about today?”
He knows, by her own admission, that this is not forever, that it is only for now. But it is hard to keep any kind of distance between them in his chest when all these days feel like a balm on every broken part of him. He is forgetting to be afraid of losing this, of losing her. He is forgetting how much the dark loves him, that it will always come for him.
He is forgetting himself, and it is a beautiful feeling.
Her halo lights the dark of their sleeping place, and he is glad for it because he uses it to find her and pull her closer to him, pressing his nose to her mane and breathing in the smell of her. “You are starting to smell like me.” He warns with that morning roughness to his voice and almost crooked smile finding recently well-worn paths across his dark mouth. That fact pleases him, feeds that dark sense of possessiveness she is so good at keeping at bay. “I hope you don’t expect me to apologize for it, because I am absolutely not even a little sorry.”
His eyes are nearly smiling now, an almost warm shade of dirty gold as he pushes her mane aside to run his lips across her neck, tracing a slow path to her shoulder, leaving a constellation of kisses over that glowing white. He is slowly learning what she loves, memorizing every piece of herself she is willing to give him, committing these pieces of her to a forever place inside his chest to have even after she is gone again.
“Angel,” he murmurs, knowing she is slow to wake, but also just loving the way that words tastes on his tongue. His attention wanders, and his heart feels oddly light in his chest as his lips move from her shoulder to over her ribs, settling on the ever-growing swell of her belly. He knows what it means, though he has not spoken of it aloud, just as he knows the life inside must be his. It has been only them for more time than he has means to count, just them.
The sound he makes is almost a groan, and completely involuntary as he kisses her stomach, rubbing his dark cheek against the shining white in a way that is more possessive than he means to be. “Angel,” he says again, mouth climbing her neck again to press against the heat of her delicate jaw for the briefest moment, “what piece of you do I get to learn about today?”
Illum