Gale
this is going to break me clean in two --
this is going to bring me close to you
The Curse is fluid in a great many ways, and the deep rumble of its purr grows louder as she prowls up its body. Without a true body of its own, the Curse is neither male nor female, and the momentary worry of her teeth hovering over its exposed belly warms quickly to hot desire as she stands over it, hip to hip.
The lion raises its head, exposing its neck without fear, pressing up against her where it can, enjoying the way its body fits against hers. Do you think about it, she asks, and it starts to laugh because how could it possibly be thinking of anything else at this moment?
But she continues before the laugh is anything more than a sharp exhale, and she is not talking about what it had thought at all. For the second time in a remarkably short period, the Curse is surprised.
Gale takes this small advantage, and speaks.
“Take away my shifting. Bind me in a single shape so I’m less likely to hurt you. I’ll try not to fight.” That’s all he manages before the Curse is back, seizing control and shoving Gale back down into the darkness. Furious, both at Gale and itself, the Curse barely remembers to make the feather grow dark before it shoves her off, far less gentle with her than Gale would dare.
This is not what it had wanted.
She keeps surprising the Curse, upsetting all its carefully laid plans with a few words or moments of thought. She is sharper than Gale, who’d not clued in to the swift passing of days that accompanied his loss of memory. She is an obstacle to be eliminated, but each time it almost moves forward, it remembers the children and rocks back on navy haunches.
Hurting her might mean hurting the children, so it keeps its sharp-clawed paws on the snowy ground where it sits.
Words won’t hurt the children.
“It’s nice to see you in the daylight, Mazikeen.” It says, and for the first time it doesn’t sound like Gale. The Curse still speaks with Gale’s mouth, but it no longer imitates his speech patterns, that soft accent of a Loessian that had all but faded during his time in Islandres. This voice is crisper, sharper. Colder.
The eyes with which it surveys her are Gale's eyes, but the pupils are blown so wide they seem nearly black. That gaze takes her in, the sleek white fur, firm muscles, the scars of battles that so enchant Gale. That gaze takes her in lingering on the swell of her belly where Gale has so helpfully planted children. It stares just like Gale stares, and when it finally returns its gaze to her face, it smiles with his very same charming smile.
@[Mazikeen]
|
