06-03-2021, 01:35 AM
Ryatah
His response draws another laugh from her, followed by a pull of his mane with her teeth in teasing admonishment. “But you’re not very good at lying,” she says as he moves closer, because she knows that he would have never pretended such a thing, not even for her. She wonders if she will ever stop being surprised that he chose her. That she did not have to beg him every day to show that he loves her, that she did not have to be afraid of him leaving each time she makes a mistake (she is sure he has figured it out by now, that is often). She has spent nearly all of her life having to learn to search for the small, nearly indecipherable things that meant someone cared for her even minutely, and yet with him, it was never a secret.
It wasn’t a game.
It wasn’t him always setting her up to lose, or making it abundantly clear how she constantly falls short.
It wasn’t her trying to sabotage it at every turn, by spending nights in all the places she should not be, entangled with those that she knows either would never truly want her, or that she could never entirely love back.
To love someone so absolutely and have them love her back was the most profound and terrifying thing, but she was so grateful that it had happened with him.
Her own body caves to the gravitational pull of him, and after over a year of not being able to feel the sureness of him pressed into her, she is starving for it. She never tired of finding the softness he hid behind his sharp teeth and even sharper tongue, and she does not bother to hide the way her body shudders beneath his touch. You will never be close enough, he had told her, and she is reminded of how true that is, because no matter how close she presses into him or how many times his lips and teeth graze her skin, it is not enough. Her own lips press slowly against his neck and shoulder, as if by taking her time it might somehow sate the voracious hunger the clawed inside of her.
It’s never enough, but it’s more than what she has had in over a year, and she tries to find a way to be grateful.
They will have more than enough time to make up for what they lost, though, and she tilts her head just enough to look back at her own wings when he mentions them. “I don’t know why they changed,” she says, perplexed and thoughtful, before turning back to settle against him again. “Everything feels different,” because when she focuses long enough to look beyond the exhilaration of being able to touch him again, she can see that there is so much more than just stardust shimmering from her wings. It is not just her heart racing and skin flushing at the way he kisses her, but the way her veins feel alight with a strange fire that was so much more than the healing she had possessed before. “But I don’t know what it is, or why.”
It wasn’t a game.
It wasn’t him always setting her up to lose, or making it abundantly clear how she constantly falls short.
It wasn’t her trying to sabotage it at every turn, by spending nights in all the places she should not be, entangled with those that she knows either would never truly want her, or that she could never entirely love back.
To love someone so absolutely and have them love her back was the most profound and terrifying thing, but she was so grateful that it had happened with him.
Her own body caves to the gravitational pull of him, and after over a year of not being able to feel the sureness of him pressed into her, she is starving for it. She never tired of finding the softness he hid behind his sharp teeth and even sharper tongue, and she does not bother to hide the way her body shudders beneath his touch. You will never be close enough, he had told her, and she is reminded of how true that is, because no matter how close she presses into him or how many times his lips and teeth graze her skin, it is not enough. Her own lips press slowly against his neck and shoulder, as if by taking her time it might somehow sate the voracious hunger the clawed inside of her.
It’s never enough, but it’s more than what she has had in over a year, and she tries to find a way to be grateful.
They will have more than enough time to make up for what they lost, though, and she tilts her head just enough to look back at her own wings when he mentions them. “I don’t know why they changed,” she says, perplexed and thoughtful, before turning back to settle against him again. “Everything feels different,” because when she focuses long enough to look beyond the exhilaration of being able to touch him again, she can see that there is so much more than just stardust shimmering from her wings. It is not just her heart racing and skin flushing at the way he kisses her, but the way her veins feel alight with a strange fire that was so much more than the healing she had possessed before. “But I don’t know what it is, or why.”
EVEN ANGELS HAVE THEIR WICKED SCHEMES