05-16-2020, 03:44 PM
all i want is to flip a switch
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
before something breaks that cannot be fixed
He does see that spark in her eyes, a silent flicker that says as much to him as any words ever could. Though he chooses not to be, tries not to be, the dark inside him took the form of predator long ago, and it has only ever been sharpened by the wickedness he’s encountered throughout his early life.
There is a voice in his mind that is not a voice at all, it is an urge or an impulse, an ache in his belly that makes him feel sick once it passes. It whispers to step closer, to touch his mouth to her neck because it knows she will allow it, because it saw that flicker in her eyes too. To trace love with the heat of his still breath over skin so white that even doves must be jealous. That impulse tells him to take her, because he could have her if he wanted it.
And maybe that is the difference she sees in him, a yawning distance in his eyes and the way he does not look at her as others might.
Because the voice is him, and it makes him sick.
His face is almost a snarl now as he drifts through those thoughts, but it softens when she speaks again and reclaims the dark of his eyes as he works quietly to understand the things she didn’t say aloud. Like the way her chin tucks to her chest and her eyes disappear behind a forelock as bright as fresh morning snow. Is she pleased with his assessment, or is she hiding from it?
The snarl is completely faded now, and the corner of his mouth pulls up just a hint as he watches her. “Then whose halo did you steal?” And for just the briefest disarming moment, there is an actual smile on his bemused mouth, crooked and reaching to touch the shadows in his eyes. But it’s like the dark in him feels it and it is gone again in an instant. He nearly turns from her, but her gaze lifts and those eyes hold him hostage again.
“What makes you think it’s a threat?” He asks, but his eyes have hardened again a little because there’s this goddamn smile on her lips making that voice in his head whisper terrible things. “Maybe i’m just friendly.” But he is helpless to caring now, to stop that he is slipping from man to beast, that his dark is a tide swelling in his chest and she is the gravity of twelve moons. He blinks, and maybe the war in his eyes is visible, maybe she feels the shadows tighten for a moment and then disappear again with silent caress at her bare throat, but he’s trying.
He takes a single step back, though his pulse is an ache in his chest remembering that smile and those dark angel eyes, how easy it would be to make them open wider. “So,” he says, grasping at the words she had spoken moments ago, those first words, anything to break this moment, “you found me. Now what?” But there is a quiet, simmering heat behind the scowl of his gaze when his dark eyes lift and settle against hers.
There is a voice in his mind that is not a voice at all, it is an urge or an impulse, an ache in his belly that makes him feel sick once it passes. It whispers to step closer, to touch his mouth to her neck because it knows she will allow it, because it saw that flicker in her eyes too. To trace love with the heat of his still breath over skin so white that even doves must be jealous. That impulse tells him to take her, because he could have her if he wanted it.
And maybe that is the difference she sees in him, a yawning distance in his eyes and the way he does not look at her as others might.
Because the voice is him, and it makes him sick.
His face is almost a snarl now as he drifts through those thoughts, but it softens when she speaks again and reclaims the dark of his eyes as he works quietly to understand the things she didn’t say aloud. Like the way her chin tucks to her chest and her eyes disappear behind a forelock as bright as fresh morning snow. Is she pleased with his assessment, or is she hiding from it?
The snarl is completely faded now, and the corner of his mouth pulls up just a hint as he watches her. “Then whose halo did you steal?” And for just the briefest disarming moment, there is an actual smile on his bemused mouth, crooked and reaching to touch the shadows in his eyes. But it’s like the dark in him feels it and it is gone again in an instant. He nearly turns from her, but her gaze lifts and those eyes hold him hostage again.
“What makes you think it’s a threat?” He asks, but his eyes have hardened again a little because there’s this goddamn smile on her lips making that voice in his head whisper terrible things. “Maybe i’m just friendly.” But he is helpless to caring now, to stop that he is slipping from man to beast, that his dark is a tide swelling in his chest and she is the gravity of twelve moons. He blinks, and maybe the war in his eyes is visible, maybe she feels the shadows tighten for a moment and then disappear again with silent caress at her bare throat, but he’s trying.
He takes a single step back, though his pulse is an ache in his chest remembering that smile and those dark angel eyes, how easy it would be to make them open wider. “So,” he says, grasping at the words she had spoken moments ago, those first words, anything to break this moment, “you found me. Now what?” But there is a quiet, simmering heat behind the scowl of his gaze when his dark eyes lift and settle against hers.
Illum