all the weight of my intentions; magnus

[magnus]

I wanna give you wild love, the kind that never slows down
I wanna take you high up let our hearts be the only sound

He doesn’t mind the vulnerabilities with her.

He doesn’t mind the way that he splits open, the way that he cannot hide the darkest parts of his mind. It is a relief, in so many ways. It is a relief to know that she already knows the scars and the wounds and the parts that have never healed. It is a relief to know that she has seen the very truth of him and hasn’t turned away, not yet. It is a relief that he doesn’t need to voice it, doesn’t need to try and explain it to her.

But she is so careful.

She is a wild animal, cautious and wary and looking for danger around every corner. He can’t blame her. He can’t blame the fear she has been taught, the distrust that flashes across her beautiful features. He hates it, wants to rage against the very man he clawed up the mountain alongside, but he cannot blame her for it. And he doesn’t blame her when she doesn’t return his flood of affection. He doesn’t blame her when she stiffens slightly in his embrace, when she withdraws into herself, pulling back behind her walls.

He slows, reins in his wild rush of emotions—even though the pound in his chest—and he is more careful. His kisses are softer, sweeter, as he brushes his lips across her forehead and then down her cheek and under her jaw. “It’s going to be okay, Isle,” he whispers, whiskey-voice quiet enough for just the two of them. “It’s going to be better than okay.” He doesn’t make promises to her; he cannot bear to whisper anything to her that may feel like a tenderness to him but feel like a ticking bomb to her.

Instead he just savors the moment, savors her.

He breaks free just a little, just so that his gold-flecked eyes can search her own, so that she can find some sort of stability there. Trust me, he wants to say, but he has no right to the words, to the plea. So instead his lips curve into a crooked smile, and he keeps a white-knuckled hold on everything that wars within him, the storms that brew and crackle in his veins. “I know,” is all he says as he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, and then he sits quietly with her, his bruised heart responding to the call of her own.

I wanna go where the lights burn low and you're only mine