and all the quiet nights you bear, seal them up with care
no one needs to know they’re there, or i will hold them for you
The man comes like the night: blackened by that sweet charm that lulls you to sleep. She does not notice (of course she doesn’t) him in her serenity. While his eyes track her uptilted face, she remains within herself, blissfully taken with herself. That little taste of peace she knows she will not forget sits on the back of her tongue. It will choke her, if she is not careful.
He comes like the night and arrives like the dawn, beautiful and molten in his transition.
As still as a statue the stallion stands, and Brunhilde can only find it in herself to face him. She says nothing as her glittering eyes study his countenance: handsome features, a sharp face, alluring eyes. Her nostrils flare at the waft of his scent so delicately tangled with the rot of the forest.
He smells like a man.
It is when he rubs his side against hers that Hildy finally calls out for her companion. Khal? The hesitance in her voice should have sent him running, but the lion is mid-hunt, and the image he sends over is meant to tell her to hush. The little flame gulps, darting eyes finding Beelzebub in her peripheral vision as his lips brush her ear.
Little sunset.
She will never think of herself the same. The way her new nickname spills from his lips makes her skin shiver with delight and disgust, and she draws in a deep breath. He is all around her, masculine cologne mingling with the dying leaves in a saccharine way. “My name is Brunhilde,” is a stuttering protest, but she is almost certain he will merely laugh her off.
Are you here all by yourself?
Brunhilde should lie. She knows this, knows it to her core and still she hisses, “Yes.” Would he have left if she had told him otherwise? Or would he have whisked her away with less predatory sweetness, drawn her to the serpent without so much as a bat of his eye?
Beelzebub’s mouth is hot against her neck, his lips too sticky and sweet. The wildfire’s breath hitches in her throat, and she knows she should run, but she wonders if even that will be futile; that hesitation is what eventually does her in, a moment too long and now he has her.
