01-15-2020, 03:14 PM
She remembers.
There is so little she does not remember.
Remembers how the name – just a word then – had bloomed and burst in the shallow pool of her throat.
Ghaul, she had said and she had not known why.
It had come to her like a fever, just as he had.
Unlike the fever, though, he has stayed. And her jealousy is petty and vicious and she should know better, Gospel. But it has teeth and it has sunk them into every vulnerable piece of her (few and far between, certainly, but still there all the same). She is not so easily swayed, this proud thing, with her head tipped back and her teeth gritted.
He is Ghaul because she made him so. And shouldn’t this be enough to snuff out the stench of the women she can smell on his skin? He does not belong to her and she does not belong to him because such strange and terrible things are not built for being owned. And yet… and yet the envy still festers like infection in the pit of her gut.
But she allows him to touch her again. She does not twist out of his reach. She remains, steadfast, acutely aware that he cannot see the flicker of whatever dark thing it is that passes across her face when he touches her. What purpose has he served her? She feels quite suddenly as if she is teetering on the edge of some great precipice and should she peer over the edge she would see nothing but absolute darkness. She drags in a shuddering breath feels a violent darkness swell in her throat when he tips back his own head to expose the only vulnerable piece of him.
She can feel, still, the phantom brush of his teeth against her own scales and there is something wicked that twists sweetly at the center of her. She could sink her teeth into him, too. She, too, is built to destroy. But she kisses him there instead. It is neither sweet nor chaste. Just her lips, once dripping with blood, pressed against the place where his own pulse thrummed vibrant beneath his skin.
“Teach me,” she murmurs then, draws her mouth away, “teach me to destroy in all the ways you destroy.” She sucks in a sharp breath, resentful of her weakness, this insufferable vulnerability. “So that I might be useful to you.”
There is so little she does not remember.
Remembers how the name – just a word then – had bloomed and burst in the shallow pool of her throat.
Ghaul, she had said and she had not known why.
It had come to her like a fever, just as he had.
Unlike the fever, though, he has stayed. And her jealousy is petty and vicious and she should know better, Gospel. But it has teeth and it has sunk them into every vulnerable piece of her (few and far between, certainly, but still there all the same). She is not so easily swayed, this proud thing, with her head tipped back and her teeth gritted.
He is Ghaul because she made him so. And shouldn’t this be enough to snuff out the stench of the women she can smell on his skin? He does not belong to her and she does not belong to him because such strange and terrible things are not built for being owned. And yet… and yet the envy still festers like infection in the pit of her gut.
But she allows him to touch her again. She does not twist out of his reach. She remains, steadfast, acutely aware that he cannot see the flicker of whatever dark thing it is that passes across her face when he touches her. What purpose has he served her? She feels quite suddenly as if she is teetering on the edge of some great precipice and should she peer over the edge she would see nothing but absolute darkness. She drags in a shuddering breath feels a violent darkness swell in her throat when he tips back his own head to expose the only vulnerable piece of him.
She can feel, still, the phantom brush of his teeth against her own scales and there is something wicked that twists sweetly at the center of her. She could sink her teeth into him, too. She, too, is built to destroy. But she kisses him there instead. It is neither sweet nor chaste. Just her lips, once dripping with blood, pressed against the place where his own pulse thrummed vibrant beneath his skin.
“Teach me,” she murmurs then, draws her mouth away, “teach me to destroy in all the ways you destroy.” She sucks in a sharp breath, resentful of her weakness, this insufferable vulnerability. “So that I might be useful to you.”
these violent delights have violent ends
g o s p e l,
