don't you ever tame your demons; luster

[fenris]

don't you ever tame your demons

fenris

(but always keep them on a leash)

“Foolish looks an awful lot like trust,” he says with a glint to his eyes, a rebel curve in one corner of his dark mouth. Trust was a dangerous weapon to wield, a spear that caused only self-inflicting harm. It never failed to amuse him to see how easily others put that hilt into the hands of strangers; it was foolish, it was absurd. They flipped the dagger over, gave up control, and then were surprised when they bled out.

But she—she does not seem foolish.

Without prompting, his dark eyes wander to the elegant curve of her neck, the graceful swath of color there, and he is surprised by the sharp pang of anger that flares briefly in his belly. For a moment, a frown crosses like a storm across his features, but it is just as quickly wiped away and replaced with something more neutral, something charming and shallow. She is not his to worry about. She is not his.

He shakes his head, dismissing her. “You are not foolish.” He is not sure how he knows or why he even cares, but it seems important enough of a point that he meets her gaze and holds it, something weighty in the grasp of it, something like gravity. “Perhaps you are just kind.” Now there is something sardonic in how his lips curl, something cynical, as he shrugs. “It is difficult for me to tell the difference sometimes.”

Perhaps there wasn't a difference. He couldn’t tell anymore.

The sound of her laughter breaks his thoughts, the slight tinkling of it, and his ears prick forward to catch it, to wrap around and through it. Her laugh moves as deftly through him as a needle though fabric, but he finds he does not mind the slight sting of it. “I like to bury the lead,” a sharpened statement, the sarcasm flickering in his voice, but that dies when her lips find his jaw, and he inhales quicker than before.

Without thinking, his head turns so his mouth can find her flesh, brushing against the curve of her cheek, the sweet taste of her permeating and settling into his senses. The intimacy of the moment surprises him and his eyes widen only a little before he wipes that clean. “Luster,” there is a husk when he speaks this time, when he sounds out her name. “Does it matter so much just how I am dangerous, Luster?”

He stares at her, suddenly thoughtful before his voice drops.

“It is not aimed at you. Is that not enough?”