02-18-2017, 01:46 PM
The longer she stands apart from him, cold and frozen and fissuring beneath the weight of a gaze that feels entirely unfamiliar, the harder it becomes to look at him at all. She is not sure when the shift happened, when it was that she had given her heart to him so completely, but she knows she must have because in his silence, in is assumed indifference, she can feel it trembling inside her chest. Her eyes ache to settle against that beautiful dark face, ache to lose themselves in every hollow and angle and ridge of elegant bone, but she denies them for fear of what he might find in her eyes, the very secret she battles with now at her core.
But then he moves, he frowns, and it has the same effect as spring does to winter, and she is thawing, melting, flying too close to a dangerous sun. She does her best to stop them, but those luminous eyes float to his face, to his mouth and up, higher, to where his brow is furrowed and deep with his quiet displeasure. This makes her smile, something small and maybe a little broken, the twist of pink lips, tremulous and shy because maybe he has not forgotten her after all. When she moves to touch him again, so greedy, always greedy, her lips eager and uncertain and delicate along the stretch of hard bone beneath his jaw, he softens again. The frown fades, his brow is smooth, and he closes his deepwater eyes with sharp and satisfied exhalation that she does not miss.
Luster, he says, and the word freezes her before she can turn to leave him be, to give him back the peace of his lake, his solitude. She is affected by her name in his deep, mountainous voice, affected by the threads of hurt that she is so surprised to find unraveling there. Don’t leave, Luster. A plea, perhaps, though nothing sounds vulnerable in the smoothness of his voice, and so she hears it as he intends it, a request, a command. She is his. He is at her side again before she has time to check his face for honesty, before she can confirm that the quiet ache in his voice is not just the echo of the matching ache in her chest. But she does not mind because his lips seek out her face, tracing the ridge of her nose up to her brow where they settle with a kiss beside her blinking eye.
“Stillwater.” She breaths again, forcing breath and words around the billions of burr s sitting in her chest. It is so easy when she reaches for his face, when her lips settle warm and wandering at the far curve of his jaw, tracing the long bone to his chin and then up to his mouth where she can place a kiss like an apology in the soft hollow above the corner of his lip. “You didn’t – “ she begins and then ends just as quickly, searching for an explanation that does not sound quite as greedy as the truth. But she finds there is none, and so with a head that hangs just a little lower, a little heavier, drooping well beneath his chin and near his chest instead, she whispers, “I thought maybe you forgot about me.” A pause and she still does not look at him, does not close the small distance between them with the soft of those blue curves as she would like to. “I did not mean to be away for so long. But I got –“, hurt, she had been about to say, remembering the bone and black stallion, his teeth and his kisses and the weight in his chest, instead she says, “delayed.”
When he speaks again his voice is warm and needing, softer than before, and she cannot stop the shiver that races wildly up her spine. Don’t leave, Luster. She does not notice the bangle in his hands, cobalt and onyx and deepwater eyes, but that does not stop it from being placed around her heart, closed tight and firmly, locking her to him as the witch had locked Stillwater to the land. It doesn’t hurt, she does not notice its cold or its weight, but one day she will, and it will be far too late. “I won’t.” She promises, seals her fate, puts the key to the lock back in his hands. “I’ll stay.” Her voice is like starlight, silver and searching and filled with longing, lonely, but for the second kiss she presses to his dark, gleaming cheek.
Don’t you want to stay a while with me? His words fill her with warmth and with longing, and the ache in her chest swells until she is sure it will burst, until she is sure it will kill her. It feels like leaping into the dark, like hoping without knowing that there will be hands there to catch her when she lands, hands to pull her to safety on the other side. But she closes the distance between them anyway, soft and sinuous against him, small and hidden in the shadow of his body when she rests her cheek against the planes of a strong, dark shoulder. “I would stay for as many moments as you will give me,” she whispers, she breathes, she promises with a kiss, “I came back for you.” The confession feels heavier than she means it to be, and to spare him the weight she pushes a faint smile against his skin, lipping gently at the longest tangles of mane against his neck. “I intend to make Sylva home.” She says again to chase away the silence, though her voice is quiet and her words are soft, and silence clings affectionately to their edges. A small sigh escapes her lips, warm and tremulous in the air between them, uncertain when he eyes find his again. “Do you think anyone will mind me being here?” And for once she does not mean him, not her Stillwater. She means those who guard Sylva, those who lead and protect this land of tree and gold and stone. “I didn’t think to ask.” Her eyes are dark and worried against his face, uncertain to match the sudden tightness in her chest. “Am I trespassing?”
But then he moves, he frowns, and it has the same effect as spring does to winter, and she is thawing, melting, flying too close to a dangerous sun. She does her best to stop them, but those luminous eyes float to his face, to his mouth and up, higher, to where his brow is furrowed and deep with his quiet displeasure. This makes her smile, something small and maybe a little broken, the twist of pink lips, tremulous and shy because maybe he has not forgotten her after all. When she moves to touch him again, so greedy, always greedy, her lips eager and uncertain and delicate along the stretch of hard bone beneath his jaw, he softens again. The frown fades, his brow is smooth, and he closes his deepwater eyes with sharp and satisfied exhalation that she does not miss.
Luster, he says, and the word freezes her before she can turn to leave him be, to give him back the peace of his lake, his solitude. She is affected by her name in his deep, mountainous voice, affected by the threads of hurt that she is so surprised to find unraveling there. Don’t leave, Luster. A plea, perhaps, though nothing sounds vulnerable in the smoothness of his voice, and so she hears it as he intends it, a request, a command. She is his. He is at her side again before she has time to check his face for honesty, before she can confirm that the quiet ache in his voice is not just the echo of the matching ache in her chest. But she does not mind because his lips seek out her face, tracing the ridge of her nose up to her brow where they settle with a kiss beside her blinking eye.
“Stillwater.” She breaths again, forcing breath and words around the billions of burr s sitting in her chest. It is so easy when she reaches for his face, when her lips settle warm and wandering at the far curve of his jaw, tracing the long bone to his chin and then up to his mouth where she can place a kiss like an apology in the soft hollow above the corner of his lip. “You didn’t – “ she begins and then ends just as quickly, searching for an explanation that does not sound quite as greedy as the truth. But she finds there is none, and so with a head that hangs just a little lower, a little heavier, drooping well beneath his chin and near his chest instead, she whispers, “I thought maybe you forgot about me.” A pause and she still does not look at him, does not close the small distance between them with the soft of those blue curves as she would like to. “I did not mean to be away for so long. But I got –“, hurt, she had been about to say, remembering the bone and black stallion, his teeth and his kisses and the weight in his chest, instead she says, “delayed.”
When he speaks again his voice is warm and needing, softer than before, and she cannot stop the shiver that races wildly up her spine. Don’t leave, Luster. She does not notice the bangle in his hands, cobalt and onyx and deepwater eyes, but that does not stop it from being placed around her heart, closed tight and firmly, locking her to him as the witch had locked Stillwater to the land. It doesn’t hurt, she does not notice its cold or its weight, but one day she will, and it will be far too late. “I won’t.” She promises, seals her fate, puts the key to the lock back in his hands. “I’ll stay.” Her voice is like starlight, silver and searching and filled with longing, lonely, but for the second kiss she presses to his dark, gleaming cheek.
Don’t you want to stay a while with me? His words fill her with warmth and with longing, and the ache in her chest swells until she is sure it will burst, until she is sure it will kill her. It feels like leaping into the dark, like hoping without knowing that there will be hands there to catch her when she lands, hands to pull her to safety on the other side. But she closes the distance between them anyway, soft and sinuous against him, small and hidden in the shadow of his body when she rests her cheek against the planes of a strong, dark shoulder. “I would stay for as many moments as you will give me,” she whispers, she breathes, she promises with a kiss, “I came back for you.” The confession feels heavier than she means it to be, and to spare him the weight she pushes a faint smile against his skin, lipping gently at the longest tangles of mane against his neck. “I intend to make Sylva home.” She says again to chase away the silence, though her voice is quiet and her words are soft, and silence clings affectionately to their edges. A small sigh escapes her lips, warm and tremulous in the air between them, uncertain when he eyes find his again. “Do you think anyone will mind me being here?” And for once she does not mean him, not her Stillwater. She means those who guard Sylva, those who lead and protect this land of tree and gold and stone. “I didn’t think to ask.” Her eyes are dark and worried against his face, uncertain to match the sudden tightness in her chest. “Am I trespassing?”