so we let our shadows fall away like dust
He is shocked at her sudden boldness, she can see it darken in his face, see it take shape in those deepwater eyes when he watches her like this. It amuses her, softens her, and with a smile that is more silver even than starlight, she whispers, “You must know.” How I feel, how I ache, what it is you are doing to me, but she does not clarify because he will know, will guess, will see it etched in longing across the hollows of that dark, beautiful face. Her mouth returns to him, explores skin that tastes like her kisses until his breathing goes shallow and her hips buck reflexively beneath him, reminding him, encouraging him, coaxing him deeper.
He groans and she revels in the sound, shifts again beneath him, tries to stand but he is unyielding. So she fills him instead, fits perfectly under him and within the curve of his hips, pushes back and against him at the same moment her head turns to peer up at him with eyes that are dark and lurid and different. “Stillwater.” She says, and it is a command, is the ache in her bones and her belly, the fire in her veins that burns without relief, without pause. It is all the moments strung together. The first moment knee-deep in the lake, startled by a stranger with a darkly beautiful face and quiet way, later moments spent curled against his belly with his neck draped across her slim withers. It is every single kiss pressed against the oceanic blue of ready skin, every single touch and instant spent curled against his chest. A million moments that somehow feel enough to fill an entire lifetime.
She is unafraid when his eyes open and the beast stares back murky grey, unafraid when she settles deeper against him, shifts again to fill him, to be filled by him. Lusssterrr. It croons, he croons, a voice deeper than she recognizes, changed by her, she thinks. But she does not pull away from those eyes, watches him appraisingly instead with a gaze that darkens in challenge, perhaps, or with curiosity that is not yet tainted by fear. She recognizes the predator easily enough, this prowess is unmistakable, the instinct to submit races in tremors beneath her skin. He presses his lips to her back, her shoulder – finally, finally, shifts as though to take her, and she stands, readies herself, keeps her head turned and watches him unflinchingly with those dark, burning eyes. His mouth pauses against a spot out of sight, but she can feel him press his lips and his tongue, tasting without affection.
At first she thinks she would not mind to let this man, this grey-eyed beast take her, fill her, satisfy her. Would even carve a blade out of shadow to split her own skin and satisfy his hunger the way he would satisfy hers. Maybe it is the way of the beast, to find a beast in others, to call it from the darkness in a heart and to the surface where both can be sated, relieved, destroyed again.
But then she watches him lurch backwards, grunting, sliding loose enough for her to wiggle free, and there is a beast inside her too. It is different, carved from instinct and pleasure, and she makes no effort to move, watches him another moment with appraising eyes before choosing the man instead.Run she thinks he mouths, the him she knows so well, the him she is in love with. The one who tried to warn her.
She doesn’t though, instead pushes her light between them in the seconds he had given her, in the seconds she had claimed when he reared back a few inches. The light wavers, suddenly tangible, a soft and bright membrane held firmly between them so that he cannot attach to her as she slips out from under him with frown. When she turns in the sand to face him, searches a face for deepwater eyes only to find grey, only to find a predator, that frown deepens. This creature is languid and beautiful, commanding, and she knows she would fall to him willingly, throw herself into the flame for the promise of pleasure. It is the way of the beast, how it survives, how it thrives. It would sate her as she wants, as Stillwater refuses, but it makes the mistake of wearing the face she loves, of forcing back the one she has pledged herself to.
Her eyes fix on him, changed, and there is less longing, less aching, less of the things she thinks this beast must love. She could bind him as someone else had, tether him in place with shadow made steel. But the thought makes her cringe, makes her sick, and she tosses it immediately. Instead, still frowning, almost apologetic, she reaches out with shadow and lets it fall across his eyes, lets it settle within them until there is no grey, no deepwater, only black. She guesses that this will blind, will throw him abruptly into a world of shadow, but she cannot be entirely sure as she has never tried before. “Trust me.” Is all she says, soft, softening, missing him.
Then, quietly, she returns to him, wearing light and shadow like armor, a membrane made tangible so that he cannot glue to her. She greets him with teeth first, from his chin to his jaw, along the curve of his throat and down to his chest, scolding him with a smile that is meant for the beast. “Not you,” she says, nips him again, teeth pinched at the smooth black of his shoulder, “not yet.” She travels around him in a circle, touching teeth and lips and tongue to all the places she had memorized beneath the water, teasing him as he had teased her with his weight against her back, pausing again when she reached his opposite shoulder. Only then does she soften, trade the lust for the man trapped somewhere inside, for the half of the beast that pressed kisses to her skin out of affection instead of hunger.
She slips against his chest, folded easily against the beating of his heart, traces affectionate kisses along his jaw and his face and his throat with a hum. “Stillwater,” she says, she breathes, traces smooth muscle with gentle lips, “come back.” She lifts the shadow from his eyes, hates to feel like she had trapped him somehow, hates too that she had pushed when he had asked her not to. “I’m sorry.” She says at last, silver and falling, a star in its death, pressing a kiss to the mouth of a man and ignoring the beast.
What use would he have for love, anyway.
