09-20-2017, 12:47 AM
Ellyse
I have the tendency of getting very physical,
so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
so watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle.
”I am always nervous,” she confesses against his skin, burying her pale lips beneath a sea of ivory tangles, inhaling the scent of sulfur and sea that lingered there. It is a revelation that is difficult for her swallow, and even harder for her to admit – that she, the Head of War, had such a feeble weakness beneath the hardened, iron-fortified façade she so often wore. She remembered too well the grief of losing a daughter that had never even broken the tender sac that had sustained her within her womb; she remembered how she felt, bleeding and broken, after her last birth – the weakness that had followed; the vertigo and infection that had come with hemorrhaging after her son had emerged wide-eyed and curious beneath the pale, waning moonlight.
She had felt herself fading away then, cradled against Ledger, covered in sweat, in blood, in amniotic fluid that dried up along the length of her uneasy legs – while he glowered with resentment, with envy and bitterness, while Dahmer savored the fleeting moment of his gilded son coiling up against the blackened hearth of his chest, she had teetered along the edge of death, with no one any the wiser. She had swallowed her agony, her frailty and fragility – as she so often had; as she always would.
It would be her downfall.
As his caress delves lower, she is brought away from her reverie, from the fright and uncertainty she had once felt, as a warmth spreads over the surface of her skin, stirring her finely preened feathers into a bristling fever. A soft gasp is elicited from her throat as her attention is drawn to him, and only to him – oh, time had been fleeting – he is filling out, carved with lean muscle and fat where hollowed spaces used to be – her heart thrums vibrantly within her chest, and for a moment, she had forgotten her fear, her doubt – seeing only him, before her.
Seeing what she had shied away from for so long.
I can’t wait, he murmurs over her skin, his warm breath lingering over her skin and weaving in between the feathers along the hollowed bones – the heat and desire that had been kept at bay so long stir with a fervent intensity, as his mouth presses to the hollow of her throat, drawing out a deep moan from its depth. Quiet, softly, ”Neither can I. It won’t be long,” she says again. A promise.
(Promises are too often broken, she thinks to herself) –
– but the thought of nestling against him once more, of feeling his blood surging through his veins with ferocity, of feeling him stiffen and groan while her teeth graze the tender column of his neck are enough to keep her tethered. It is enough to give her something to look forward to after the fear and the agony were gone, returning her ability to reason without infectious hormones and giving she and Ledger a precious love of their own to nurture and love.
His secret is heavy, burdening him with the weight of an anguish and misery driven far back into the recesses of his mind – but he indulges her, telling her the grave and terrible truth of his loss, of his gift, and gently her pale lips press against his cheek, his jaw, his forehead – brushing a lock of ivory away from the scarred socket that remain empty; chasing away the shame and the suffering he had endured.
Why do you ask now?
Quietly, softly – her own words shameful, as her hazel gaze searches his, imploringly.
”I bear your child, Ledger – your children,” she murmurs with certainty. ”I love you,” she whispers, the word trembling still – she has never been articulate, preferring action to word. She had shown him time and time again how she felt, she had sowed the seed, and now it had blossomed, stirring still beneath the surface – but she had said it, only once. ”but at times, I fear that I know nothing of you, and you know nothing of me.”
She pauses then, her gaze averting to the subtle movement of her unborn children rousing to and fro, extending her swollen belly. ”I wonder if either of them – I wonder if they might be given your gift,” a curse, he had called it once, and now she understood why. Gently, a kiss is placed between the empty socket and his gleaming amber eye, before pressing her own forehead to his. ”You are not alone, come what may – and neither are they.”
She had felt herself fading away then, cradled against Ledger, covered in sweat, in blood, in amniotic fluid that dried up along the length of her uneasy legs – while he glowered with resentment, with envy and bitterness, while Dahmer savored the fleeting moment of his gilded son coiling up against the blackened hearth of his chest, she had teetered along the edge of death, with no one any the wiser. She had swallowed her agony, her frailty and fragility – as she so often had; as she always would.
It would be her downfall.
As his caress delves lower, she is brought away from her reverie, from the fright and uncertainty she had once felt, as a warmth spreads over the surface of her skin, stirring her finely preened feathers into a bristling fever. A soft gasp is elicited from her throat as her attention is drawn to him, and only to him – oh, time had been fleeting – he is filling out, carved with lean muscle and fat where hollowed spaces used to be – her heart thrums vibrantly within her chest, and for a moment, she had forgotten her fear, her doubt – seeing only him, before her.
Seeing what she had shied away from for so long.
I can’t wait, he murmurs over her skin, his warm breath lingering over her skin and weaving in between the feathers along the hollowed bones – the heat and desire that had been kept at bay so long stir with a fervent intensity, as his mouth presses to the hollow of her throat, drawing out a deep moan from its depth. Quiet, softly, ”Neither can I. It won’t be long,” she says again. A promise.
(Promises are too often broken, she thinks to herself) –
– but the thought of nestling against him once more, of feeling his blood surging through his veins with ferocity, of feeling him stiffen and groan while her teeth graze the tender column of his neck are enough to keep her tethered. It is enough to give her something to look forward to after the fear and the agony were gone, returning her ability to reason without infectious hormones and giving she and Ledger a precious love of their own to nurture and love.
His secret is heavy, burdening him with the weight of an anguish and misery driven far back into the recesses of his mind – but he indulges her, telling her the grave and terrible truth of his loss, of his gift, and gently her pale lips press against his cheek, his jaw, his forehead – brushing a lock of ivory away from the scarred socket that remain empty; chasing away the shame and the suffering he had endured.
Why do you ask now?
Quietly, softly – her own words shameful, as her hazel gaze searches his, imploringly.
”I bear your child, Ledger – your children,” she murmurs with certainty. ”I love you,” she whispers, the word trembling still – she has never been articulate, preferring action to word. She had shown him time and time again how she felt, she had sowed the seed, and now it had blossomed, stirring still beneath the surface – but she had said it, only once. ”but at times, I fear that I know nothing of you, and you know nothing of me.”
She pauses then, her gaze averting to the subtle movement of her unborn children rousing to and fro, extending her swollen belly. ”I wonder if either of them – I wonder if they might be given your gift,” a curse, he had called it once, and now she understood why. Gently, a kiss is placed between the empty socket and his gleaming amber eye, before pressing her own forehead to his. ”You are not alone, come what may – and neither are they.”
You want to stay but you know very well I want you gone;
you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.
you're not fit to fucking tread the ground that I am walking on.
@[Ledger]