04-08-2020, 03:56 AM
she fell for the idea of him
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
It feels different from last time, and though she tries to ignore it, the heat that flushes across her skin with each touch is undeniable. Somewhere in the back of her mind she is finding logical explanations; that it’s different because they have built themselves to be this way, that they both have been stoking embers that they never let ignite into flames for far too long. This was bound to happen, and the way her heart keeps fluttering in her chest doesn’t mean anything.
It’s easy, she remembers, to fool herself into romance when tension finally breaks; it’s easy to think lust feels like something that it isn’t when someone is pressing against her, when teeth are breaking her skin and lips are being trailed across her back.
It’s easy to think that maybe she is worth something when Carnage is crafting her valleys and setting her alight with stars.
And it’s easy to remember that she is absolutely nothing at all when Ashhal disappears the moment he can escape, that she is just sex and a cure for boredom.
But she is endlessly empty, and she clings to anything and anyone that makes her feel whole, even if it’s just a moment in time. Even if she knows it won’t last, and that the way he pulls her tightly under him and sinks his teeth into her neck is just the hunger taking over him.
She still lets herself get lost in the way that he takes her. She trembles at the warmth and the weight of him, melting into him with a slow exhale. It’s only by a thin thread that she remembers to keep some sort of guard up, only by years of ingraining a kind of caution into herself that she lets herself be taken and yet never swept away.
Until he breathes her name against her back, and something inside of her crumbles at the sound of it.
“Atrox,” his name comes as a gasp, a plea, and she cannot control the way her body arcs with a desperate need against his. She loses that tendril of control that she had, and she lets herself think that, even if only for right now – for as long as this lasts – that he is hers and she is his, and that achingly empty hole inside of her, that one that wants nothing more than to belong to someone, finally feels full.
It’s easy, she remembers, to fool herself into romance when tension finally breaks; it’s easy to think lust feels like something that it isn’t when someone is pressing against her, when teeth are breaking her skin and lips are being trailed across her back.
It’s easy to think that maybe she is worth something when Carnage is crafting her valleys and setting her alight with stars.
And it’s easy to remember that she is absolutely nothing at all when Ashhal disappears the moment he can escape, that she is just sex and a cure for boredom.
But she is endlessly empty, and she clings to anything and anyone that makes her feel whole, even if it’s just a moment in time. Even if she knows it won’t last, and that the way he pulls her tightly under him and sinks his teeth into her neck is just the hunger taking over him.
She still lets herself get lost in the way that he takes her. She trembles at the warmth and the weight of him, melting into him with a slow exhale. It’s only by a thin thread that she remembers to keep some sort of guard up, only by years of ingraining a kind of caution into herself that she lets herself be taken and yet never swept away.
Until he breathes her name against her back, and something inside of her crumbles at the sound of it.
“Atrox,” his name comes as a gasp, a plea, and she cannot control the way her body arcs with a desperate need against his. She loses that tendril of control that she had, and she lets herself think that, even if only for right now – for as long as this lasts – that he is hers and she is his, and that achingly empty hole inside of her, that one that wants nothing more than to belong to someone, finally feels full.
ryatah