04-22-2020, 03:12 AM
she fell for the idea of him
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
and ideas were a dangerous thing to love
With every moment that passes she can feel herself losing grip on the control she thought she had. In this haze of intoxication she finds that she can no longer decipher between unchecked passion, and the truth of what she really wants. That maybe she doesn’t just want him like this, with his teeth leaving bright red marks across the smooth porcelain of her skin, with her name as a moan from his mouth against her back; when he is making her own body shudder and writhe beneath him, when his own name is a repeated gasp on her tongue.
She wants him even when he is being distant, even when his yellow eyes are flashing at her in annoyance, and even when his teeth feel more like a weapon rather than a teasing touch. And maybe that is why she has always come back to Hyaline – why she rarely leaves it at all.
He had started to feel like home, even though she knows she has no right to feel that.
With the silken strands of her forelock and mane clinging to her damp skin, she is left breathless and trembling when he slides from her. Even though she is already missing his touch, she does not look at him, afraid that he will see right through her. There is not a part of her that is not covered with him in some way; his smell, where he had touched, where her skin is still broken and bleeding because at some point every part of her had shut down and she stopped healing herself. Her heart is still thunder in her chest as she tries to squander her hope with logic, as she hardens her nerves for the inevitable nonchalant dismissal.
Instead he touches her cheek, and her eyes flicker to his for only a moment before he is drawing her into his chest. There is no resistance to the way she folds into him, ducking her head to press her delicate face against him with a tremulous exhale. She can’t remember the last time anyone had held her, much less after sleeping with her. Her jaw tightens against the sudden emotion that she can feel welling in the back of her throat, because she had forgotten what it felt like – and how over the years she had taught herself to not miss it, and to never expect it.
And she is afraid of what will happen after this; how she will want it, and it won’t be there, because she is certain this moment they are currently tangled in is going to be a rarity.
She touches her lips to the scar across his chest, brushing along the ragged edges of it, but she doesn’t say anything. She is worried of what will come out if she dares to speak, afraid she will shatter this moment like the fragile glass that it is. And maybe if she is quiet, if she just rests against him in the silence, the moment will drag on forever.
She wants him even when he is being distant, even when his yellow eyes are flashing at her in annoyance, and even when his teeth feel more like a weapon rather than a teasing touch. And maybe that is why she has always come back to Hyaline – why she rarely leaves it at all.
He had started to feel like home, even though she knows she has no right to feel that.
With the silken strands of her forelock and mane clinging to her damp skin, she is left breathless and trembling when he slides from her. Even though she is already missing his touch, she does not look at him, afraid that he will see right through her. There is not a part of her that is not covered with him in some way; his smell, where he had touched, where her skin is still broken and bleeding because at some point every part of her had shut down and she stopped healing herself. Her heart is still thunder in her chest as she tries to squander her hope with logic, as she hardens her nerves for the inevitable nonchalant dismissal.
Instead he touches her cheek, and her eyes flicker to his for only a moment before he is drawing her into his chest. There is no resistance to the way she folds into him, ducking her head to press her delicate face against him with a tremulous exhale. She can’t remember the last time anyone had held her, much less after sleeping with her. Her jaw tightens against the sudden emotion that she can feel welling in the back of her throat, because she had forgotten what it felt like – and how over the years she had taught herself to not miss it, and to never expect it.
And she is afraid of what will happen after this; how she will want it, and it won’t be there, because she is certain this moment they are currently tangled in is going to be a rarity.
She touches her lips to the scar across his chest, brushing along the ragged edges of it, but she doesn’t say anything. She is worried of what will come out if she dares to speak, afraid she will shatter this moment like the fragile glass that it is. And maybe if she is quiet, if she just rests against him in the silence, the moment will drag on forever.
ryatah