01-24-2021, 03:16 AM
Ryatah
— there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you, don't you agree?
She can feel that he is not entirely satisfied with the answer that she gives, but she does nothing to show that she knows. She is not one to argue, but she also knows he is not one to ask permission for things. She knows that if he had wanted to maintain control of Hyaline that he would not have relinquished it to Breach to begin with. She knows that if he wanted to leave he would tell her where they were going, much as he had told her to come here. Mostly, she is just afraid of him realizing that she is more trouble than she is worth—that his life had been easier before she insisted on tangling herself into it.
His silence feels tense and heavy, despite the way he breaks it with a laugh that rings with his signature arrogance. She expects that to be the end of it, as it so often is; his version of a wall against her that a part of her is still too timid to break through. It catches her off guard when he suddenly pulls her closer, with a fierce kind of hunger that is not always there. She eases into him, a slight frown settling on her face at what he says, though it is hidden from where she rests against his neck. “Atrox, you know I don’t care about any of that.”
Brushing her lips against the scar on his chest she exhales a soft sigh against his dark skin, letting herself feel anchored at the weight of him against her. “You know the names and faces of our children, right?” she breathes with a slight laugh, the question meant to be light-hearted because it was not a question. Though the bar set by the fathers of her other children was incredibly low she considered Atrox to be a good father. He was present, in his own way, which was more than she could say for anyone else.
His kiss against her cheek sparks a warmth that spreads across her skin, and she responds by pressing needily into him and caressing her lips against his jaw. “And you already know I like your murderous side. I find it charming.” Her touch lingers, her voice softening when she adds more seriously, “I’m not a saint, either. I couldn’t even begin to count all my sins.”
His silence feels tense and heavy, despite the way he breaks it with a laugh that rings with his signature arrogance. She expects that to be the end of it, as it so often is; his version of a wall against her that a part of her is still too timid to break through. It catches her off guard when he suddenly pulls her closer, with a fierce kind of hunger that is not always there. She eases into him, a slight frown settling on her face at what he says, though it is hidden from where she rests against his neck. “Atrox, you know I don’t care about any of that.”
Brushing her lips against the scar on his chest she exhales a soft sigh against his dark skin, letting herself feel anchored at the weight of him against her. “You know the names and faces of our children, right?” she breathes with a slight laugh, the question meant to be light-hearted because it was not a question. Though the bar set by the fathers of her other children was incredibly low she considered Atrox to be a good father. He was present, in his own way, which was more than she could say for anyone else.
His kiss against her cheek sparks a warmth that spreads across her skin, and she responds by pressing needily into him and caressing her lips against his jaw. “And you already know I like your murderous side. I find it charming.” Her touch lingers, her voice softening when she adds more seriously, “I’m not a saint, either. I couldn’t even begin to count all my sins.”
there's something wretched about this, something so precious about this, oh what a sin —