"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
He had laid in wait, rather he had been particularly conservative with himself lately. Painful that was, what with no humility, no control, even the season had been rather dry. A wonder he had not exploded from the inside out, his needs overflowing and unfulfilled.
It had taken a considerable amount of flying and time to learn the layout of this new land. They were still surrounded by vast oceans, and there were forests and trees but they were not the same. The complete remake of the world was something Kirin had not anticipated and yet he was not overly surprised that is was so wholly and utterly different than it once was. This was a new slate, completely devoid of its origin and while he was quite upset at the loss of the Cove he was intrigued by the possibility of having more.
Of taking more, as he so often had the predisposition to do.
Wind grabs his lavender hair, tossing it in tangled strands about his eyes before whipping it back across his neck. A jay trills to the left and he looks up to watch it race across the sky, snorting as it flies off towards the horizon. Spring had sprung, bringing with it a crop of twittering song birds, children and pretty posies growing at his feet. These were trivial things today because in this hour he had a purpose, a task he trusted to no one but himself.
There was one inky, black songbird that had not flown within his silver sight for much too long now. Misra had sought her freedom and Kirin had released her shackles, whether by choice or force of her hand he would not be quick to tell. All that need be known now was that he was done waiting for her exploration and freedoms to end. Had she not seen the world by now? Was not everything they once had claim on been forsaken?
If he must show her that life was better at his side then he would, he would take great care in pleasure in the task.
It smelled of her here, was she close?
“Misra,” he called, eyes shining in the dim light of the wood.
i'd go to hell and back with you; stay lost in what we've found.
Time had stolen too much from her - each day, the sun would rise and fall, bringing with it an empty, quiet night devoid of meaning. The days had faded into years, wasted away beneath an ever changing moon and its broad starlit canopy, yet none of it had brushed against her skin - she was as youthful as ever, though her deep, soulful eyes had grown weary and worn. Change had taken away everything that she had ever known, everything that she had come to call her own - the silver painted cove washed away into the salty sea; the deep thicket of the chamber that had kept her (though it had never kept her heart; it had only been a place of rest - a momentary stay, she can see that now) swallowed up whole.
She had settled into complacency, content to simply be but as time moved tirelessly, she found herself growing restless for something more, for something to fill the gaping void festering within the barbed wire of her breast. Though her heart longed to be tucked within the thick, fur lining of the one she had come to love, there was a part of her that had become numb - uneasy and anxious, and too often, she stole away from his side in the middle of the night, tucking herself within the dark shadow of the sky with her feathered appendages outstretched wide, bathing in the pale moonlight.
When fatigue finally set in, she tucked herself into the thick of the forest, pressing the hollowed bones of her tired wings against the dry, brittle bark of an oak. Her blunt teeth begin to gently pluck and preen at the delicate, silver-lined feathers, tucking them into place as a gentle, icy breeze weaves its way between each one. Once content, her dark doe eyes search the darkness, peering up towards the open canopy - and above her, the sky is glorious, splattered with bright, glittering stars.
And suddenly - a shadow, a dark figure hidden within the midnight canvas, and a voice - a voice, so familiar that her heart begins to hammer against the iron cage of her chest, leaving her breathless.
Misra, it calls -
"Kirin?" she breathes, disbelief laced within her soft voice. And then, louder, "Kirin!"
worlds apart, we were the same until we hit the ground.
Birds of a feather, flock together. That’s how it went, that’s how it goes. Kirin knew that, it was something he did not need to be told. Perhaps somewhere down the line they had severed because she did not trust in sayings like he did. If that was the case he had failed her, he’d never say it out loud but he thought it now as he watched her in the pale light of the moon. Whatever had sent her away, surely he could remind her of what was, could make her recall why she was cut from the very same cloth he was.
Dark calls to dark, as he did now. Words aching to clench so very tightly around her, constricting until the grip was firm and could not slip loose.
He didn’t approach her with caution, should he? His body pulled forward like liquid, spilling into the clearing until he was bathed in silver, celestial light. Illuminated by the stars and perhaps from within he took in her form, tracing the curve of her dark silhouette and finding himself pleased at the recollection of its peaks and valleys.
He knew them all.
The word that is quick to leave her sooty lips is simple but powerful. It is a name, just a name but it is his name. Slowly his lips pull up, curl at the corners until he is smiling both warm and dark at her. He looms, bathing in the power that his name held, letting the sound of it leaving her familiar voice play again and again as he stood silent. An echo beats rapidly within her and it is as if he can hear it as it races into the depth of her call.
It is a small gap that he breeches between them, pressing himself into her personal space, an outstretched wing reaches for the curve of her charcoal jaw. “This is where you fit,” like song he preaches to her, words thick like honey and he would taste the tender flesh of her chin would she let him close enough. Already his breath dares near, warm and smokey sweet where it might fall. “Right here is the place you belong, can I remind you?”
It is the first time he has ever asked permission.
i'd go to hell and back with you; stay lost in what we've found.
Her breath catches in her throat, caught as if her voice is a wayward songbird, enveloped by the iron rods that keep her caged – and her bright eyes watch his every fluid motion, as his very essence bathes beneath the pale light of the moon. The gentle light caresses the deep lines and ridges of his features, falling into the hollow of his cheek and highlighting the sloping edge of his jaw, where she had once pressed her fervent lips long ago.
She can feel his gaze boring into her, greedily tracing the rounded curve of her hip and the seamless line of pristine feathers along her powerful wings, swathed in silver and bristling beneath the unmistakable hunger of his hazel eyes. Her own meet with his, searching the golden flecks tucked around the rim, etched with mischief and conviction – her heart clenches tightly within her breast as he presses nearer to her, as memories that had been buried in the sand of time began to resurface and envelope her, stirring something inside of her she had long thought forgotten.
Her heavy lashes cover her eyes, which betray her with a longing she had not thought possible, a desire that had been dormant for so long – and a shiver traverses the length of her spine as his gentle touch caresses the line of her own jaw, which becomes tense under his touch. Her heart pounds more steadily against her rib cage, and she aches, wondering if he can hear what his presence alone has done to her –
– but then –
This is where you fit, he croons against her ear, as rich as whiskey and as sweet as honey, and a breathless moan becomes strangled within her throat as she presses the skin of her jaw along his wing, peering up at him with doe eyes. Confusion, yearning – and his breath is warm against her, traveling along the length of her neck and into her dark, tousled tresses. Right here is the place you belong, he urges her, his meaningful and deliberate words rifling through her memory, reminding her again of his mouth traveling across the summit of her curves, of him tasting the salty brine of the sea on her skin.
But she had been a girl then, blissfully naïve and foolish –
– but now –
Gone was the girl that had fallen so easily into the ruse of his affection, and though her heart belonged elsewhere, she could not quell the ache within her chest – she could not ignore him.
She averts her gaze, tracing the shadow of darkness along his pale, lavender pelt with her eyes, a hunger stirring within the pit of her belly, one she had once mistaken for love (something he is incapable of; something intangible and impossible). She flinches away from him before he can press himself against her, into her, instead encircling him as she presses her teeth against the ridge of his spine. Her feathers brush against his own as she surges past him, brushing the darkened line of her mouth against the crease of his hip and tasting remnants of the sun on his skin.
”Where have you been?” she murmurs imploringly as she emerges against his other side, ignoring his inquiry, his plea. He had never asked for anything, nor had she – but now, draped in twilight and sheathed in darkness ”I tried to forget you,"she never could, "but when I returned – you were gone,” a pause. ”where?”
worlds apart, we were the same until we hit the ground.
He is so close he can almost taste her, the warmth radiating from her body fueling him to pursue her that much more. The air is sweet where she speaks, her breath sugaring the wind and he does not remove his heavy gaze from her. Two silver eyes watched her like a cobra, preparing to strike and yet tamed by flute song. Kirin would not look away, even as her elation turned to, what was this, hurt? Wounded, had he done this to her? No, not him, they. They were making her soft (oh, he’d never blame himself) and it made him angry, seething that they would defoul such a creature capable of harnessing true power.
She was of Khaos, she was of him.
Now he can smell the earth on her skin, the lingering remnant of beast and quietly he saves it to memory. All while searching for any familiarity or ties, looking for something to tell him who this other was.
Kirin never liked sharing.
It is a dance but one that lacks the expected grace and fluid movement of a waltz. They could resemble two thrashing crows if Kirin did not remain poised and unwavering. He was a statue, even when her teeth sought his skin, how could she know he liked this game? She wouldn’t. Kirin had never played it with her, for whatever reason he had shielded her from that favored activity. Misra had been spared from trailing tears of blood on her inky black coat. He didn’t make her cry or beg for him, he did not spit in her face when she wanted more.
Not even a flinch would sate her, he would not give her that, she was not master in this play. Already he had given her much more than he had ever allowed himself to part with for another.
Instead he waited as she caught him again, sliding her teeth over his pristine lavender rear. Tried to forget you she rounded on him and he smiled. How could he not? The thought of someone ever forgetting him was certainly amusing, especially someone so close and intimate as this. When I returned- she begins and already his ear are quick to come forward.
She came back And his flesh slowly shivered, he almost panted at his arousal from that one simple statement.
“I was finding that which was once lost to me,” he told her, moving again because he would not so easily let her slip through his fingers like sand from the beach of their very beginning. “Same as I’m doing now,” there is a growl bubbling from him, because he was so very hungry for her. It is written in his two shining eyes, they have not once looked away.
i'd go to hell and back with you; stay lost in what we've found.
The tension is palpable - she can almost taste his pulse along the surface of his skin, where the darkened line of her soft lips press gently. The scent entangled with his tousled mane no longer hums of the salty brine of the sea, where she had once been a child so carefully tucked beneath his wing, cradled near to his breast. Her breath lingers across the vivid canvas of his skin, observing the luster of the incandescent light across its lavender sheen.
There are flaws etched into his flesh; scars that had long since faded and quietly she presses gentle, biting kisses to the skin – knowing too well which thread to pull at to unravel the very essence of him (though he would never confess to having any weakness at all).
A gentle pang of guilt tugs at her heartstrings, and there is a pause – a single breath held as her mind remembers the gentle and loving embrace of Siberian she had left behind mere hours ago, but there is an ache within the core of her breast that reminds her that she does not deserve him, that she has never deserved him. Though she loved him (and she did, and she always would), there would always be a wayward part of her that belonged elsewhere; a delicate thread woven into the fabric of her youth and thus into the (black and callous; unfeeling) heart of the one beside her now.
She was broken; beyond repair – she deserved nothing more.
Though she had once shied away from him, she reveled in his grace now, pressing the length of her wing and shoulder against the warmth of his body, traveling the length of his jaw with her lips to once again taste him. He stood motionless, but the gentle quivering of his skin is enough to elicit the faintest smile, hidden in the corners of her dark mouth. The smile (eerily empty; devoid of any emotion) that adorns his own features is fleeting, and a deep, guttural growl emerges from the depths of his throat, and she can feel the vibrations against her skin.
I was finding that which was once lost to me, and that is all she has ever been to him – a possession; something to be had - same as I’m doing now.
The heat of him stirs something within her she had not felt in some time – a deep, darkening lust that no longer frightens her. Baring her teeth again, she grazes the very edge of him along the hollow of his cheek and the ridge of his jawline, murmuring softly, ”I have never been lost to you – you have never found me.”
A pause, her dark doe eyes finally rising to meet with his own, as desire and enthrallment laces its way through her words.
”Find me now.”
worlds apart, we were the same until we hit the ground.
He is not prone to being haunted by the past. There are few memories that are sweet and nostalgic to him and they are so for all the wrong reasons. Kirin does nothing for others, everything is to serve himself. The only heart he knows how to love is his own, twisted and black, corrupt as it may be. It serves him, he does not pity himself, he would not know how- there is no longing for him to be any other way.
It is enough to be loved, adored, worshipped, feared even. These emotions would serve because they came from others, it gave him some sick sense of power. What is more they often liked it, they wanted it, they told him so.
A purr in his throat catches as her lips trail gently along the star lit curve of his lavender neck. They could always be angry that he kept them , like treasures in a dragon hoard, never easily parted with and certainly not for long. Not forever.
Their forever was his, one way or another.
Find me now. There it was, a simple invitation but he need not be given more than one. Finally she meets his gaze, dark depths finding silver fire and that is all he needs. Simple submission in the most carnal of forms, he would not be so gentle now. Long gone was her adolescence, his own mouth did not falter, grasping at the tender skin of her chin. Two soft velvet lips clasped against her jawline, the black tresses that stuck he paid no mind to, tracing a path down her coal colored neck.
“I will find you, and we will find a new home.” His voice is assuring, there is no doubt in his silk words, spilling like amber liquid from his mouth. “We will take it,” he took everything, as was his custom. “Come with me Misra, promise me,” he urged, trailing overlong on her withers, biting with a roughness though he was still facing her.
“Now turn around,” he commanded, and it was evident his purpose. “I will take you too,” his weight would crush her tonight, he would not relent. He needed her to know this side, this beast that accompanied the beautiful facade. Out of darkness he was made, sculpted, chiseled to a perfect predator.
Could she accept that she was made of dark things too?
i'd go to hell and back with you; stay lost in what we've found.
As her whiskered lips gently bite and kiss along the ridge of his jawline, her mind moves rampantly, as her heart pulsates and hammers anxiously against its wrought iron cage. Her breath is warm and sweet against his skin, and the soft sound that emerges from his throat leaves an ache within the pit of her belly – an itch that needed to be scratched; a need that she longed to have fulfilled.
Though anger had once festered and settled like the heavy sediment of soil in her blood, it had stemmed only from jealousy, from a desire to be closer – to be more to him, to the one who had once been her everything. Her youth had left her foolish and ill prepared for his affection, for his unapologetic deviance – but now, now, she would not shy away from her own hunger; she would take what she wanted – beg for what she needed. A soft moan is elicited from the dark cavern of her throat as his own mouth presses against her hot skin, teeth bared and sinking into the supple flesh of her jaw, of her throat.
When her gaze meets with his, endless darkness meeting with molten silver, she is nearly breathless, longing building within the very marrow of her bones. We will find a new home, he murmurs against the crook her neck and her heavy lashes fall over her dark doe eyes, and she revels in the sensation of his warm breath trickling over her skin. A new home. The very same pang of guilt climbs its way into her heart, leaving her weary, heavy – but then he is pressed against her, a carnal desire laced within his words. Come with me Misra, promise me.
”Yes, I will come with you,” she murmurs, the feathers lining the hollow bones of her wings bristling as a shiver courses its way down the length of her spine, a soft gasp drawn from her lungs as his teeth press roughly against her skin – biting. ”I promise.”
Soon, she has drawn away from him to face away from him, a coy glance given over her shoulder as her hip pressed firmly against the hard muscle of his shoulder – a deep, burning ember of longing flickering within the infinite darkness of her bright, benevolent eyes – the raging, unforgiving inferno within him would burn her, again and again, and she would always come back for more.
worlds apart, we were the same until we hit the ground.
