"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
You're looking at an absolute zero; I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
He had not seen her since that fateful evening, beneath the blinding, unyielding moonlight as it had danced across the darkness of their skin. He could still feel her mouth pressed against the ridge of bone along his shoulder, and he could still taste the sweat tangled in the tangled mess of her tresses, haphazard across the thick muscle of her neck. She had drawn the depth of his darkness from him, tempting him to give into it as he so deeply craved - he had been wary of his own prowess, of the power roiling with discontent beneath the surface of his skin and within the tightness of his chest, but she had known so much more about him than he had known about himself.
With the fire bristling on the surface of his skin, he is more at ease with himself than he had ever been. He no longer resisted the dark potential of his power; it had become a part of him - a delicate merging of two beings within one, and he had not been lost to its control as he had once feared. He felt invigorated - rejuvenated, set alight by the fiery inferno flickering beneath, and as such, he felt moved to seek her out - to see the darkness flicker once more in her sordid, tempting gaze, to the raw energy surging from her veins.
Though the intimacy of their carnal desire had been enacted alongside the restless, ravenous river, he knew she would not be lingering along its shoreline. She was tethered to the dark, unpredictability of the quiet forest and its quiet solitude, but he sought to undo the binding that kept her away. As the girth of his heavily muscled body presses through the boundary line of the dense thicket, the fire dancing across his marred, imperfect flesh is suppressed, while old and brittle bark scrapes along the width of his shoulders.
The precision of his vision is not to be discounted - he can see even the most subtle of movements in the thick, opaque vegetation, but she is infused with unwavering, impenetrable magic, and he cannot rely on his enhanced sense alone to find her. At last, he is upon a clearing, with a single, bleary ray of sunlight breaking through the thickness of the canopy overhead - its light caresses the slope of his spine, highlighting the scarring across the shadow of his skin.
He cannot see her, but he can feel her.
And so he calls to her; an echo of his deep baritone rumbling through the tranquil woodland.
OFFSPRING
another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.
07-30-2017, 12:59 PM (This post was last modified: 07-30-2017, 02:16 PM by Reagan.)
Reagan
I want you to know that I'm all yours; you and me, we're the same force.
She can feel him long before he approaches. The calling of his flesh to hers was like a fly beckoning to a flame—but surely she was the only one who would be singed by their heat. She senses that his is different—a beautiful mix of yin and yang that is bonded by soul, and by heart. He is no longer a shadow of himself, but a billowing flame of light and power. One she always knew he could be. All this she feels in more, as shades of them wrapped up in each other plays in her mind, and she gives a gasp. Her breast rises and falls with the heat of it, and a blush plays on her face… a memory that has gone too long. A time that was much too turbulent. And so, the sun had come, and bade them to depart from each other.
But she at least, was forever changed.
Giving him the privacy of his own mind, she sought to keep his head to himself. She wagered that if this moment had meant anything to him, she would see him again, and that he would know where to find her.
Reagan does not make a wager that she will not come up aces on.
The warmth of his breath rattles her, and rides over her back far before she sees his face, but she makes no move to try and hide herself from him. She is no longer black and slender—the moment of her magic has finally been reined in and honed to perfection Her body is mottled grey, with a black dorsal stripe that rides up the center of her spine. Her legs are wrapped in tight thigh high boots, and her hair is black as pitch. But her eyes---oh, are they vibrant green. And when she pulls her body out of the brambles—nay, they almost seem to part for her—it is with a contented sigh that she whispers his name.
Offspring.
She does not ask. She pulls herself into his scent and revels in the way her head tucks neatly in the crook of his neck. She breathes him in, molding herself to his skin, ears going back when she is burned by the heat that lays there. She surges her own fire, bristling her skin, making herself immune to his burns, but she does not depart from him. It has been so long—and there is so much to discuss… but this moment…
You're looking at an absolute zero; I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
He is raw - his once tethered heart set adrift to the reckless, ravenous sea of his mind. The love affair between he and Isle that had stirred a passion he long thought lost to him had come to an inevitable end, festering in the fervent, blistering flames of its demise. He had known it was coming for some time – his heart had not felt the same in so long, and he had been loath to admit it to himself, to admit it to her.
He had pushed Isle away, slowly, steadily.
Uncertain of a life without her, but fearful of losing her to the greedy clutches of death.
She would always have a piece of him - a small, splintered part of his weary, war torn heart; useless and barely beating - but the love he had once thought impervious had not been strong enough to weather the change that had wracked the entirety of his being, of his soul.
He had been unfaithful, seeking affection and attention elsewhere, and she had been untrue, fearful of him, recoiling at his very touch as the flickering flame slowly became a raging inferno. It stirred anger and wrath from the depths of his wretched, wayward soul, and he felt powerless to overcome it – not for months, but for years - and the prowess of his potential had not been harnessed, not until another gave him the strength to rein it in.
The memories of his torture and torment had been too much for him, and he had never wanted to burden her with the anguish of his pain. He had not trusted her for so long with it – and when he finally had, it was too little, too late. The damage had been done, as the trust had whittled away to dust, and the devotion declared burned away into ash.
And so, a love story for the ages had faded away, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
It is bittersweet, when the familiar glower of her vivid, viridescent gleam of her gaze meets with his own, burning a deep scarlet - not unlike the flickering of fire that had yet again lit across the surface of his marred skin. The flame is brought forth from within, surging through his veins as his once idle heartbeat thrusts itself against the confinement of its cage, as her soft and supple body presses against his own, skin to skin, bone to bone.
She does not recoil from the heat of his touch, stirring her own to create a barrier - to prevent the fervent intensity of the ember from scalding her. Tucked beneath him, his own broad neck drapes over her, his teeth plucking at a single, solitary dry leaf entangled in the dark abyss of her tangled tresses. He is breathless for a moment, a pang of guilt rising in his belly, but it wanes in time, his heartbeat rhythmic and steady with her own.
He has much to say, but the words are lost to him -
The anguish he had carefully tucked away into the darkest recesses of his mind had begun to emerge, and with his cheek pressed against her neck, listening to the steady thrumming of her pulse beneath, he has begun to unravel. He has nothing to give to her, nothing to offer but his quiet, steady presence.
He does not know if it will be enough.
It had never been enough before.
OFFSPRING
another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.
07-30-2017, 03:16 PM (This post was last modified: 07-31-2017, 12:27 AM by Reagan.)
Reagan
I want you to know that I'm all yours; you and me, we're the same force.
Reagan feels the thudding of his heart in her ears as she tries to drink him in. He is a sight for sore eyes, and she finds herself relaxing into him, as the images of her past fall away and she forces herself to quiet her mind. They had both been bruised. They had both been crucified.
They were both imperfect sinners, with power trapped between their ears, and they had both lost greatly for it.
But for the moment at least, they had found a semblance of peace, marking a life for themselves out of the burning ashes of their sins.
Even sinners can move on and be happy.
Offspring gingerly reaches down into her tangled tresses, plucking a leaf that had long been lost in the mess of her hair, and immediately she finds that she is embarrassed. The state of her—what must she look like to him? Grey and dumpy, messy and with tired eyes. Eyes that have cried, and were probably puffy and tired from lack of sleep. Here in the solace of her forest, she was merely Reagan—she was as she was, and did not care much for her appearance to others. She was only what she wanted them to see and nothing more. The emotion of seeing Offspring again—she had forgotten herself. She backs up out of his embrace, suddenly self-conscious, and the moment is, for a time, broken.
Her sad eyes look at him and she attempts to twist her mouth into a smile—awkward as it may be—and tries to calm the rhythmic pounding of her heart.
Reagan says nothing, but drags a heavy sigh out of her chest—one of great happiness, and great relief.
He may have nothing to give her but himself—but that is all she needs. She has been tossed hither and yon—and all she wants is an anchor to chain her to the world… a lee from the storm of her own turbulence.
She silently wonders to herself, staring at his burning brilliance, if he has any idea how beautiful to her he is. What she could have to give to him… of what use could she be, and if she could dare stand in the place of one whom had left such a wide hole. If it was even possible.
A breeze picks up, carrying her thoughts away with them. There was no need to worry about forever.
One day at a time. That was what she had promised.
And to that she’d hold.
She looks at him, tilting her head just so, flicking her tail. Her heart remained in her eyes, and she lifts her hoof as if to rush back into his embrace. Instead, she sighs again, letting the long tangled tresses fall in front of her face. Taking one purposeful shaking step forward, a gravely whisper entices his ears, playing like a ragged tune as she speaks to him out loud.
You're looking at an absolute zero; I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.
“How can you miss what you do not know?”
The words, laden with bitterness and uncertainty, have left his mouth before he is able to stop them – and for a moment, there is a fleeting pang of regret (he should have reined them in; kept it to himself) – alas, what is done is done. There is a smoldering ember flickering and burning hotly in the hearth of his chest, which has tightened upon the soft confession breathed across the simmering surface of his skin, where thick and coiled muscle lay under a thick and marred canvas of blackened coal.
He is not purposeful in the way he pushes her away.
He is still angry, still heartbroken, with the tender, frayed pieces of his ashen heart hanging by a thread. He had been unfaithful, untrue – but the trust had been broken long, long before that, and in the end, it is not a love lost that he is grieving most, but the loss of the illusion he had tethered himself to. He could not be loved, he is certain. He is too callous, too cautious, and the hefty burden of his own desolate self-loathing and isolation is often more than he, himself, can bear – and thus, he has only ever given a part of himself, keeping the deepest and darkest of his secrets concealed and deeply buried.
No one had ever loved all of him.
No one ever would.
Though his words are heavy and laced with arsenic, his mouth is telling a different story, as his teeth press into the soft gray of her skin, supple and pliable beneath his lips. She is seeking out his dark, crimson gaze, but he has averted his own, concentrating instead on tasting her under his tongue and tugging the entanglement of brush and brittle bark from her tresses, haphazardly lain across her neck.
He does not see how tired, how weary she is –
She is as powerful and as formidable as she had always been, at least to him. She is no less a force to be reckoned with – the electricity surging within her veins can be felt, even through the density of his own sinew and bone. She is beautiful, commanding in her presence, and fiercer than many he had known in his lifetime – but naturally, she could not see what he could.
Quietly, softly then,
”She and I are no more. I am not certain that we ever were –“ his own admission is heavy, laden with lead and an edge of truth. ”I had nothing to give to her, and I have nothing to give to you. Nothing of substance,” he murmurs, his voice a rumbling baritone. ”nothing worthwhile.”
OFFSPRING
another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.
08-18-2017, 08:13 PM (This post was last modified: 08-18-2017, 08:15 PM by Reagan.)
Reagan
I want you to know that I'm all yours; you and me, we're the same force.
How can you miss what you do not know?
But oh, how she knows him. How she saw the truth of his eyes and the fire in his heart when he saved her life. Molten fire that spilled from his bones as he wielded his blood just so, carefully and with such attention. He was quiet, he was restrained. He was passionate, and angry.
He was cold like rock, and hot like fire.
How she knew the heat from his skin when it burned her… how she had had to create a barrier of against the touch of him lest she be burned. But yet, how she reveled in his heat and buried herself in the shadow of his body. She, small and frail, and he, large and imposing.
Oh, she knows him.
Perhaps better than he knows himself.
But only time would allow him to see that for himself, because you can tell him nothing that he will believe. One can only believe the bad for so long before it becomes the only truth they will listen to. And so, she smiles, says nothing, and allows a soft breeze to blow the tangles through her hair. A shiver goes down her spine, and Reagan finds she is content to rest her head on the crest of his back again… in that familiar way as the heat of the sun had threatened to return them to reality. Memories escaped from that time, and yet, as the sun began its daily sojourn over the crest of the world, Reagan found that she did not wish time to stop. And when he speaks—his heart heavy and resigned, his words thick with emotion—the magician feels her heart stop. She had caused this… The ending of something great.
The catalyst of something new.
Something dangerous.
Something Beautiful.
Reagan gathers her black knight into her embrace, hearing the vibrations of his voice as they ripple across her body. She shudders, and tears slowly fall from her eyes, her heart breaking for him. Wishing to be the one to put him back together. Hoping he would give her the chance to try to prove just how loveable he was. “I have had the world. I have had power. I have had everything. It has gotten me nowhere. What I want is one thing only, and I hope your presence here means what I think it means…”
She steps back, her face attempting to dry itself, thinking of her past, and her beloved trees. Reaching out, she places her nose to his.
