"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
She waits until they’ve gone, her sister and that awful green stallion she keeps for company, dark eyes burning furious holes in their retreating backs. Then she calls on her abilities again, that twilight magic, bending light and shadow around herself and Dovev until they disappear from view like a quiet mirage. They aren’t actually invisible, that magic is outside her reach, but to anyone passing by they would see only a distorted shimmer of hazy daylight reflecting the grassy meadow around them. It was little more than an illusion, but it was a clever one, and it would be enough to make Heartfire and Wyrm think they’d gone their separate ways should they glance back one last time.
Luster was tired of their company.
Tired of the terrible weight in her chest their arrogant eyes had forced her to hide.
The façade drops once they are gone though, once the walls of her light illusions are drawn up safely around them and there is only she and the bone-armored stallion she hardly knew but had missed in an inexplicable soul-deep way. The fire in her fades, that wild fury she had tethered to so that she could be sharp and lethal for the sake of this man she ached to call friend. She had worn it like a mask, beautiful and feral, clutched it to her face with trembling hands so that they would never guess at the cracks splintering beneath. But she let it slip now, softening as she returned to his side to brush her nose against his jaw, her cheek against his neck, sighing quietly.
As before, the bone plates that force their way out of his flesh are ringed in red, in blood, and with a soft, worried sound she draws her tongue across the wounds to clean them. It is futile, she can see this by the way new blood wells when she sweeps away the old, but it breaks something inside her to see it, to watch him hurt so needlessly, so she continues gently, quietly, stopping only if he wills her to.
Does it hurt? She wants to ask, silent, but maybe the sadness in her eyes asks for her. Does it ever stop hurting?
When she does finally pull away it is to twist and duck beneath his neck again, pressed safely to the curve of a chest she is certain will keep that ache in her heart at bay. She touches him lightly across his neck and his shoulder, reaches around to lip at the softness of his mouth, the satin of a dark chin. There are a thousand things she wants to say to him, anything to keep him at her side for a while, for the night – she can’t sleep in that cave tonight, but the weight in her chest seems to be a weight on her tongue, too, and she is only silent for him, trapped and drifting at the edge of an unnamable pain.
Then, quietly, uncertainly, with a face that is soft and blue and tremulous, beautiful in its vulnerability, she presses a kiss that is not quite empty (full of pain, full of loneliness, full of the loudest quiet) to the place at the corner of his mouth where the stars have come to rest, claimed him as their own. “Do you think,” and she pauses, softening beneath him, pulling back from that sad kiss to peer up at him with dark eyes that hide bemused smiles in their shadowy, uncertain depths, “that maybe I can know your name yet?” She is quiet again when she reaches up to trace her lips along the underside of his jaw, following a line of hard bone that rose like a welt beneath the gleaming dark of his ever-beautiful face. Then, so uncertain, dropping her mouth from his jaw to peer up at him again with soft, worried eyes, “Don't leave me this time.”
She warped the world around them with her magic, and he didn't bother to hide the thrill shining in his eyes and brightening his smile like an eager boy. His Luster was full of surprises. Such powerful surprises, as she wrapped them and hid them from view. He almost asked, it was on the tip of his lips; why hadn't she done these things to him when he'd come for her? But it dropped heavy in his chest and silenced the joy he'd found in her magic just a moment before. Shame and guilt darkened all the bright.
The question still burned, but she turned to him then and he watched the fire in her eyes die out. The weight in his chest consumed itself into concern for her, bearing down on him as if his own heart was breaking. Again. He was drawn into her as she returned to him, meeting her in the middle and filling the space between them as though he could wrap his arms around her and pull her close. His eyes closed over the flare of heat as she brushed along his jaw, pressed her cheek to his neck with a soft sigh. Had he warned her not to touch him? He couldn't remember. He should do it now, but something stopped him.
He should have told her, though.
She reached for him, passed her tongue gently across his tattered flesh where the bone plates protruded out of him. Every finest detail of that touch shuddered through him, zipped through his shoulders, up his neck, shot down his spine, along his legs, and he turned to smother a moan into her hair. Fuck, he should've told her not to touch him. It took all his effort, every bit of willpower, to force himself out of her reach, just a shift of his hips so that he could still face her, still press his chest against her. He couldn't give up touching her.
There was a silent question in those impossibly caring eyes, and he ignored it. She didn't need to know how badly it hurt. He didn't want the sadness in her to be for his sake.
He found comfort in their silence together. And in the way she slid under his neck and against his chest. His head bent to her in reflex, gently dragging his mouth along her as she moved. He was perfectly content in listening to her body. Perfectly content to do whatever he could to soothe that shattering ache in her heart, if there was anything at all he could do. So often he was the one putting it there, the cause of it. Maybe she could show him how to right it.
She touched his neck, his shoulder, lipped at his mouth and his chin and made his heart race. He should have told her by now. Why wouldn't he just tell her not to? Except that it felt so good. And she wasn't the only one with a bleeding heart. He was so selfish, so that must have been it. He must have wanted her to fix him too.
Luster, he whispered softly, a careful caress to this tender heart he'd once torn into. Could he ever right that wrong for her? Could he ever right all the wrongs done to her. He probably shouldn't try.
He thought he was getting better control of this, calming the firestorm within him. But damn, then she had to go and kiss that spot of blue at the corner of his mouth. And not just a peck, but something else, something deeper and full of her pain, full of her ache, full of her sadness. It stole his breath away with a stuttering exhale, his eyes falling helplessly shut, and he laid his face gently to hers. Listened to the roar of his pulse in his ears and felt it thundering against his neck.
"Do you think that maybe I can know your name yet?" The quiet amusement in her voice, brought a smile to his lips and he breathed a soft laugh, brushing a kiss to the top of her nose. But he couldn't help it. She pulled a desperate groan from his throat as she drew her lips along his jaw again, followed the line of bone from the plate masking his face. Damn, he should have told her. Should have warned her not to touch him.
She dropped from his face uncertainly and met him with perfectly deep, worried eyes and a quiet "Don't leave me this time."
Not until you tell me to, he promised quietly, smiling and placing a light kiss to the corner of her mouth. Unless you come with me this time. His eyes flashed with his amusement, placed another kiss further up, and another to her cheek. He still hadn't given her his name though. Just as with Leliana, he was reluctant to soil her with the blackness of it, the darkness he brings. Afraid, too, to hear it on her perfect tongue.
He pulled back to look down at her with a startling warmth in his black eyes, to give her a little space if she wished it, but he couldn't quite relinquish his hold and kept himself pressed close to her. I can't give you my name, he admitted, still smiling softly with a quirk of humor in the corner of his lips. He bent to her ear, kissed just below it before whispering, I won't be able to stop until you're moaning it.
Fake it like you love me, come on baby touch me Show me where it hurts, this dirty little curse
Maybe it is best that he doesn’t ask why she had not used her magic against him like a shield or a blade that first night they came together, why she had not pushed him back and away as she could have. She wouldn’t have had an answer for him, didn’t know why even after he buried his teeth in her neck she still couldn’t bring herself to retaliate. Not against him. Instead she had asked him to stay, had wanted him to stay even as he turned and disappeared into the shadow of the night.
He reaches back when she reaches for him, closing the distance between them by half and letting her fall against his chest without protest. She is glad for this. Glad for the easy, quiet acceptance, glad for the closeness she would use to hold herself together when it seemed like all her heart wanted to do was fall apart. Her mouth finds his neck, her tongue finds his wounds – and though she is gentle with her movements, so careful when she sweeps the deep red crust from the wounds, she still thinks she feels him shudder against her.
She pauses, uncertain, worried that she’s hurt him somehow until she feels his face pressed to her mane and a low moan buried in her neck. The smiles that comes to her mouth is soft and half-empty, not quite reaching the flash of those dark, earthy eyes when they close as she leans against him. It fades completely when he shifts out of her reach, when he denies her as Stillwater had, moving so she cannot reach his wounds.
She is so tired of being pushed away.
Her dark eyes flash with that hurt when she glances up at him, quieted and made distant by the way he limits her. But he doesn’t pull away completely, stays close enough to press her to his chest and so she softens again, confused, and huddles beneath his neck. His mouth finds her back as she settles closer again, drags along skin that prickles and tightens at the contact, at the heat of his breath. So she turns to touch his face again, with gentle lips and almost kisses, coaxing the softness from him she knew existed beneath the dark.
Luster, he says and his gentleness coaxes some of the fire back, some of the dark that had settled in her heart amidst the deep and jagged fissures. Her mouth settles against the spot of blue beside his, warm and needing and hollow all at once, asking for more than she should, more than she can give. But it eases the agony in her chest somehow, makes the pain of not being enough, of not being wanted something that she can almost, almost bear.
Almost.
He inhales sharply and she smiles again, something sad and dark and beautiful all at once, leaning into the closeness when he drops his head to lay it against hers. He laughs so softly at her question, brushes a kiss across the top of her nose and she closes her eyes and pushes into it. “Please.” She says, equally soft, dropping her nose to his jaw which she traces with gentle teeth. This she would wield against him, for him, his name on her lips, in every echo of their beating hearts. “Tell me.” She says again in response to his desperate groan, those starlight eyes dangerously dark now.
He promises to stay, at least, invites her to come with him, even. But he smiles, amused, places a kiss at the corner of her mouth and she realizes she cannot tell if he means it or not. If he understands how fragile the heart is that he is coaxing from her chest with his closeness and his kisses and the gentle way he keeps her. So she says nothing back to him, leans instead against these newer kisses with a heaviness in her chest that felt like it might crush her.
When he pulls back to look at her with so much warmth in those eyes, all the gentleness she knew he possessed despite the way he seemed to hide it, she can only soften and kiss him again – something more honest, something sweeter and untouched by the jagged brokenness in her chest. I can’t give you my name, he says, still soft though she can see the deeper currents of something more in the smile that pulls at the corner of his lips. Her skin prickles knowingly, and a strange heat – a blush, perhaps – uncoils from someplace deep in her belly to settle beneath the murky blue of her skin.
His mouth drops beside her ear, greets it with a quiet kiss, I won’t be able to stop until you’re moaning it. She inhales sharply, surprised and not, pulling back but not away so that her eyes can more easily search his face. Her world is turmoil all at once, her heart seething and furious and reaching for this bone-dark man to heal it. To love her as Stillwater could not, even if only in this physical, shallow way.
But –
He isn’t Stillwater. Isn’t the man she had called on her stars for. Isn’t the man she had curled with in the dark of a quiet cave, the man she had given herself to. I’m yours. She had said, had promised him at the lake more than once. That promise still mattered.
She drops her face from him, defeated, pushes closer to a chest that she should be seeking distance from and folds against it like the lifeline he’s become. There is no space between them, she eliminates that with the soft curves of her blue body, only skin pressed to skin and bone, a warm mouth returned to nurse at the wounds around his bone plates. When she does speak, finally, it is without that dangerous heat, without the blush burning beneath her skin. But maybe this is somehow worse, somehow more treacherous because the words that spill from her lips and against his broken skin are the honest, ruinous kind. “You should have stayed that night,” a quiet pause, a heavy pause, another kiss pressed to his dark shoulder, “you should have found me first.”
I won't be able to stop until you're moaning it.
Fuck.
As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to yank them back in. He closed his eyes and cringed inwardly, the muscle in his jaw twitching. Goddamned heartless bastard. So fucking stupid. And sure enough, she dropped her face away and sank deeper into his chest. He gave a short, disappointed shake of his head, before ducking to sigh softly into her hair. He was such an idiot. Sure, he’d meant the words, it’d be fucking fantastic to hear her moan his name and watch her writhe in pleasure beneath him. But damn, he didn’t have to -shouldn’t have fucking said it. Wasn’t she dealing with enough already? She just had her perfect heart shattered, she didn’t need some dumbass trying to hit on her.
I’m sorry, Luster, he said quietly with a soft kiss to the arch of her neck. That was careless of me. See, he wasn’t all bad. Somewhere in that stupid, reckless heart was some real consideration and care. God, she deserved better than he could give, but he’d try. He’d try.
He could still see that flicker of pain in her eyes as he’d shifted out of her touch, feel the sharp sting of it reflected in his chest. She wouldn’t understand how touching him so tenderly would affect him, though, and he was afraid to try and explain it. Didn’t want her to know it, to see it. He couldn’t bear to think what he’d do if that ruthless blackness in him stirred to life, the devil in him, the cruel darkness. He wasn’t a good guy, not even close. Even now, it was so tempting to throw her down and give her a matching scar on her neck as he rode her into a thrilling euphoria they’d never forget. Fuck. No, he should definitely not even think of it. It only made it worse, made him feel it stronger. Goddamn, he was terrible.
And he could still see the warm blush on her face, too, to match the growing heat in his eyes. She looked so fucking gorgeous with her skin flushed and hot, that delightful glitter of uncertainty in her impossibly deep eyes. God, and as she pressed closer into him he could feel every flawless curve of her, so supple and soft against the hard line of his body. She was so much tender delicacy to his raw strength. So right to all his wrong.
Then she reached again to care for the wounds, the so-sensitive flesh splayed from the armor plates thrusting out of him. He kissed another helpless moan into her neck, his teeth catching and pinching softly in reflex with his tongue lancing out to melt against her skin and taste her, savor her. Fuck, this wasn’t helping. He needed to calm down before he forced her into something she’d hate him forever for.
”You should have stayed that night,” she paused, weighty and quiet. He felt the guilt settle into him, remembering what he’d done to her, how he’d left her. How he had practically run from her to escape the perfection she was, all the good and the worthy and the right. Everything he had, and would, shatter and destroy. ”You should have found me first.” He sucked in a sharp breath and pulled back to stare hard into her eyes. God, that sounded so fucking good though and his heart hurt to say the words that she needed to hear.
No, please, never wish that. You would have been hurt so much worse with me. His gaze slid to the vicious scar on her neck without thinking, bringing with it a flash of pain and remorse in his face before he tucked it away behind a cold mask. You shouldn’t even be here with me now. Or ever. But damn him, he didn’t want her to leave. Wasn’t anywhere near ready to letting her go. He wanted to make everything better for her, make her world right again in whatever small way that he was able. He softened and closed his eyes, reached blindly to caress her face as gently as he could.
Come, love, he whispered into the crook of her neck and jaw. Damn, he shouldn’t call her that. She didn’t like when he called her that. But maybe there was only so much of himself that he could keep in check for her at a time, and everything else he was holding back was far more important to keep away from her. Keep her safe. Come home with me. Just for a while. You can leave whenever you want.I won’t keep you no matter how badly I might want to.
Please, he added so softly, thick lashes lowered as he stared at his feet.
I must be strong and carry on 'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven
I’m sorry, Luster, he says in a quiet way, pressing a kiss to the arch of her neck, that was careless of me. Her brow furrows and she pulls away from him in an instant, stepping back so he can see the quiet, the soft of that delicate blue face. “No.” She reaches for him so gently, sweeps aside the dark of his forelock so her lips can leave a lingering kiss against the forehead below. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispers, closes her eyes and lets her mouth trail lower, lips warm in the hollow of his thin, elegant cheeks, claiming him in a quiet way with the heat of her kisses, “I’m not.”
She ducks under his chin again, lets it trail lightly along the ridge of her spine, pauses only when it comes to rest in the hollows of her soft, blue hip. Her own mouth settles just behind his shoulder, just behind the bleeding ridge of a bone plate where she reaches for the smooth black warmth of his skin, for the soft against his belly and behind his elbow. She nurses the wounds reflexively, suckling until the skin is soft and clean and all she can taste is him in every breath. He moans again, buries it in the soft of her mane and even she is surprised at the way her body arches beneath him when he takes her skin between his teeth, pulling and pinching until she is breathless and uncertain and pressed so firmly against him.
It is reflexive when she reaches for the name he has not given her, when those pale lips shape around nothing and she can only smother a strange, quiet kind of laugh in the soft hollow of his skin. “Your name, please.” She asks again in that breathless way, soft and still smiling, lighter now, uncrossing those arms from her chest and reaching for him. She doesn’t expect him to suddenly change his mind and breathe the word into the blue oceans of her roiling skin, but she has to try, has to ease this strange ache he keeps nursing deeper into the pit of her chest. At some point her breathing had changed, ragged in a quiet way, stuttered and uncertain, and so she distracts herself in the contours of his body, following the maze of bone ridges and plates until she is at the point of his hip and kissing it softly.
She returns to his chest, tells him he should’ve stayed. But he pulls back to stare at her and she can feel her face darken with uncertainty at him. No, he tells her, coaxes a frown from the bright and white, you would have been hurt so much worse with me. She isn’t sure what he means until his eyes drift to the scar on her neck, his mark, and she can nearly see him wilt beneath the weight of his guilt. It’s in his skin and his shoulders, in the contours of that dark, beautiful face – pain and remorse, and then only nothing when he pulls it back and hides it from her. “Don’t do that,” she says quietly, steps forward to touch his face with such opening, disarming longing, asking of him what she has no right to ask, asking of him what will only push him further away, “don’t hide from me.”
You shouldn’t even be here with me now. Or ever.
Frustration makes her tense as she reaches a second time for the name he still hasn’t given her. Something to keep him from pulling away so far, from escaping to a place she cannot reach. How could she be without him now, away from his warmth and his gentle and the strange way he seems to care about her. How could he not see how desperately she needed him. “Where should I be?” She is softening again, unraveling in those eyes, in the goosebumps that still prickle her skin where his teeth had been. “Where do I belong?” She is wide-eyed and luminous when she slips beneath his neck again, lays her face so quietly against his neck and closes her eyes, wills him not to force her away from him. “I think it would hurt so much worse to be without you, right now.”
He closes his eyes and reaches for her and she turns to him easily, pushes her face against his lips, her shoulder against his. Come, love, he whispers into her skin, her neck, her jaw. It is so different than before, he is so different, or maybe she is so different – but the word has a new kind of weight now and she responds to it with a kiss against the blue of his celestial mouth instead of frowning fear.Come home with me. Just for a while. You can leave whenever you want. Her surprise blooms slowly across the quiet blue of that delicate face, startled that he chooses to pull her closer instead of push her further away. The yes is already on her lips when his eyes drop and another word tips so softly from the ledge of his lips. Please.
She comes undone in his gentleness, soft-eyed and needing, using her nose to lift his chin again, to reclaim his eyes with the quiet pleasure of her own. “Yes.” She tells him so softly, so sweetly, wonders at the feeling unfurling like blue petals in her chest. “With you.” She cannot keep her lips from tasting the quiet in his face, cannot help but reach into his dark with every bit of light she can manage, to find him there and weave around him like a beacon in his roiling seas. She is suddenly so quiet when she lifts her face to him, when her eyes find his and settle so readily against the dark. “Give me something to hold on to.”
