06-13-2021, 12:47 PM
As if i could forget? It was much the same now as it had been the night we first met. A shadow detached from the rest, silent as the grave. He looks different now, it's true, but this is not a change that came about all at once. No. I recognize the shape of his skull stretched tight beneath black skin, and the way his brutal mouth forms my name.
I recognize the silver-dark needlepoint prick of a scar on his emaciated chest. The mark that made him mine.
My blood, red and warm, now glows softly as the night falls, as fickle moonlight begins to take the sun's place. As it should be, as we thought it always would. I can't help but glare upwards now to where that silver face peers from behind the skeletal leaves. As untrustworthy as the rest of us, the moon is.
Still, I let my face fall back to where we are now, my crystal bright eyes drinking in the dark. The ache in my chest throbs beneath his lightest touch, a sigh of anticipation coaxed from my lips. Our thoughts are mingled, each blood tinged and hungry. It is his darkness that has long drawn me to him, the way our monsters play. It is a recognition that goes deeper than skin and bone, I'd like to think. The way the moth eaten fabrics of our souls align.
I twist beneath his touch. Every patch of skin that finds a new bruise when pressed to his bony frame, brings me more awareness of how fragile I am. Breakable and beautiful, as much as any stained glass window. The fractal veins of scar tissue pulse in time with the drip drop pattern of blood, with the rise and fall of my ribs. I smile, a frightful, red toothed thing, and it is all for him.
"Isn't greatness always a temptation?" I breath, the curve of my neck angled just wide enough to display the wreckage. And he takes it, the taste of me shining darkly on his lips, red and phosphorous. There's no love in his touch. No sweetness, but the hunger I can feel crawling through his veins is close enough in this moment. What would I do with sweetness, anyway? What use have I for tenderness when there are things like fear and adoration to be had.
That makes his withdrawal all the more painful when it comes.
The patch of my chest that he had laved and scraped is cold now, and my eyes harden in turn. "Are you finished?" I ask, the question a softly flavored thing, even as my electric fire stoked. "Because I wasn't, and it's so rude to leave before the lady finishes." My deer-thin legs move me closer, the flicker of something violent in my eyes as I close the space between.
My own mouth reaches to sweep the length of his jaw, the hardness smooth beneath my teeth. A desire has overtaken me, to see just how far this goes. To explore this shadow and its depths until we're both drunk on the darkest of wines.
@[Balto]
I recognize the silver-dark needlepoint prick of a scar on his emaciated chest. The mark that made him mine.
My blood, red and warm, now glows softly as the night falls, as fickle moonlight begins to take the sun's place. As it should be, as we thought it always would. I can't help but glare upwards now to where that silver face peers from behind the skeletal leaves. As untrustworthy as the rest of us, the moon is.
Still, I let my face fall back to where we are now, my crystal bright eyes drinking in the dark. The ache in my chest throbs beneath his lightest touch, a sigh of anticipation coaxed from my lips. Our thoughts are mingled, each blood tinged and hungry. It is his darkness that has long drawn me to him, the way our monsters play. It is a recognition that goes deeper than skin and bone, I'd like to think. The way the moth eaten fabrics of our souls align.
I twist beneath his touch. Every patch of skin that finds a new bruise when pressed to his bony frame, brings me more awareness of how fragile I am. Breakable and beautiful, as much as any stained glass window. The fractal veins of scar tissue pulse in time with the drip drop pattern of blood, with the rise and fall of my ribs. I smile, a frightful, red toothed thing, and it is all for him.
"Isn't greatness always a temptation?" I breath, the curve of my neck angled just wide enough to display the wreckage. And he takes it, the taste of me shining darkly on his lips, red and phosphorous. There's no love in his touch. No sweetness, but the hunger I can feel crawling through his veins is close enough in this moment. What would I do with sweetness, anyway? What use have I for tenderness when there are things like fear and adoration to be had.
That makes his withdrawal all the more painful when it comes.
The patch of my chest that he had laved and scraped is cold now, and my eyes harden in turn. "Are you finished?" I ask, the question a softly flavored thing, even as my electric fire stoked. "Because I wasn't, and it's so rude to leave before the lady finishes." My deer-thin legs move me closer, the flicker of something violent in my eyes as I close the space between.
My own mouth reaches to sweep the length of his jaw, the hardness smooth beneath my teeth. A desire has overtaken me, to see just how far this goes. To explore this shadow and its depths until we're both drunk on the darkest of wines.
@[Balto]