"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
Just stay away from the white light. I'd say your worst side's your best side.
Labor is a bitch. I'm not going to go into detail, because it's no one's damn business but mine. Not even my mother's, and I told her as much when I felt her nearby, watching, hovering, trying to ease the pain. Told her to fuck straight off, that I didn't want her here. I think she actually listened too, because I couldn't feel her with me after I yelled at her and told her not to come back. It didn't hurt at all that she listened. That she gave up without a fight, that she walked away instead of shoving her nose in where it wasn't welcome and left me alone to do the hardest goddamn thing I've ever done.
It doesn't matter. I'm fine. Exhausted, but fine. And the kid? It's wriggling next to me on the ground and trying to tear its way out of the birth sac, so I reach out and help, tearing a hole so it can gasp in its first breath of air. It sits up, panting, and we just stare at each other. Dark eyes, brown verging on black. Like mine, but a little darker still. And it looks...well, wet and awkward and covered in disgusting fluids and whatnot, but beneath all that it's...like a little inverted me. The violet of its coat is much more red than my hair, and the scruffy sky blue of its mane is brighter than my powder blue coat. But there's a lot of awkward baby me in the lines of its face, the bony angle of its shoulder, the flare of its nostrils as it sucks in another breath.
Those dark eyes watch me, and there's no expression in them. Not curiosity, not hunger, not confusion or excitement or even a dazed blankness. Just not-quite-black staring straight at me, waiting. Neither of us make any move to rise, just recovering from the shared ordeal of getting it out of my body and into the world. Breathing and watching, still joined together by its umbilical cord. I finally rise when I work up the energy to move, and that cord breaks, leaving my little monster on its own for the first time. With a disgusted wince, I lower my head toward the kid and start cleaning off all the gross fluids and bits of birth sac and whatnot. It's not a job I relish by any means, but it needs doing, and I'm sure as hell not going to leave it to little demon to accomplish.
The whole time, it just stares at me, quiet and watchful. When I'm done, and it...and he is finally clean and relatively dry, I give him a little nudge behind the withers and he snorts at me and bumps me back. “Up you get, tiny beast,” I tell him, lipping at his sky blue mane. He nudges me again, then methodically props one tiny hoof against the earth, then another. He tries to stand, but those legs aren't used to freedom and he falls. Those dark eyes narrow, and I can't quite tell if it's irritation or determination. Either way, he plants those tiny hooves again, so precise, so exacting in their placement. It doesn't take long before he's standing on shaky, spindly legs, his dark gaze distant as he works out how to operate a body that's used to being confined and is suddenly able to stretch out and move.
“Food's this way.” I show him with a gesture, and he slowly makes his way over, more focused on the act of walking than on his destination. One foot, two, coordinating the muscles and propelling himself forward. Another determined snort, and then he's beside me, ducking his brightly colored head under my belly and latching on and learning to nurse. Atta boy, monster. It's not so hard.
He doesn't nurse long, and then it's back to standing and watching. “You got a name, kid, or is that my job?” I came out declaring myself Dare, barely tolerating the longer name my mothers gave me to pretty it up a bit. So if he's got ideas, I'm all ears. But he just tilts his head a little and stares. Right. My job it is, then. “How do you feel about Tycho?” A long stare. One slow blink, and then the kid nods his head once.
“Alright, Tycho. I'm Ryss. Feel free to call me mom or whatever, that's up to you.” He looks me over, from the violet of my forelock all the way down to the edge of my hooves and back up, then nods again, this time with a quick little exhale for emphasis. “Quiet one, huh?” His only response is to bump his shoulder against me and then go back to walking, learning how his body works while I go about the rather hideous business of passing and disposing of afterbirth.
When it's on the ground, he perks up and comes over, studying it with those dark eyes of his. He prods the gelatinous mass with one tiny hoof, then lowers his head to sniff at it. “Gross, right?” He tilts his little head at me, then sniffs the placenta again, squishing a little of it beneath his exploring hoof. “That's how I fed you before you came out. That and the umbilical cord that connected the outside of your belly to the inside of mine.” The kid looks at my belly, at the mass of tissue on the ground, at himself. He ducks his head between his front legs and tilts it, trying to see where part of that cord still dangles from his abdomen. That doesn't work so well, so he stretches around to look from a different angle. I reach out and touch my nose to the end of the cord to show him, and he nods again.
When he lowers himself to the ground, I expect him to take a nap; being born is hard work, and I don't know about him, but I could sure as hell use a nap. Instead, he settles in to watch while I get rid of the evidence. “You're a little weirdo, you know that?” I ask. He just tilts his head, so I shrug and eat the afterbirth. Even if it's disgusting. When it's gone, he closes his eyes and takes that nap. Exhausted, I stand over him, keeping watch over my little demon even as I sneak in a quick rest.
Just when you think that you're alright, I'm crawling out from the inside.
He is there, through her whole birthing. He watches as the baby slides out, as they sit there and stare at each other (creeper much Zuzu?). He almost smiles when his hearing picks up their words even though they were far enough away from him that it was almost impossible (only if you weren't a magician). Well, when he can hear Ryss's voice. The boy didn't seem to speak much.
He debates approaching her different ways. This would be the first kid that he acknowledged was his (even though he knew them all), the first kid that he had even bothered showing up for. "Fuck it." He finally says.
He teleports to her side, his completely black body brushing against her own, as his lips send those lightning bolts through her skin. He looks around her to look at the child on the ground. "Unremarkable little demon isn't...." He stops, lowering his head to look closer at the boy. He peers one of those large dark eyes at Tycho. "Interesting."
It was interesting to see how his magic mutated when he bred. Often times he was more curious as to what would come of it than anything. He had animal shifting kids and healing kids (what the hell was that about, most assuredly not pleased with those ones...), and a variety of other things. This was the first time that he had wandered upon someone else (besides other magicians) that was a complete blank to him. He probed, sending mental pokes, prodding here and there at the space where his son occupied.
"I'll be damned." He brushes his lips again Ryss, touching her cheek and then running his teeth across the spot. "You've made a baby I'm incapable of mentally reading Rys." He's not sure if he should be pleased or annoyed. Either way he knew she didn't care. Which annoyed him. Which annoyed him even more, until his ears were falling back into his inky mane.
"You're a damn drug." He says finally, biting her hard enough on her neck to draw blood. He steps away then to go to Tycho and nose the little demon, his nostrils inhaling the boy's scent even as he commits everything he can about Tycho to his memory. He thought about claiming to be Tycho's father, but even as the thought crossed his mind he throws it aside. He hadn't made himself known to any of his other kids, he wasn't about to out himself to Ryss's son.
Even if he thought about it more than once.
pazuzu
**Disclaimer, posting to Pazuzu can result in maiming, torturing, and all kinds of nasty things possibly happening to your pony. If you do not agree, do not post to him or if you do not want your pony horribly maimed, please say so. Most of the time he will just leave some nice new scars, either mental or physical.
Just stay away from the white light. I'd say your worst side's your best side.
My brief rest doesn't last long. It feels like less than a heartbeat before the telltale lightning on my skin has me opening my eyes. Little monster's already watching the spot where Pazuzu materializes, making me wonder if he feels echoes of that electricity too. Just a brief caress of skin on skin, Pazuzu's lips brushing against me and I can feel the charge he leaves in his wake. I'm in no shape to respond to it; even if I weren't exhausted, I'm stretched out and all fucked up from shoving his spawn out of me, and my body's in no mood to play just now. Still, the contact is nice.
He attempts to dismiss my tiny beast as unremarkable, and my lips twitch briefly with amusement as he trails off and studies the boy. The intent expression on his face as he does whatever it is he's doing to try to read the little monster reminds me of the one on the boy's face when he was concentrating on learning how to work his legs, or prodding the squishy mess of placenta to see how it moved. So the kid's not just a miniscule, inverted, male baby me then. Oh, appearance-wise, he takes after me. That's for sure. Throw in a little of the red Pazuzu wore when we...mmm...but other than that and the eyes – huh. Pazuzu's eyes are black today. Interesting.
My beast stares back at his sire, and one corner of his mouth curves upward just a hair as Pazuzu probes him and reads nothing. “I rather doubt I'm responsible for that particular quirk of his,” I reply as Pazuzu's lips brush my cheek and his teeth follow, coaxing the skin he touches into lovely little tingles. He sinks his teeth into my neck and I bite him back just as hard without even thinking, not quite able to tell if the reflex is one of encouragement or reproach. Maybe a little of both, because if it was meant as foreplay his timing's pretty shitty. Sadly. A week ago, I would have been all over him. Or a few weeks from now, when my body's had a chance to recover. Right now, I've got nothing to give him. Or at least nothing he'd want, damn drug or no.
Tycho reaches out to sniff his sire in return, and his gaze sharpens on Pazuzu's lips, where a trace of my blood lingers. His little pink tongue darts out, catching a drop and drawing it into his mouth. Those dark eyes drift closed, his brow furrowing with concentration. When he opens them again, it is to stare up at me with greater intensity. He rises to his feet, meticulous in the placement of each little hoof, in the shifting of weight that allows him to stand.
Little demon indeed, he reaches out that tiny muzzle and laps the blood slowly trickling down my neck. I snort, my gaze shifting from him to Pazuzu. “Though that one I might have contributed to.” Oh, not exclusively. But I'd certainly share the credit. When he is done – whether he was cleaning the wound or just in it for the taste of blood on his lips, I couldn't say – he turns back to Pazuzu, still silent, those big dark eyes of his still watching. He gives Pazuzu the same thorough once-over he gave me, examining from top to bottom and back again before letting his gaze linger on the mark I left in return.
Just when you think that you're alright, I'm crawling out from the inside.
05-04-2016, 07:57 AM (This post was last modified: 05-09-2016, 04:43 PM by Tycho.)
Chain of the demons set free, strange alchemy...
The taste of blood still lingers on my tongue, setting nerve endings alight. She smells like me, blood of my blood, even through the lingering traces of bodily fluids on my coat I can parse out the similarities in our scents. Mine, that scent tells me, perhaps tells both of us because while we briefly rested she closed her eyes and breathed in her scent on my skin. Brushed her lips against my shoulder, groomed my mane. Small touches that echoed mine back at me. There are no such soft touches in her wakeful state, nor with the eyes of another on us.
But that other is interesting.
My nostrils flare, catching the scent of the blood trickling down his shoulder. They mark each other, though I see no other recent wounds on either of them. There was no obvious provocation for the interaction, nor any significant repercussions to either of them; logic would follow that there was precedence for the exchange of bites, however I see no physical evidence of such. Either my logic is flawed, or enough time has passed since the last exchange that any scars have faded. Not enough data to draw a conclusion; further observation is necessary.
There is a familiar note to the scent of his blood, one that catches my interest. I narrow my eyes, watching the slow flowing of red on the black of his coat. I reach my head toward that trail of red, inhaling deeper to better analyze. Not her, there is no trace of her scent on him aside from the brief touches they have exchanged, nor of him on her. There is a commonality between his scent and mine, however. Not overwhelmingly so like hers, from months spent growing inside her body, from our shared amniotic fluid soaking into my skin, from her saliva left behind as she cleaned me and dried me. But there nonetheless.
I step closer, considering. Mine? With her I knew, and so the action to take was clear. With him, there is...possibility. Potential. I do not, however, think that decision is mine to make. So I pause and meet the black of his gaze, studying his expression. Mine or not mine? She is necessary; my body requires the sustenance she provides, and at least as much protection as she can offer until I am large enough and strong enough to defend myself. He is not an absolute requirement for survival like she is, but there would be definite advantages. I do not have enough information to decide, or to draw any conclusions. So I watch, and I wait.
A gentle touch of her...Ryss's...mother's nose to my withers breaks my stare, redirects it toward her. "That'll do, little monster." Not mine? No, that is not quite what she is saying, I think. I breathe out one quick exhale, a soundless snort of agreement. Well enough, the answer can wait. So when I look back at him, my head tilting as I absorb body language cues, take in the shape of him, drag his scent into my nostrils to store it in my memory, it is with less unspoken demand, and more silent observation.
((So much for not wanting to be written first person.))
The little demon is interesting to him, but Ryss has long been his first priority. Ever since their remeeting in the Field when she was feeling wild, she had been on his mind. Ever since the little Dare-baby had grown up into Rys, she had been with him. He felt that tingle when they touched, it all but set his body on fire, even now, even when she was so tired and sore. He still wanted her, would always want her. But he sets it aside, the little demon eyeing the blood on his lips and he can only smirk. "I think that might be a little bit of both of us."
The unblinking eyes of his son are studying him. It makes Pazuzu wonder what is going on in that tiny newborn brain. For now though, he sets it side, those black eyes of his landing on Ryss where he drags his lips across her back and her shoulder. He touches her haunches with his lips and sends healing (it's so white and not him) into her body. He heals her afterbirth, heals all the aches and pains and just general weariness that she has.
No need for a nap now, her body should be bursting with energy.
Once he feels she is healed enough, he stops. And then he sneezes, shaking his body to rid himself of the white magic he had just used. He steps away from her, turning those eyes onto the brush nearby. A black dart zooms from his body, slamming into the rabbit that had started to run. Shadows encompass it, ridding it of hair, until it is only the muscles and the veins that are showing.
"Come Tycho." He says, knowing the boy would find an interest in this. He looks over his shoulder at Rys and smirks at her. "All good?" He fucking hopes so, the thought of using any more of that white magic gives him creeps.
Once the boy toddles over to him, not to far but far enough to work those newborn legs of his, he uses a tendrils of magic to work as fingers. "See here, how the muscle connects with the tendons?" And on he goes once the boy acknowledges him on all the anatomy of a rabbit. He peels away the muscles, shows the boy all kind of interesting things with how their bodies work. He peels away everything down to the bones, and keeps up a commentary the whole time, pausing to meet Tycho's eyes now and again to make sure he was keeping up and understanding.
"Underneath, we are all really similar." Pazuzu smiles and when he does so, his black fur is gone and he is nothing but muscle and sinew, his eyes rolling down to his boy. "See?"
pazuzu
**Disclaimer, posting to Pazuzu can result in maiming, torturing, and all kinds of nasty things possibly happening to your pony. If you do not agree, do not post to him or if you do not want your pony horribly maimed, please say so. Most of the time he will just leave some nice new scars, either mental or physical.
Just stay away from the white light. I'd say your worst side's your best side.
God, I love the way he touches me. Even now, when it's not the slow build of a brewing thunderstorm. Just touching, for the sake of feeling his skin on mine. My eyes drift closed, and if I could I would be purring in weary contentment as I lean into those light touches instead of just feeling a tiny smile soften the line of my mouth. Man, shitty timing or no, I can't help but appreciate his presence. It's not until healing magic washes through me though, easing the pain and the discomfort and the exhaustion, that it occurs to me his timing might have been deliberate.
Eyes wide, I turn my head to look at him while he's focused on his task. A task my mother didn't fight for, one that I thought would be mine alone and would take much more time. The warm, kind of melty feeling in my chest makes me a little nervous. I know better than to let what's between us be anything more than chemistry. He told me when he walked away that it was all he had to offer me, and I didn't want anything more from him, didn't expect anything more. Yet here he is. I swear, I try to squash that stupid gooey feeling, to stomp it into the dirt beneath my hooves and grind it into dust. But somehow my lips are on his cheek, brushing against his skin and making my stupid, traitorous heart flutter just a little bit. It's hormones. That's a thing, right? From giving birth, for bonding with the baby or some shit. That's all.
“Thank you.” Dammit, those words weren't supposed to come out so soft. Break eye contact, Ryss, stop staring into those endless black eyes of his, don't you fucking dare notice the light playing on the surface or how deep you could fall into oh thank god, he's looking away. Shaking off the healing magic and no longer focused on me. On my comfort, and on making me feel better. With those eyes looking into the brush, with some space between his body and mine, I can breathe again. It's just the fucking hormones. It'll go away.
Even if he was around long enough to hear Tycho's name before he showed himself. Even if he's beckoning our—my—the kid over to a weird anatomy lesson that tiny beast can't look away from. The insides of a rabbit should not be adorable, and yet somehow watching the two of them explore the bones, the muscles, the organs, the circulatory system and nervous system and on and on while our little monster watches with sheer fascination in his dark eyes...fuck. Just the hormones. Still just the hormones.
Please be just the hormones.
Whoa, what. Even I'm stepping forward to stare as Pazuzu strips away his own skin and leaves muscle and sinew exposed. There is something morbidly fascinating about seeing what lies beneath the surface, how we are put together. I don't intrude on the lesson, because Tycho hasn't blinked since it began and I would hate to break his concentration. But there is a twisted beauty to the flesh beneath Pazuzu's far too appealing skin. And that thought, at least, is less disturbing than the fluttering in my chest at watching the two of them together.
Just when you think that you're alright, I'm crawling out from the inside.
05-09-2016, 04:39 PM (This post was last modified: 05-09-2016, 04:43 PM by Tycho.)
Chain of the demons set free, strange alchemy...
I watch as he touches her, feel the electricity of whatever it is he is doing that makes her stare at him, brings a softness into her eyes and her tone of voice and her body language. No biting now, no teeth on flesh followed by a trickle of red. Curious. But barely. There are much more interesting things than the dynamic between the two of them. Like the large beetle crawling across the ground nearby. Six limbs to my four, wings and antennae and a shiny blue carapace. It slowly makes its way closer and I lower my head to examine it from a different angle. The blue is shimmery, its color changing slightly as I shift my head.
I am raising one small hoof to crush it and see what's inside when he calls to me. “Come Tycho.” I narrow my eyes at the beetle, breathing out a silent snort. Next time, shiny blue bug. Next time, I will examine your insides. I glance at my mother long enough to see her slightly dazed nod, but it's directed at him. Tilting my head, I think back, trying to catch up on what I missed. Quiet, physical contact, there was a sneeze that was his, he'd summoned me, and then ah, yes, good. An inquiry as to her state. Well enough.
I walk over to him, practicing the muscle movements, noting the amount of propulsion require to achieve the desired rate of speed, focused enough inward that it is not until I am next to him that I notice the purpose for his summons. Oh. Oh this is much better than the beetle. Excellent. I get as close to the skinned rabbit as I can manage, filing away the information on the muscle groups, how they function, what effect the contraction of each has—much like with learning to walk, the muscles work together to accomplish tasks, and each has a specific effect. Contract this and the head raises; this one makes the ear rotate; that one causes the leg to raise, each of those working together in a particular order causes the motions associated with taking a step. Fascinating.
Oh, and the lesson goes on! Through the most intricate details of anatomy and physiology, into the function of organs, the structure of the nervous system, everything I could have wished to know about the body's mechanics and processes. And I don't just listen. I explore the rabbit, nosing at the viscera, examining how its parts fit together and coordinate, how delightful! I'm rather messy by the time the rabbit lesson wraps up, but that is what grooming is for, and can be dealt with later. Because he immediately presents me with an even better lesson: his own internal structure, or at least the musculature. I stare, a grin stretching muscles in my blood-covered face I don't think I have used before, and immediately begin to review the rabbit lesson and relate it into the equine body, nosing at his exposed muscles as I recall what each of them did, moving my own body to correspond with the muscle groups I contact.
I pull back and grin up at him, delighted in his choice of subject. Then I nose at where his wound was, where blood trickled down his skin when he still wore it. I lick the surface of the muscle in lieu of lapping up the blood. Enough data has been gathered. Mine, indeed. Excellent. I do hope there will be more such lessons forthcoming. It would have taken me far longer to learn this much on my own.
If he were to admit it, he hasn't been in her head in a long time. He doesn't read her every thoughts, intruding into her mind like a virus. He allows her the privacy her mind offers and gives her the space her thoughts need. He would mark her with his protection if he could, if it didn't show to every damn body that he was completely head over heels for her. Oh god. He had fallen, smack dab into love. That icky gooey shit that he had always been able to stay away from.
What a damn mess.
He doesn't show any emotion at these thoughts, his voice fading off as he allows Tycho to nudge his muscles, blocking out the pain and managing to keep the boy from seriously harming him. After all, he had just allowed himself a certain degree of trust, allowing the boy to touch organs and muscles that could easily be used to kill him. Even when he goes to the wound from Ryss and cleans it. Or licks the blood up because he likes it. Pazuzu isn't really sure yet.
When he was done with that part, he made his muscles disappear so that all Tycho could see was the way his heart thumped in his chest. The way the blood sang though his veins. He could see the way his lungs filled up with oxygen and the way his vocal cords vibrated as he spoke. "It is much easier to see the way the organs and stuff work when someone is alive. Using magic to animate them just isn't the same." And he would know, the sick bastard, having used it more than once to make someone dead seem alive.
He could keep them safe, even though he knew it would be better for him to walk away and never see either of them again. He had no known enemies, although there were plenty of victims out there. Some of them might even grow some balls and come after him. Or their lovers might, once they realize how far he had broken them.
He quiets again, allowing Tycho to look his fill. His eyes fall to Rys's and he can see something softer there. Motherhood seems to agree with her, even though she was likely cursing him through her entire pregnancy when the mood struck her. It cannot be easy to grow a foal in her body. "But of course there are some differences between a male and a female." Instead of using Rys, he creates an illusion mare before them, standing near so that Tycho can see. Then he continues with sex education and once that is done...
His fur appears and he smiles first at Tycho. "I think that's enough for your first day little demon." And then his eyes are sliding towards Rys again, smirking at her as he slides back to her side. "He'll do." His lips touching her cheek at these words even as a slow smile curls his lips.
pazuzu
**Disclaimer, posting to Pazuzu can result in maiming, torturing, and all kinds of nasty things possibly happening to your pony. If you do not agree, do not post to him or if you do not want your pony horribly maimed, please say so. Most of the time he will just leave some nice new scars, either mental or physical.
Just stay away from the white light. I'd say your worst side's your best side.
Focus on the lesson, Ryss. Not on the patient way Pazuzu lets our son prod at his exposed muscles and explore, not on the way Tycho licks Pazuzu's wound just like he licked mine, not on the way Pazuzu slowly walks our little demon through exactly as much information as his newborn brain can manage. Which, come to think of it, is an incredible amount. When I was his age, I was doing almost nothing but nursing, napping, and frolicking. Tycho, though? Two complete dissections, and a third partial one to illustrate the differences between male and female, and he is still hanging on every word.
I'm just damn glad I didn't get volunteered for that task. Tiny beast was eying my belly after poring over Pazuzu's heart and lungs and nervous system and bones, and I just got him out of my body; I don't need him back in, peeling me open and exploring my insides. Though come to think of it, that might be kind of cool. Just...not immediately after I finally evicted him from his occupation of my uterus.
While I'm not as deeply absorbed in the instruction as little monster there, it is genuinely intriguing to see all our inner workings. Tycho listens with utter fascination as his father goes into the differences between male and female, gives him the sex talk, and then dresses back up in his sexy damn skin and declares the lesson over for the day. Tycho nods once, with a little silent snort of emphasis, then bumps his tiny nose against his father's shoulder in what looks like thanks. He licks the mark I left on Pazuzu's skin once more now that the skin is back in place, then ducks under my belly to nurse.
Without the buffer of a curious newborn between us, Pazuzu is beside me once again in an instant. His lips press against my cheek, and I can feel a smile growing there even if I can't see it. “I think he will, yes,” I agree, and my traitor of a body curls against him, skin tingling at every point of contact as I rub my cheek against the side of his neck. Shit, stop, control yourself, Ryss. Just hormones, remember? Don't breathe him in, don't sigh against his skin, don't run your lips along the line of his jaw even if they ache with wanting to brush against him. Oops. Too late.
Tycho finishes nursing and curls up for a nap, and thank god because cleaning him up is a distraction. My lips can't be all over Pazuzu's skin when I'm busy licking the blood off our little demon's face, out of his little scruff of a mane, out of his...ear? How? Well, I guess he was pretty much neck deep in animal insides. With a silent breath of laughter, I give him one last lick. He's passed out cold between my front legs, his eyes flickering as he dreams. Probably about anatomy.
“Thank you,” I murmur into his sky blue forelock, glancing over at Pazuzu. “For being here, for patching me up, and for...he seemed to really enjoy what you were teaching him, and apparently that means a lot to me. And I...am not trying to be all mushy and shit, okay? I know we've got that whole just-amazing-sex line drawn. I respect that. You don't have to worry. But I really appreciate...this.”
God, I want to touch him again. I want to curl back up against him, tuck my head under his chin, trail kisses down the line of his throat. Stupid baby hormones. That would be way too dangerous, with my heart fluttering like a drunken butterfly inside my chest. Because I don't just want another round of lightning and rolling thunder right now. I want his body wrapped around mine, holding me close; I want the beat of his heart in my ear, his scent mingling with mine, all sorts of things I've never wanted before.
Just when you think that you're alright, I'm crawling out from the inside.
He has 87 kids, including Tycho. He could care less where the others were, what they were doing, how they were...all except this little demon laying between his mother's hooves. Damn if that didn't scare the shit out of him. He could name his kids, tell you who their mother's were, because while he pretended not to care he did, he found a secret joy in the mares that he took beneath him.
Unless Daeryssa, when she set off an explosion in his chest, breaking away that rocky wall that he had had in front of his heart for so long he had forgotten it was there.
(Jack Skellington, Dis Pater, Juggernaut, they all laughed at him in his head, the magical remnants of them chuckling cruelly at his sudden downfall. Even Saqr the first could not help but smirk at his predicament. Love has always been their down fall, too much or lack of. His legacy before him when he had finally taken Jack Skellington over and killed him in a gooey black pile of muck.)
Fear entered his heart and his head for the first time, genuine fear. It made his heart race and he wondered if this meant that it was soon his time to go. He certainly hoped not. The others had been sad, angsty and he was nothing close to feeling like that. Angry perhaps that he had allowed all this to happen to him, but he was beginning to realize that sometimes it just happened whether you wanted it to or not.
He can still feel the touch of his son's lips against his shoulder and then again where Ryss had marked him hers. He was. He was so hers. She owed his heart, had thieved it from his body when he hadn't been paying attention. Even though he had clearly just show Tycho it it...it didn't matter, it was just some pale imitation for the love that he held.
For her.. All for her.
His eyes fall back upon her. Because she is thanking him. Guilt runs through him, guilt that he had thought about letting her go so long ago with just this boy to care for on his own. Guilt that he hadn't been there before. Guilt that he had used her so long ago.
No wonder they had all committed suicide or allowed another entity to sweep forwards, sealing their deaths. Love was heavy shit.
For a while he doesn't say anything. His dark eyes are on her as she watches him, as they dart from him to their boy, to their little demon. He remembers what he had said, warning her off as well as reminding himself that sex was all he could give her. What utter bullshit.
He would damn well give her more than either of them had wanted before. It was just that he needed to know, needed to see some inkling of it in her eyes, that she might feel the same, before he went at her with everything he had. He would be sneaky, perhaps even a little manipulative in his quest to win her heart over, but he would.
"No thanks are necessary." And her favorite flower, whatever it happened to be, in her favorite color rose up out of the ground in front of her.
pazuzu
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