these, our bodies, possessed by light.
The feeling that overwhelms her might be love or it might be magic. And really, Bexley thinks as they fall into step, what would be the difference?
The world is so wide and so liquid and so generally vast. The sun bright above their heads, a watching halo. Acton falls into step beside her and they are together again, unfettered by the need for okayness or gilded lies or the sort of horribly draining political respect Bexley has had to keep stapled to her side since the moment she arrived here. None of that anymore. Just Acton, and
his mouth on her hip, and suddenly she is falling, she thinks, or might as well be for the anti-gravity pooling like so much water in the pit of her stomach. She thinks this might be the first time of a touch of theirs has not culminated in violence. For all the grief it’s giving her, that one simple touch of lips to skin, she’s almost sure she would have remembered anything previous. (How sweet and stupid.) For a brief moment her skin glows bright-gold, her eyes flash aureate, her skin sizzles - for a brief moment she is reminded of the gifts her god has just given her, and for that brief moment she quashes the urge to use them. No more false magic. No more pretending for goodness, or godliness, or purity. Why not enjoy this for what it is, as long as she can remain human enough to enjoy it -
I’d be a lot more inventive.
Again, that cursed heat flares. If Acton had been touching her, he might have felt a brief, violent burn. As it is, when Bexley’s eyes snap to meet his, they burn a vicious molten gold, everything but the pupil swallowed whole by that aureate madness. The glimmer across her skin flares and brightens until it hurts to look at, though only for that one brief second before she manages to push down her wicked want, the throat-closing surprise: what a fool she is, laying out all her cards in such a disorganized, childish manner. What a fool she is to lose so much of herself in him. To be so desperately wild and degenerate when the eyes of the gods are but a mile away, looming omnipresent over the craggy, mist-shrouded horizon behind them.
She knows this, and yet. And yet. No part of her cares enough to stop it.
She stops and wheels to face him. They’re far away now from any crowd, from any watching eyes. Her gaze glimmers deep-blue in the bright light, the saturation almost primitive, and a smile curls her lips. And then, for a few brief seconds, they flicker into existence beside her: a twin on either side. They are Bexley’s carbon copies, down to the canine tilt of her head, the near-lecherous smirk on her lips, solid and bright and utterly corporeal in their gold-and-gild and blood until they flash out of existence moments later, disappearing as suddenly as they came. Favor, she repeats. Funny. Seems I already have mine.
As quickly as it was summoned, the glimmer leaches away from her. A girl again - wild and wanting. Somehow, this is more dangerous than anything.
So, explain this, thanks. Tempting you up here? Bexley’s tone reeks of mock-surprise, and even those who know her best would be hard-pressed to hear the anxiety that’s hiding like sapphire in the soft corners of her mouth. She tilts her head to one side and watches him, bright with mischief. With what would I be temping you?
Peril, then, in the butterfly-wing batting of her lashes, the near-nervous gleam of want in her blue eyes, never moving from his own. The distance between them is tiny. Negligible, even.
If she wanted, she could count every freckle on his skin.
@acton<3
