This keening soul;
Blood snow lies like a cloak over both their spines. Beside her, adorned in blood and moonlight, he looks dangerous. Touching her, he feels lethal.
First it is the press of his gaze - across her cheeks, her eyes, her lashes, her mouth her hair. Each place his gaze touches feels cold like shells and hot as lava. Her cheeks burn with his attention and beneath the satin black of her skin is the rush of warm, warm blood. Her heart is a drumbeat, the thrumming of woodland, the crashing of waves…
Then it is brush of his breath like the cold wash of a wave. Inside her blood is full of saltwater coursing. Outside, her skin is slick with ocean brine. She is drowning, drowning. Does he taste the salt upon her skin? Where sweat beads like sea-pearls, catching the light of her magic and blinking like stars in the midnight of her body, there too salt clings as seaspray upon the shore. Salt presses in crystals along her coat – jagged shorelines - and oh the groan of the ocean is loud, loud in her ears. He paints her in coastlines and glittering seascapes. And her first error is to turn into him, to see the glint of his teeth, to follow that long, long curl of his lips. Their corner tips up unto the moon. She rises like night to frame the stars which laugh and cry for the girl that is sinking into the ocean.
Finally his lips press against her throat soft as a kiss, cold as frostbite, wicked as a cut. Does he not burn? Her magic swells hotter, hotter. She is no candle lit by a flame. Her blood is not just salt water but gasoline. Her magic sparks in her blood and only her skin holds in that wild fire. Starlight bursts from the cracks in her veins and arteries. She glows brighter than starlight, brighter that whitelight. She leans into the monster, enchanted by the sea he wears and desperate to see if his lips burn when she feels so close to detonation.
The kelpie whispers of hunger and satisfaction… of wonders made of midnight things and blood red moons… His touch breaks with his words and at once she can breathe. Suddenly the waters recede and she gasps a breath that stings with snow and crimson light. She sways toward him, drunk and foolish, disarmed and full, full of fate’s salt-sweet lure. To him, away from him, she rocks like a ship. Desire draws tight as a rope between them. But oh each moment, each breath she takes reminds her, reminds a girl that her death is no such sweet thing.
Her lungs feel the ache of drowning, they tremble with the taste of salt-water filling them up until she is brimful. He is destruction and chaos has her shoulder pressing against his. Fate has her eyes bright and wicked as starfire drinking in all of him, desiring the worst of him. Salvation has her ears low and sharp as ruins atop her poll. It has her breath gasping, her lungs trembling and her limbs fitful. It has a kings name upon her lips, begging, begging, unspoken, unspoken and at last she peels her skin from his, looking at last to her home, her king and not an ocean and teeth and blood and wonders, so many, many wonders.
His words are teeth marks upon her throat, cutting where his lips touched, grazing where his breath caressed. The star-fire girl knows the threat and she whispers to him, wantingly, loathingly, “And the other nights? Are they for hunting?” me? the word is there, sharp upon her tongue. It is glass in her mouth and the pain sings through her body as she does not tear her eyes from Terrastella. A king’s scent clings to her skin and she drinks it in, in, in until her soul is full of the sea, until her breath is the hiss of starfire and oceans.
Desire, desire, desire – it burns in her veins. She craves the ocean and a king and a monster and fate laughs, laughs, laughs in the dark spaces between stars.
@Amaroq - this took an actual age just to post, aiiiii
| "speaks" | notes: loooooong
