in sunshine and in shadow
He doesn’t remember how long it’s been since that night, with shafts of moonlight like ivory and pits of soft darkness, with the salt of the sea and the whisper of the mangroves’ leaves stirring in the wind. Whether a year or three the feeling is the same, a draw he can’t put a name to, a fascination with the curve of her mouth (and the fangs within), the hue of her skin, the silk that trails and billows around her like mist. Asterion has never met anyone like her - someone who wants, who craves, who takes and does not feel guilty. Someone who rejoices in sensation, and hints that he might do the same - if he only lets himself -
And what is there to stop him now? Cradled here in the mountain, caught in darkness, a cold stream laughing a few chambers away. She is only a suggestion in the dark, an outline with a pale face, gossamer fabric. But even her voice touches him like fingers drawn along his cheek. He smiles at her question, but there is no joy in it. “No,” he says. “My head is bare.” As is my heart, he thinks, but Asterion doesn’t feel empty. Instead he feels too full, a sea close to spilling over, tides hungry to drown. And Euryale could be the moon -
But before she can cross to him, before he can feel his heartrate quicken, they are interrupted.
The sound comes first, hooves steady and sure against stone, a whisper of feathers against rock. The scent is close behind, dry and hot, dust and sunlight. Asterion stands still in the darkness when the stranger’s skin touches his, fever-warm in the cool damp; his shoulder and flank trembles as beneath a fly. He presses his teeth together, tamps down the impulse to step away, though his ears turn back. He wants to say leave, he wants the space to diminish between himself and Euryale, he wants her touch to caress him as her voice does. He wants to forget the world outside the cave, and he is angry at the disruption.
As soon as the stranger speaks, the spell is broken. The bay ignores the shame that forms like a stone in his belly and steps away from the other stallion, toward the rough cavern wall, toward the breeze that finds its way from the outside with just enough light to render each form visible. At Euryale’s answer, Asterion does laugh - softly, faintly, the laughter of a wave lapping the shore.
“I’m certainly here for the stalactites,” he says. “But I foolishly forgot to bring a light. Did you make the same mistake?” When Euryale’s gaze strays toward him again, he feels it, meets it, welcomes it.
Maybe he should be thanking the stranger, who is saving him from being willingly devoured.
@Euryale @Cairo
And what is there to stop him now? Cradled here in the mountain, caught in darkness, a cold stream laughing a few chambers away. She is only a suggestion in the dark, an outline with a pale face, gossamer fabric. But even her voice touches him like fingers drawn along his cheek. He smiles at her question, but there is no joy in it. “No,” he says. “My head is bare.” As is my heart, he thinks, but Asterion doesn’t feel empty. Instead he feels too full, a sea close to spilling over, tides hungry to drown. And Euryale could be the moon -
But before she can cross to him, before he can feel his heartrate quicken, they are interrupted.
The sound comes first, hooves steady and sure against stone, a whisper of feathers against rock. The scent is close behind, dry and hot, dust and sunlight. Asterion stands still in the darkness when the stranger’s skin touches his, fever-warm in the cool damp; his shoulder and flank trembles as beneath a fly. He presses his teeth together, tamps down the impulse to step away, though his ears turn back. He wants to say leave, he wants the space to diminish between himself and Euryale, he wants her touch to caress him as her voice does. He wants to forget the world outside the cave, and he is angry at the disruption.
As soon as the stranger speaks, the spell is broken. The bay ignores the shame that forms like a stone in his belly and steps away from the other stallion, toward the rough cavern wall, toward the breeze that finds its way from the outside with just enough light to render each form visible. At Euryale’s answer, Asterion does laugh - softly, faintly, the laughter of a wave lapping the shore.
“I’m certainly here for the stalactites,” he says. “But I foolishly forgot to bring a light. Did you make the same mistake?” When Euryale’s gaze strays toward him again, he feels it, meets it, welcomes it.
Maybe he should be thanking the stranger, who is saving him from being willingly devoured.
@Euryale @
