RiffGenta fluff request from my friend! (:
This is terrible, honest.
His heart might be on fire.
He reaches for her hand with caution, so slow because he's afraid of the burns that might form from touching soft, white skin drenched dripping something even brighter by the murmur of their Trannsexual moon. That moons sweeping white mouth bites into the sky like the edge of a knife, gives him something to pin the shadows on.
The breeze ruffles her hair just a little, burnt red color permeating his head for a moment, but then the rest slides into focus and they're walking smoothly on the beach.
Darling, she says, and that reminds him the way he needs to be grounded; her voice lightning tears him, it isn't right or fair the way her voice burrows into his flesh like the sweetest kind of gunshot wound.
Darling, he replies, each syllable sharp-walking over coals.
Unspeaking, their footprints slip further and further across the sand and he wonders what she's thinking about, so silent like that. He turns and sees that her face is coiled in something two steps confusion. He reels, then asks her what's wrong because it's a little strange to him to see her face arranged so tightly.
Her mouth twists strong with her eyes in tandem, why do you sound so anxious?
He thinks that she can't understand. How unworthy he feels, how low-ugly and monstrous. Their hands are drifting apart now and he wonders if she pities him.
The tiny sigh that then escapes him sounds pitiful, anyways.
Riff! She cries out, takes his hand in hers again and yanks him to a stop. Suddenly her palms are cradling his face, he almost jumps like they'll melt away his flesh, knowing he'll feel her touch for weeks (it's magnificent). But what heat him more are her dark eyes on his face. Loud and angry and nearly smiling in a way he doesn't understand, those eyes skitter his own gaze away in their cacophony.
She says his name again, grows it almost, and he forces himself to wrench his eyes away from the ground and into hers.
I love you, she says, so fast that he nearly jumps once more.
We were made for each other, Magenta whispers into his face (words almost blurring now), we were made for each other and every part of you is perfect to me.
Every part.
Perfect.
Both their chests are heaving now, one has a heart that's on fire, and the other is being incinerated by her words, hands, presence.
Riff is almost falling on his feet because now he realizes, strangers have tried to add complex words, suspicious words, to the shape of their relationship but those protests lie unheeded at their feet.
Because they've never needed words, nothing so slow and meaningless to hang empty between their eyes. Just an absence of space between their hearts and minds, flush from one being created only for the other.
Together as constant as the night.
Magenta's eyes burn jealously in the half-light and Riff's mouth curves to echo them.