Oh, my love, my darling,
I've hungered for your touch
A long, lonely time
time goes by so slowly
and time can do so much
Are you still mine?
I need your love
I need your love
God speed your love to me
His hands felt like the head of a match as they moved across her skin, down her arms in slow, leisurely strokes as if the slightest of wrist twitches could set them both ablaze. She shivered at his touch despite the warmth that radiated between them. His lips trailed the span of her exposed neck, her long hair being tied up messily on the crown of her head, as he settled into place on the stool behind her and pulled her so that her back was flush against his chest. His hands continued their journey down her arms until they finally found hers, meeting in the wet soil that she had been planting in.
She didn't so much feel his touch with her skin as much as she did with her soul - her every nerve ending tingled with his closeness, even as he was confined to a temporary astral form, and she was forced to enjoy being engulfed in his energy rather than the warmth of his embrace.
"It's late," she said, her voice just barely heard over the scratchy music that played from the old-fashioned disk changer that sat in the corner of the mausoleum. The Righteous Brothers' poetic words filled the air and mixed with the soft him of the pottery hands moved deftly in the wet dirt, swirling the contents of her concoction together until the consistency pleased her. It needed to be perfect if she were going to use it in her next attempt to bring Kaleb - Kol, she reminded herself mentally - back from the other side. He sat patiently behind her, his dark eyes curious as ever and the remnants of the magic in his spirit being strengthened by their closeness.
"You're the one awake, love," he said, his chin resting on her shoulder while his arms moved around her middle, neither paying much attention to the mess smearing her clothing, "you're the one that called me here."
"I thought that I would be closer by now," she admitted, frustration filling her tone, and her eyes closing as the ghost of his breath danced across her skin. His scent assaulted her – all sunshine, cinnamon, and freshly picked wolfsbane. When she did sleep, when she did dream, it was of his smell. It haunted her.
He haunted her.
"It's been almost six months," he sighed heavily, his head ducking so that his forehead pressed into her hair, "You need to let me go."
She ignored him, just as she did every time he mentioned that she should give up her search for a spell to bring him back. Finn's curse had been a cruel one, one full of spite and anger and it was not one to be broken easily.
His arms tightened around her middle, squeezing her gently, before reaching down to pull her hand from the murky mixture of herbs and tonics. Whatever that was, it wasn't what could bring him back. "It's okay to let me go, Davina," he repeated as she slowly turned to face him.
"No," she said as she closed her eyes tightly, her chin raised in defiance and her head shaking from side to side as if she could will away the raw ache that had filled her for the entirety of the months since Kaleb - since emKol/em - had died. "No. I'm not ready. I can find a loophole. I'm not ready to give up. I'm not ready to say goodbye."
He sighed, the always intriguing glint of his eyes dulled only by the pain that reflected back from hers, "No one ever is."
Lonely rivers flow
To the sea, to the sea
To the open arms of the sea
Lonely rivers sigh
"Wait for me, wait for me"
I'll be coming home, wait for me