It is midnight, the time when shadows lengthen beyond belief and the wind begins to howl. In a small, inconspicuous tower there is a girl. Her eyes are closed even as the cool enamel of the bathtub she is lying in presses into her flesh. The water is lukewarm and smells faintly of cinnamon, it will cling to her flesh even after the water has dried.
Torches hang from the walls, their flames suffocating in the darkness. Shadows dance upon the walls as the girl shifts slightly, bringing her knees up out of the water. A light breeze plays through the room, causing her flesh to stiffen and rise in bumps.
She does not notice the door as it swings open, thudding dully against the worn stone wall. Nor does she notice the boy staring down at her, his silver-white hair catching the last rays of light from the torches before they flicker and die.
His footsteps are muffled by a towel thrown carelessly on the floor, slightly damp with the remnants of a shower from long ago. As he walks he notices her clothes scattered haphazardly across the floor, they smell faintly of sweat and perfume yet he does not wrinkle his nose.
As he walks her hands begin to stray, first to her hips and then to her thighs. Still she does not notice him, though his distinctive scent now fills the room. It is musky and encompassing, like a warm rain. His hand grasps the edge of the bath and her eyelids flutter, her eyelashes touching her cheeks in soft caresses like a butterfly wing. Her touches are no longer curious, they linger with a burning desire that fills her entire body like stars in the night sky.
He watches her, his breath growing heavy with interest. He looses the buttons from their rightful places and slips his shirt away from his shoulders, it falls to the floor with all the grace of a freshly opened rose. His belt comes undone, snaking to the floor in a scaly tendril that threatens to fall apart. She is panting now and he increases his efforts, his pants sliding down with ease.
He steps into the cool water, eyes glinting with a lust that can only be understood by those who have known it. Her eyelids open and she regards him with large orbs filled with chocolate, melting his resolve for only a moment.
Within moments his lower half is submerged and he is plunging deep inside of her. It is not slow, or beautiful. It is urgent and needy and their bodies scream with the pure agony of it. It ends in a vicious climax of pleasure and pain, forcing their voices to billow out of their throats in strangled moans. Her cheeks are stained with tears that are not from pleasure or pain. His eyes melt into awkward silver pools, to shallow to wade in.
They remove themselves from each other in an awkward dance of embarrassment, neither looking the other in the eye. The moon slips it's thin fingers into the room, jolting them back to reality. Apologies are whispered in tones intended for the wind, hurried footsteps carry agonised bodies from the room. They will never speak of it again, preferring to allow the darkness to swallow their need.