The first in a series of unrelated, non-sequential vignettes.
Requisite
It happens because she loses focus and this is the cannon that sinks the ship. It will take hours to gather the shards afterward.
When the fog lifts, hers is the wreckage. His is the victory.
The warning not to fight could only be met with hostility but she hadn't expected to lose so quickly. Splintered pieces of her rebellion litter the atmosphere, slowly piercing a body both eager to snap and reluctantly intrigued.
Sweet wounds.
The offer to heal what he breaks is balm from a fiery hand, heated by pleasure that leaves scorched flesh. He wants to brand her and she wants the marks. He thinks she is inclined to his plan but there is so very little of her remaining.
A leaf can only follow the river's flow.
This one is deceptive, giving the appearance of one easily brushed aside. Speak and his confidence crumbles. Kick and his arrogance scatters.
But he's stronger than the part he plays and it's enough. What her efforts will crumble and scatter in him is swiftly reassembled, a testimony to the will that wears down the careless opponent.
Clutching near while pushing away is a skill she's refined and it's not enough.
His determination is a terrible beast and submission is her own monster's reborn instinct. She will thrash against this desire to hoist the white flag. She will not admire his scaling of the walls.
She will not acknowledge that she's thrown wide the door.
What promises, to rebuild upon her foundation something stronger. Permanent. She'll believe only when all other recourse fails. Permanent is never the eternity of her choked dreams.
But he is resolved to wait. Patient enemies are the worst breed.
Ruin is the requisite of this love.