Whispers
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She whispered, gently, slyly, prettily, against his smiling mouth, against his grin, hands taking up his hands, one step closer. No more need for whispers, of frightened glances and nervous hearts, no more need for secrecy.
He whispered against her pretty mouth, happily, subtle, hands rearranging, her smile as devious as his own. There was no need to whisper, to hide, to shout, no need.
A whisper, a whisper, of silent, devious tales, unfolding in light and sound, in shadows of hands and shadows of stitched skins. Ghost trails crept and slid over skin, scars of roads of stories long past and best forgotten, of poison and steel and magic.
Skimming minnow-light fingers faltered and paused, connecting and breaking, in and out the silver beams over heated skin, over smiling eyes of grey and gold. An interplay of tangled sheets, of tangled limbs, and of roaming skin, beautiful teeth and gentle fingers laced and twined, sharp nails soft, soft whispers harsh.
No need to whisper, the whispered words said softly, no need to whisper but to whisper without need. One scar broke, led to another, connecting and melding, pulsing. He whispered against her soft lips, taking in her laughter, as she pulled him closer, mouth soft as she told him a tale of an arrogant boy and an angry girl, of demons and magic.
She whispered their fairy tale, even as her breath was robbed in the moonlight, their hips colliding as the world crashed down and shattered, glass pieces in her hands, in his eyes, their mouths.
She whispered gently still, as the world quieted, reminding him of promises still, as he held on, putting them back together, their skin a little too tight, their bones a little too big. He reached down into the dark corner and pulled them back into the moonlight, smile anew, her eyes glowing back his, the soft curve of her waist, perfect, the dip of her navel and the arch of her ankle.
He lay still as she splayed her fingers long across his hips, across his hands. And he whispered against her mouth the story of a cursed arrow, of blood and death, of brilliant white.
There was no need to whisper but to whisper what the world need not know.
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I finished reading chapter 558 about a week ago, and I had to draw some fanart, and simultaneously I had it in my head to write this. And now it's here.
A little rusty, but I'll get back into the swing of things.
12 November 2008