Wolves
Written By: Frostbite Panda
The night was breathy and utterly secluding. Silent, still and dark as it had been for five years. It was the type of silence where the subtle symphony of crickets and the rustle of a moon-swept wind bled into a serene quiet. One didn't hear, only felt.
She felt the white charge of the moon on her skin, the idle swirl of her finger over the pebbled threads of the too-expensive duvet, the pull of warm air from her lungs.
She could feel a hand on her naked shoulder, the hot press of a tongue at the base of her neck and the humid puff of breath on her face. She wanted it and felt it made real in her desire, but only felt the night and the feathery touch of the sheets on her skin.
A desolate cry rent the silence of crickets and grass through the open sash. Her wandering fingers halted and senses returned. The gentle wind was now bitterly cold on her itchy flesh. The perpetual chirrup of insects deafening in her ears. She held her breath against the onslaught of the sensory.
Another mournful bay resounded in her chest and stole her breath. It echoed through the silver countryside. It commanded overwhelming sympathy from every living creature that heard it.
She was suddenly up, barefooted on the chilly wood floor. The house had always been drafty. But they liked it that way. They found ways to be warm with each other.
She blinked against the bright, white world as she stood at the window, pulling her arms around her for the warmth she could not give herself.
And there they were, all mystique and grace on the far horizon. A handful of them dotted a slope and sung to their constant companion that hung bright in a jeweled sky. Creatures of blood and cunning, now mourning a loss.
She thought idly that ancient hunters worshiped the moon as a god of the hunt. Perhaps they had learned it from the wolves.
She found tears in her eyes. Wolves surrounded them in their safe isolation, but they were beautiful. Darkness found them, but it was beautiful.
"Where would be without the darkness, Scully?"
The voice was real, holding as many colorful notes of sadness and grief as the chorus outside. Possessing the warmth of breath and life as he stood behind her in vivid clarity. She didn't have time to think about his statement, to wonder whether he was right, or whether it was crazy to be thankful. To count darkness as a blessing for what they had now.
She could only kiss him and he could only take her back to bed as the chorus sang outside. She was finally warm.
He sculpted her with his hands, fingers curving over bone and swell. His cannon of proportions.
She pulled him ever closer with her thighs as the hot circle of his mouth explored his favorite territories. Her heels bumped the back of his legs and her hands tasted the skin of his shoulders.
They were both pushing and pulling, inching together until borders blurred and edges roughened. They would surely collapse into each other, whirling in the elemental. Becoming nothing more than swirling, violent energy. Something absolute and nebulous, where nothing could escape. Not even light, or the absence of thereof.
A single howl sang through the empty hills and into their single spot of light and warmth.
All she knew was that he was right and it was beautiful.
Mama there's wolves in the house
Mama they won't let me out
Mama they're mating at night
Mama they wont make nice
They're pacing and glowing bright
Their faces all snowy and white
Bury their paws in the stone
Make for my heart as their home
They tumble and fight
And they're beautiful
On the hilltops at night
They are beautiful
- "Wolves" Phosphorescent