Traum
Es ist doch nur ein Traum
das blosse Haschen nach dem Wind
…
leg deine hand in mein'
und lass uns ewig sein
Zu Asche, Zu Staub, by Severija
-ooo-
Bewitched. How could Elsa have known? Her heart's beat skipping as the bass rages and thumps in her ears, as the redhead twirls and shakes. Elsa's blue eyes catch her sight and her shine and she basks in the soft outline of her body and lean arms moving, alluring her. Her sparkling green dress – dangerously short – hugs the woman's curves, revealing her shoulders, her shapely, toned legs; each sway a threat, an invitation for her eyes to roam up her thighs, achingly tantalizing.
Bodies moving in tandem, clad in black and shining yellows, and reds and bone whites; bodies tangled, touching hands, touching arms and hips and lips.
Such wildness… a humid heat and growing noise that numbs her head. Sweaty bodies shining under the bright, dancing lights. Wide smiles, turning eyes, the rising crescendo of the melody that reverberates inside her bones.
Intoxicating. Bewitching. A deep fall. The throbbing rhythm takes hold of her; trombone and drums slipping underneath her skin. Her back leaves the safety of the wall behind her. The redhead sees her approach and extends her arms; she brings her closer.
Warm hands pull her gently. Elsa notices the freckles in her reddened cheeks, how they extend across her shoulders, reaching her defined collarbone. Lean arms sway – alluring, agile and free; the hotness washes over like a vertigo fever, spreading from her stomach, pouring over her limbs as she tries to commandeer her feet to match the growing tempo.
Burning embarrassment fills her as she tries to follow her lead, only to step on her. The girl chuckles and her gaze softens; she squeezes her hands and leads her again, moving their joined arms in unison. Elsa follows. Then, the redhead begins to move her shoulders, her hips, swaying and circling each other, and Elsa follows as well. Something in her back, in her tensed shoulders begins to stretch, like unraveling knots. Her feet don't listen to her muddled mind anymore: they mimic the girl's steps.
She exhales, inhaling deeply afterwards: she smells tobacco, sweat and the thickness of cheap beer; she also smells the soft aroma of perfume as the girl clashes their bodies together.
The music picks up, and so does each body around, including hers. She's no longer in control. Teal eyes lock with her own, and a pair of hands sneak behind her back, pulling them closer yet again; even through her layers, she feels the girl's perky breasts against her own, and her wide eyes stare – bewildered and frantic – at the redhead's wicked smile.
A breath grazes the skin of her neck, and a molten wave ripples from her back to her toes. Elsa gasps.
The music grows and bursts. Warm lips brush her mouth – in the barest of touches – before pulling back. Then, they brush against her cheek. A shiver is unleashed: teasing and mortal. Elsa can almost taste it, the sweetest of deaths in those bright-red lips.
A night of corpses; a hellish cave, burning bright under the strobing lights. Sinning bodies contort and twitch as if possessed. The redhead's gaze is an open invitation: to fall as deep as she wants; Elsa's breath hitches when the woman's small, perfect teeth bite her lower lip. Drums beat as if they caught the same fever – trapped echoes that shatter thought and sense. A voice raises high above the rest as it sings of dust and decay: an eruption is coming.
The notes hasten: time's running out.
Elsa takes a step forward; a step closer to the cliff's edge. It bubbles, awakened in her veins: that drive, it has no name yet, but it pushes her forward like an invisible hand; it has no reason, but it pulls at her strings like a wide-grinning puppeteer.
Laughter ripples as the songs ends. Shouts and whistles follow.
The spell is broken.
The redhead's flashes her an amused smile, with a small touch of apology in it before she turns around. Elsa reaches out, but the girl disappears into the mirthful crowd in an instant.
Elsa's fingers close into a fist.
Even though the music has stopped – if only for a brief moment – why does her blood burn still?
-ooo-
"Even you need to have some fun every once in a while!" Greta said loudly, leaning to hush conspiratorially at her across the small table. Elsa smiled awkwardly, trying not to bring attention to their talk.
"Oh, Elsie, c'mon!" Her friend whined, taking a hold of her hand. Her dark-brown eyes looked at her pleadingly. "Just keep me company tonight, please?"
The young blonde sighed, taking one final sip of her black coffee. The soft murmurs of her coworkers fill the small shop, as laziness and content clouds the air. Through the clean windows, she can see the dark street outside and the spark of the automobile's shine as they pass under the lamps.
"What happened to Hans?" Elsa asks teasingly. Her friend huffs and pouts before sucking in one last breath from her long cigarette holder.
"That poof?" Great snorts in a very unladylike manner. She waves her hand dismissively. "Left him a week ago."