Mya
She'd decided long ago that it was her eyes that drew them in.
Brown from a distance, but closer it became a complete startling color of violet. Changing color according to light...near darkness, they shined more, and had a black outline with brazen purple inside. In the moonlight they glistened and silver flecks danced pas des chats around the lunar reflection. It occurred to her that he'd never seen her in light.
Right now, her eyes were full of fire. Passion, she thought he probably thought was for him. He trailed a finger down her cheek lazily, noting how her vanilla lip salve had smudged at the corners. She knew he thought she was beautiful. They were games she played to help entice. Constantly asking him to prove it to her. She complained that she wasn't the right shape - she was too fat, too curvy, too everything. It had taken him all night to quash that notion from her mind. There was a stray lock of her hair lingering at her throat, and he twisted it around his finger, noting the way it floated like a feather under his grasp, until he released it, and it traced patterns along his skin as it fell to her shoulder.
He kissed her then; softly, a brushing of lips, and then again, pushing more this time and allowing himself a small moan to himself at her hand drifting up to run through his hair. It shined from the light of the wall candles placed not too far away on the stone walls. He moved onto her, and took delight in her small sigh as he did so. He bought a hand up once more to her head, and brushed the palm along her pale cheek before entwining it in her hair again, crimson on ivory and silk on velvet, causing shadows along the corridor. She kissed his neck, a sign of needing more, and he complied, letting his tongue explore her mouth as he ran a hand down her side, teasing, and let it rest on her stomach.
"Wait," she said suddenly, and he drew back, she knew he was confused, but he would accept the coming of explanation. "Not here," she whispered, and took his hand, drawing him along the corridor to a haven, a place of sanctity where no other would find them. This was fantasy made into reality for him. And he would dream it for the rest of his life. They reached the stairs, and he kissed her from behind, patient no longer for their journey to be complete. She pushed him away with a small smile, and ran quickly up the stairs. He smiled. Another game. He was willing to comply, and play by her rules.
She quieted him at his protests when they emerged at the top of the tower. His lips brushed the soft skin where her jaw met her ear, and she whimpered.
"Not here either, princess," he whispered softly, and she merely smiled in reply. She led him over to the edge of the tower, and bid him look up.
"What do you see?"
"Stars." She smiled, and entwined her fingers with his. Then she sighed softly, her breath brushing his cheek and making him shiver.
She smiled at his closeness to her at that simple moment, placing his head on her shoulder and breathing in the smell of her; lavender on her skin, jasmine from her platinum hair. She knew she was everything he had ever wanted. He had wanted power, eternal power, but he would give it all up for her. He thought she had wanted fire, a fiery passion that only he could provide. And he had willingly given her it. She knew the day had come to initialize her family's re-assent to the dark throne. He would find that out in time. She also knew that on the day retribution would occur, his demise would occur. He would occupy a life of dark muses and everlong melancholy. He wanted her - not like a small child wants a new toy, but in the way that the ambitious desire their ambitions, with a desire that a sadist has for pain, a longing that the living have for the dead and above all, with unquestionable and undying love for every fibre of her being.
-
He hoped she loved him as much. She seemed to, though she never said - whether through shyness or fear of his reaction he was not entirely sure. Sometimes, though - like then - he felt that she needed to know of his love, even if he would never know of hers. He whispered her name into her neck, and lifted his head so that their eyes met. He saw a spark within the flecks of grey and violet, and knew no words could convey what he was trying to confess. She saw it too, and fell into him, crushing her mouth to his as they struggled for some queer loss of reality that all beings strive for subconsciously.
He glanced up and realized in a moment the sheer beauty of a cloak falling gracefully to the floor. Not falling in a way of regret or of misuse, but of acceptance and complacency. He wanted this. He needed this. He was sure not to rush, to take his time over undressing her, but in the end could not control his human instincts and tore the shirt from her body, releasing a small moan from her mouth and taking his own pleasure from that one small sound.
-
It was closure, closure and a sanctuary, a safe place that she desired. Not eternal loss of loneliness or some queer sort of connection of souls. Just...to be safe. To feel loved and to not fear the dark. For a few minutes. That's why she loved the dark. When the night roared into light it became her sanctuary. Her salvation, and hope. For hope is important, as trite as it may seem and as clichéd, perhaps...but without hope, there is no love.
She'd decided long ago that it was her eyes that drew them in.
Brown from a distance, but closer it became a complete startling color of violet. Changing color according to light...near darkness, they shined more, and had a black outline with brazen purple inside. In the moonlight they glistened and silver flecks danced pas des chats around the lunar reflection. It occurred to her that he'd never seen her in light.
Right now, her eyes were full of fire. Passion, she thought he probably thought was for him. He trailed a finger down her cheek lazily, noting how her vanilla lip salve had smudged at the corners. She knew he thought she was beautiful. They were games she played to help entice. Constantly asking him to prove it to her. She complained that she wasn't the right shape - she was too fat, too curvy, too everything. It had taken him all night to quash that notion from her mind. There was a stray lock of her hair lingering at her throat, and he twisted it around his finger, noting the way it floated like a feather under his grasp, until he released it, and it traced patterns along his skin as it fell to her shoulder.
He kissed her then; softly, a brushing of lips, and then again, pushing more this time and allowing himself a small moan to himself at her hand drifting up to run through his hair. It shined from the light of the wall candles placed not too far away on the stone walls. He moved onto her, and took delight in her small sigh as he did so. He bought a hand up once more to her head, and brushed the palm along her pale cheek before entwining it in her hair again, crimson on ivory and silk on velvet, causing shadows along the corridor. She kissed his neck, a sign of needing more, and he complied, letting his tongue explore her mouth as he ran a hand down her side, teasing, and let it rest on her stomach.
"Wait," she said suddenly, and he drew back, she knew he was confused, but he would accept the coming of explanation. "Not here," she whispered, and took his hand, drawing him along the corridor to a haven, a place of sanctity where no other would find them. This was fantasy made into reality for him. And he would dream it for the rest of his life. They reached the stairs, and he kissed her from behind, patient no longer for their journey to be complete. She pushed him away with a small smile, and ran quickly up the stairs. He smiled. Another game. He was willing to comply, and play by her rules.
She quieted him at his protests when they emerged at the top of the tower. His lips brushed the soft skin where her jaw met her ear, and she whimpered.
"Not here either, princess," he whispered softly, and she merely smiled in reply. She led him over to the edge of the tower, and bid him look up.
"What do you see?"
"Stars." She smiled, and entwined her fingers with his. Then she sighed softly, her breath brushing his cheek and making him shiver.
She smiled at his closeness to her at that simple moment, placing his head on her shoulder and breathing in the smell of her; lavender on her skin, jasmine from her platinum hair. She knew she was everything he had ever wanted. He had wanted power, eternal power, but he would give it all up for her. He thought she had wanted fire, a fiery passion that only he could provide. And he had willingly given her it. She knew the day had come to initialize her family's re-assent to the dark throne. He would find that out in time. She also knew that on the day retribution would occur, his demise would occur. He would occupy a life of dark muses and everlong melancholy. He wanted her - not like a small child wants a new toy, but in the way that the ambitious desire their ambitions, with a desire that a sadist has for pain, a longing that the living have for the dead and above all, with unquestionable and undying love for every fibre of her being.
-
He hoped she loved him as much. She seemed to, though she never said - whether through shyness or fear of his reaction he was not entirely sure. Sometimes, though - like then - he felt that she needed to know of his love, even if he would never know of hers. He whispered her name into her neck, and lifted his head so that their eyes met. He saw a spark within the flecks of grey and violet, and knew no words could convey what he was trying to confess. She saw it too, and fell into him, crushing her mouth to his as they struggled for some queer loss of reality that all beings strive for subconsciously.
He glanced up and realized in a moment the sheer beauty of a cloak falling gracefully to the floor. Not falling in a way of regret or of misuse, but of acceptance and complacency. He wanted this. He needed this. He was sure not to rush, to take his time over undressing her, but in the end could not control his human instincts and tore the shirt from her body, releasing a small moan from her mouth and taking his own pleasure from that one small sound.
-
It was closure, closure and a sanctuary, a safe place that she desired. Not eternal loss of loneliness or some queer sort of connection of souls. Just...to be safe. To feel loved and to not fear the dark. For a few minutes. That's why she loved the dark. When the night roared into light it became her sanctuary. Her salvation, and hope. For hope is important, as trite as it may seem and as clichéd, perhaps...but without hope, there is no love.