Blissfully Blind

This is a place in which we need no colour. Life is no longer defined by the varying hues we perceive through means of sight. The eyes lie. They are shameless, too. So we say, firm as can be, "No thank you, not today," and we close them shut. The eyelashes bordering our deceptive eyes cage them, a fine but distinct mesh of fibres intertwining.

In this separate world we have wilfully created we rely on sound, on touch, on taste. Experimentally, you flick your tongue over the skin of my shoulder. I sigh appreciatively in response, angling my body towards yours.

A deep breath inhaled between my shoulder blades. Is my scent pleasing to you? You hum in assent. I tip my head back until it is nestled against you. I am motionless, but you are perceptive.

Even completely blind, you are still confident in pressing your mouth to mine. Your lips are hot and moist on mine, a mimic of the most intimate act two people can perform. You do not withhold yourself, no, you give me everything. There are no boundaries here.

The kiss does not last long enough to cause the glowing coal remnants of our fierce passion to flare up. You end it gently, placing a slender finger on my lips. Enough for now, you mean.

"I love you," you breathe, not for the first time tonight.

"Je t'aime," I reply sleepily. You use the arm still wrapped around me to hug me tighter for a brief moment.

"Rest now, mon cherie," you whisper. "Who knows what gifts and curses lie in wait for us tomorrow."

"I'd rather just think of now. After all, I can still feel the aftershocks of la petite mort."

You laugh, and I feel the reverberations down my spine. "La petite mort?"

"Mmm..." I murmur, "'The little death'. How else would you describe it?"

"Fair enough," You grip my waist and firmly pull me towards you until we are face-to-face.

I shift slightly, moving so my body covers yours. Supporting my weight on my elbows, I lean down to press my ear against your chest. I am happiest like this; when I can both hear and feel the steady metronome of your life.

Some people will say that when you know what a human heart actually looks like, it steals any romanticism from the idea. I disagree. The symbolism remains just as powerful with the knowledge, if not even more so.

You see, the heart is absolutely vital; it is necessary for our lives to go on. It begins in the 6th week of pregnancy and will only stop in death. Our heart is a thing that will be with us through our entire lives. It will beat through every moment; the laughter, the tears, the anger and the exhilaration. It is solid and dependable.

And yet even with its reliable and powerful contractions it is also surprisingly delicate. It does not take much more than a jolt of electricity to stop it in place, to freeze it forever. So many things we surround ourselves with could destroy our hearts. So many wires lying in wait to bite like enraged cobras, more than willing to deliver their deadly venom.

The heart, as it happens, does indeed play a role in love. My convictions of this had only been reaffirmed by loving you. It was the alarmingly loud pounding in my ears as I saw you smile at me, noticing me for the first time. It was the unsteady, out of control beat as I spoke to you, as I asked you out while my hands trembled in my lap. It was the silence when you kissed me for the first time, and every time after that. And, finally, it is the slow rhythm of peace as I lay in the arms of the man I love.

You move slightly beneath me, stirring me from my thoughts.

"What are you thinking?" you murmur.

I smile faintly, but I know you can feel the slightest movement of my lips. You wind your fingers into my hair, tugging gently. Demanding an answer. "I was thinking that despite what people say, there is a lot that is still romantic about the heart."

You snorted slightly. "Only you, Alec, would be thinking about something like that at this time of night."

"Are you calling me a weirdo?" I ask playfully.

"It is true I think you are extraordinarily peculiar, my love. But I've told you that already, haven't I?"

["You're just . . ." A shadow moved behind Magnus; with fluid agility, the warlock twisted around and picked up a small gray and white tabby cat from the floor. The cat curled into the crook of his arm and looked at Alec with suspicion. Now two pairs of gold-green eyes were trained on him darkly. "Not what I expected."

"From a Shadowhunter?"

"From a Lightwood."]

"I remember," I replied. That night is so vivid for me, even now. It marked the night that I first stepped out of my comfort zone, that Alexander Lightwood did something daring and unexpected and for himself. Even if I did spend half the time staring at my shoes.

"Mmm... I prefer to use the word 'unique' though. Softens the blow a little."

"I thought you didn't do charity. In any area of your life," I mimic you.

"I can make an exception for you," you say, stroking your hands up my arms, "On occasion."

"How kind of you," I reply, raising my head to graze my teeth against your neck in retribution.

"I always aim to please," you say, laughing again. You kiss me once more, a slow, soft kiss, and then murmur, "Goodnight, sweetheart."

"'Night."

Our breathing slows and we both slip into dreams, where the images are so much more vivid and incredible than what we would see with our eyes open.

Quote is taken from Cassandra Clare's website from an 'extra' called Kissed. The 'I don't do charity in any area of my life' is a Bane Chronicles reference :)