Civil
Pairing: Thiefshipping
Rating: K
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Me not own.
Soft dark skin. Smooth. Warm. Even breaths. A cute mouth with full lips. Eyes closed, long lashes touching cheeks. A peaceful expression on a sleeping face.
I stroke a blonde bang out of that face. Like so often I have to resist the urge to kiss him. My beautiful lover. Don't want to wake him. For once no nightmares are plaguing his sleep.
Stirring. A quiet moan. I touch his arm. Lightly. Not to disturb him. I'm there for you. Not alone. Neither. I smile. He brought me light. My sun. So bright. So fragile. Can't resist any longer. I kiss his cheek. Lips touch soft skin. Warm.
He sighs and is peaceful again. Nothing will hurt him. Not as long as I can prevent it. He knows pain. Too much. Me too. Loneliness and fear. It's over now. He's still afraid it will happen again.
Civil war. Two words. Eight letters. Contradictionary. Civil is good. Peaceful. Civilisation. All of one kind. One country. War. Pain. Agony. Hell. No respect. No love. No brotherhood. Civil war. Killing your own kind.
It was rebellion! They declared. It was a necessity! They demanded. It was our victory! They shouted. It was death. I whispered. And he agreed. It was his death.
He was different before it happened. Before it happened he was free. Of nightmares. Of scars. Of pain. Of worry. Now we are prisoners.
Lilac eyes open. Meet mine. A smile. Not fake. A first since it happened. Lips meet. Mold together. My mouth opens. I ask for entrance with me tongue. He grants. Warm.
I love him. Every part. Nook. Crevice. Hair. Skin. Mouth. Eyes. Oh those eyes. Lilac gems. Deep pools of liquid fire. I always lose myself in them.
We break apart. His taste lingers.
Three words. An affectionate whisper. The promise to stay. Take away the misery.
The scars remain. Physical and psychological. Body and soul. Wounds too deep to heal properly.
A tender hug. His arms draped around my shoulders. My hands on his back. Warm.
Come here. We survived the war. Civil war is not civil. Dying is not heroic. Seeing death is not painful. It numbs. Feelings are useless in a fight. Killing becomes necessary. Tears dry. Scars stay.
"My sun…", I breathe, "please heal me. Share your warmth."
Our lips meet again. Another deep, searing kiss.
"Then my moon…", he smiles, "cool the burns on my skin."
Heal we won't. Carry the scars we will. Pride is all we have left. Left is our warmth.
War is not civil.
Word count: 427