It's 6:02 am. Which means a) I haven't had any sleep and b) I've had too much to drink
So pardon me f this is rather a) Not as good you hope and b) lacking inspiration.
For those of you who read this my eternal gratitude.
I will upload soon, tonight it my Muse gives me the chance, but for tonight I should get some sleep...
33
It's 6:02 am. Which means a) I haven't had any sleep and b) I've had too much to drink
So pardon me f this is rather a) Not as good you hope and b) lacking inspiration.
For those of you who read this my eternal gratitude.
I will upload soon, tonight it my Muse gives me the chance, but for tonight I should get some sleep...
32
It was half past midnight when the sculptor finally realized it was safe to move, having healed the worse of her injuries he cradled her tightly, like an oversized doll. He never seemed to get over her porcelain features, big, light brown eyes, small nose, full lips, how her upper lip jutted slightly, like that of an infant, her lightish, mahogany hair falling messily over her face…
He never had to remind himself how delicate she was, even when she was such a skilled fighter, her features just gave her away. But no matter how much her looks gave away she was still a jukebox of nonsense, part of her charm as she would say. How he missed her voice! It filled the air with music when she spoke. He remembered creeping into her room while she showered, just to hear her sing. Delicate and complex harmonies on languages he didn't understand, creeping back out as soon as the melody stopped, and the soft blush on his cheeks, the only evidence that revealed his mind wanderings.
He could imagine her only too well now, wet hair dripping luscious drops on her angels face, her body…
She hadn't moved an inch from the time he'd cradled her, as sun started rising and he entered the solitary place he'd made a home of. He placed her on the bed, carefully, a glimpse of devotion on his aquamarine eye. She didn't move on her sleep as he was very much aware of, this suited him just fine. Stillness was a gift not many possessed, and for an artist it unfolded unlimited display of details. Under different circumstances he would have seized this opportunity to capture her in paper, but right this moment he was content just staring at her, and amazed of how his eyes seemed to never have enough.
Deidara watched the play of colors in her skin, how the sun traced the patterns he lusted to make, but he knew better than that. Instead he recoiled in his wandering mind, it was safe now to replay the last night they had had together.
Soft moans had escaped her lips, intensifying as he worked his ways on her skin, chaste kisses on her bare torso, whimpers and cries of delight… he remembered the last word she'd spoke only too clearly.
"I love you"
Love, a grin escaped his lips, hadn't he always said love was but a fleeting emotion one felt when the right buttons were triggered? But what did he feel for the girl on the bed if it wasn't love? The most powerful emotion he'd ever felt…
He wouldn't have been conscious of the hours tickling by if it weren't for the shadows embracing her body. She didn't move in her sleep, but he couldn't help feeling restless.
"Deidara"
His head jerked up, moving with alarm from her body to her face, her eyes were closed still, but her lips were open and then something happened that made his heart sink.
Her hands had been resting on her sides, like a ragdoll she hadn't opposed to any sort of arrangement he had make in what he thought would be a comfortable position. Light red flames exploded from her skin, licking and burning the skin on her palms.
"Deidara" she repeated, and the flames intensified.
Her eyes opened and the flames extinguished.
She felt disoriented, stiff, but not broken, she felt safe as soon as her eyes met a blueish-gray shade. His alarmed eyes made way for his signature smirk, and it was like all the air had come out of her lungs. She remembered everything, her last night with Deidara, the wandering on the forest, the fight she'd lost. She was sure she was dead now, what she didn't know how Deidara had managed to get himself killed too. Yet, he was smiling, the smirk that made her heart flutter, and her heart beat intensely. It was silly, she didn't know much about death, but dead people didn't have a heartbeat, or at least she thought they didn't.
He watched the play of emotions on her face and rushed over to her side, caressing her face.
"You're safe, un"
She was dead, of course, of course she was safe but her heart ached, she'd killed them both. What she didn't know was why this didn't make sense. His hand felt warm on her cold skin. She tried to sit up but her body felt too heavy, Deidara's right arm ducked under her waist sending electrifying pulses to her skin, he embraced her so tight her heart galloped into a new strange way. She inhaled his scent, sweet and strong, once, twice she let it intoxicate her senses.
She wasn't dead, she should've known better, she let relief enter her body as the warmth of his body unfroze her own. An overwhelming ecstasy rushed through her frame, the overwhelming ecstasy of love.