𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 the quiet coat of snow white and she is the only fiery flower in full bloom ; this is how he has always seen 𝐡𝐞𝐫 , Lacie. A bewitching, withering creature of eternal beauty and tragedy, a lovely melody resonating with his own. An illusion that can never truly be his nor another’s ; eternally free yet forever bound to him by the invisible chains of fate. It is much the same with him, his heart can never belong to anyone yet it beats only for his doomed, secret bride. 𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 who feel each other’s touch with such 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 each night yet not at the same time. There is a different kind of beauty to this conflict, one that can only be appreciated by the mad ones because oh, what sort of a sane person would not tremble in front of those 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 rubies in the middle of the night ? Who in their right mind could ever hope to praise her soft, smooth skin with such loving bites ? Who could ever fill her completely like he does ?
𝐀 𝐇𝐘𝐌𝐍 , 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 the shell of her ear his voice is which is soon followed by a trail of passionate kisses. In the same fashion, his hands roam across her bare flesh upon silky wine sheets. Indeed, he had specifically requested this color for the Duke loves just how it matches her beautiful eyes in the candlelight.
“ … My nightingale.” No more than a plea his is. It is a forbidden desire, no, a 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 that he would love to carve into eternity if he could since if the fairytales of reborning in different worlds are true, then he would love to be 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 every single time in every single one of them. This is one of the very rare, sincere wishes that resides within his corrupted core. Would he ever tell her that though ? Maybe he already has. Through every kiss, every word uttered in such intimate moments and all the gentleness hidden in his every touch. It is only a wonder if she feels the same as he does, or is he the only foolish one here ?
The eyes of the world judge her: the sinner who deserves eternal damnation, a soul that cannot beg for redemption. Her fate already unwinding in front of her, chains dragging her forward and forward with no mercy, leaving their painful marks on her wrists.
But, Lacie knows: she can still choose and move the strings of destiny as she waits for her fall.
And she chooses to fall deeper into her sin - if there’s no redemption for Children of Misfortune, than she deserves to live at her fullest. So she thinks, or hopes.
There’s no regret as she chooses to give in and surrender. Just a blissful feeling pooling in her stomach, a tingling sensation on her skin. And she really feels free. Free to be her selfish self and bask in her sins and lose herself. The thundering beating of her heart always sounds so new and foreign - but still, she loves it.
Her fingers claw at the soft and silky sheets, then at his silver locks, so silky and fragile under her touch, as she let them slip through her fingertips. She pulls, ever so lightly - tries to be as gentle as she can be, as pleasant shivers run down her spine and her mind just begs for more.
A pleading cry escapes from her lips (she cannot force it down her throat again) - hearing her name whispered in such loving and tender voice is enough for her to tighten her grip and shut her eyes close. The sweetest song she had ever heard, one she cannot get enough of, one she would love to hear again and again.
Under his touch, she feels like a goddess.
She cannot help but mirror his gestures, a side of her shuddering with envy at Levi’s self control, while the other side of her just smiles and sighs, lets her lover touch her, kiss her. Crimson eyes reflect on amethyst irises - she arches her back against him, her muscles even aches as she’s tensing under his touch. She is the one trembling and gasping for air.
A soft “Levi” is whispered against his lips as she cups his face with her greedy fingers, thumbs gently stroking colder skin, pulling Levi near her (and he kindly complies) - such a natural gesture for her. «Please,» even softer words as she claims his lips again with urge and eagerness, playfully bites his lower lip (that vixen), trying to distract him from his -wonderful indeed- ministrations and let her breathe. And from his cheeks, her hands roam with a slow, needy caress down his neck - she grips his shoulders, perhaps a little rougher that she meant to. «Levi...» And it always feel soothing, his name on her tongue, not “your grace”, nor “Glen”. Just Levi and Lacie.
The softest mewl, it hides a whispered “I need you”, her only weakness.
Somewhere in her little wicked heart, she hopes time would stop. The only prayer of a sinner.
