“Wait,”
It’s so different from the first time. The passion is one that burns, blistering and biting and hurting. The wolf’s teeth have been turned from a defense and into a danger. The voice that speaks is smoother this time; water rushing past silver stones; the precise stroke of a snake; loving hands sliding over silk.
“Let me stay,”
And his mystery is frustrating, so frustrating – no matter how hard he tries he will never figure him out. No matter how many nights they lay clutched together, a bond bound by gold and blood and fire. Forged in love, tested by greed, tarnished by the rust of misunderstandings and rage. His hands rip and burn, they do not hold and fix; his magic is dangerous, not alluring. No matter what happened those years ago, he is a monster now.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
But the cool waters that hiss at the burning metal still feel real – the agony and ache of staying aflame for so long are beginning to show, and the water wants to creep into those cracks and breaks in him and reach the molten core, turn what is lava into stone, and from stone into life. But it won’t work. He has told himself time and time again it will not work.
But the hands that slide over silk and satin and gold – they crawl onto his face like spiders, like dew on a dying oak tree. It’s so tempting to let go, to break the chains, to let the sinner soothe his pain.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” His body says, his copper and bronze callouses meeting with the silver and gold skin, and the relief he feels in the touch is disgustingly beautiful.
“I know,” says the other body, pressing close, mixing the metals, turning the magma to earth, lighting the forest fire with a delectably golden scandal.
“Help me,” he says with no words.
“I’m here.”
(More for @tamelcss and @tracelcss)
