JUDE
you're like the sun, you wake me up
She is as infinite as her skies, and Jude stares into the echoes of it swirling in her eyes like an astronomer doomed to love what they can't touch. So to feel her hands and spirit in such an encompassing way is as close to divinity as humans must be able to get.
The thumbs at his temples are as weighted as a blade descending on both shoulders, anointing him tenderly. Just like that he can breathe again - the first time in years. "Thank you." It's guttural with pious fervor, nearly animal. His hands rise to lightly touch the backs of her wrists as if it might somehow let her feel the gravity of his gratitude.
Faint freckles gleam like inverted shadows of her stars beneath the shine of forgotten tears. Jude hesitantly draws one of her hands down his cheek, then the line of his neck, to where his pulse flutters in the hollow of his throat. Where he will wear her necklace soon, though it's utterly forgotten in this moment. The organ beneath that frail defense of bone is hers and hers alone now. "Mortal promises aren't worth anything," he disparages, starlight filling the holes of his weak spine, "so I won't make one. I'll show you instead." He'll commit anew to it every day as proof of his willingness. A choice made with every cycle of the moon, a daily renewal of vows. "If...if it's safe to call you down there." The insecurity returns the moment he blinks, though a part of him revels at the idea of doing so if only to reinforce to the Family on their own territory how they'd failed to kill his goddess.
The thumbs at his temples are as weighted as a blade descending on both shoulders, anointing him tenderly. Just like that he can breathe again - the first time in years. "Thank you." It's guttural with pious fervor, nearly animal. His hands rise to lightly touch the backs of her wrists as if it might somehow let her feel the gravity of his gratitude.
Faint freckles gleam like inverted shadows of her stars beneath the shine of forgotten tears. Jude hesitantly draws one of her hands down his cheek, then the line of his neck, to where his pulse flutters in the hollow of his throat. Where he will wear her necklace soon, though it's utterly forgotten in this moment. The organ beneath that frail defense of bone is hers and hers alone now. "Mortal promises aren't worth anything," he disparages, starlight filling the holes of his weak spine, "so I won't make one. I'll show you instead." He'll commit anew to it every day as proof of his willingness. A choice made with every cycle of the moon, a daily renewal of vows. "If...if it's safe to call you down there." The insecurity returns the moment he blinks, though a part of him revels at the idea of doing so if only to reinforce to the Family on their own territory how they'd failed to kill his goddess.
but you drain me out if I get too much
