fight for the things that crack light into your life

MELITA

Melita had always thought herself the greedy one. Avaricious to the core, ravenous and voracious with grasping hands and rapacious means; wanting things she couldn’t have and covetous for things she’d claimed already. Maybe it’d been her childhood or maybe it’d been her all along, where one survived on predatory measures and then never knew anything else thereafter. More and more and more on an insatiable appetite and a mercenary thirst. She’d craved Iskra as easily as breathing, his kindness and his mischief and his temper and all the other filaments in between – never quite thinking he’d be much the same. The fact that they could simply have one another was still an aching, pining concept; some sweeping thing down in her rib cage and along her heart, eyes searching his with some imploring haze beneath the mask of her constant mischief or capricious whims. Sometimes he stopped her in her tracks – uttered veracity with such an ease and no pretenses whatsoever – that she tread there, uncertain while her mind and heart caught up. Stunned, then smiling, laughing, giving a modest splash in return as her senses gained some traction again, floored and implored by him at every turn. “I suppose I could give it,” she hummed in response, lofting the joke to see how far he’d take it.

She wasn’t aimless though; there’d been a direction she’d been pinpointing all along with hooded gazes and darting glances, waiting to see if he coveted the same. Within an instant, he’d turned himself over and she was suddenly surrounded by beard and water dripping into her eyes, sputtering, giggling, intending to dash the droplets away from her lashes, when his lips descended upon hers. Leisurely, lulled, like they had all the time in the world, and she smiled against his mouth, maneuvering herself around, mouth opening for more when he pulled away in such a tease that she had to furrow her brows. “Yeah well, maybe you’re all mine,” she arched her brow like a challenge, because suddenly that hunger growled and howled in the back of her mind, as if she should somehow be laying claim, working it the other way around, an unnecessary competition.

Because that hadn’t been enough either, and she swiftly pulled herself around, giving a kick of her legs to push them towards the wall and the ledge where feet could go down, and they wouldn’t have to worry about balancing acts. Then her hands went for his jaw, to hold him in place as her lips sought his, imploring, searching, desiring, longing, eager, hungry.

This is a gift, it comes with a price
Who is the lamb and who is the knife?
Midas is king and he holds me so tight
And turns me to gold in the sunlight