[se] between two lungs

she didn't want to love
she wanted to b e l o v e d
and that was entirely different

The floor does not seem dusty or dreary: it is their own kingdom, a haven into which they descend, further away from the trials of the world, from everyone else who has ever existed. They are the only ones who matter; he is the only thing she needs. It is new, and terrifying, and magical, and cruel, to be so beholden to another, to let him see the strings of her spirit and play them like a harp. Starlit and star-crossed the pair entwines, hands touching, eyes meeting, a delicate and exhaustive dance. She is on her knees in the ground, his face in her hands, and nothing else matters beyond that. The girl has never felt so completely lost yet simultaneously found, so far at sea while safe in harbor.

And when they kiss her senses fill with him, his boundless presence inundating her very fibers of her being. His taste upon her lips, her tongue; his scent, heady and heavy, earthen and chill; the feel of him beneath her fingers, rough skin and soft beard and beating pulses and heat; the sound of breath catching in his throat, of his hair against her chin, of his movement beneath her body. And when her eyes flutter open again they are full of him, brimming, fit to overflow, dark and glittering and hungry for more. She does not notice her knees in the dust: to her they rest on velvet pillows, ensorceled and enslarled as she is, captured fully by his embrace, his repayment, his eagerness to take and give and take in return, his movement against her, his avarice and greed.

It is surprising, then, when he draws away, his face leaving hers behind, craning back and peering forward. She is loathe to let him go, but relieved as well, her thundering heart and heavy lips promising mistakes if not kept in check. The Cheshire grin which slices his features is enough to entice her to kiss him again; it is with great effort the girl resists, instead sliding fingers over his mouth, onto his shoulders from his neck. The words he says are scarcely heard, gliding effortlessly over her ears, deep intonations in tantalizing baritone skirting and coiling through her mind.

Perhaps I should return the favor- And she does not have the words to tell him that he already scares her, in wild and mountainous and exhilarating ways. Every moment that they are together is newly terrifying; touching him makes her stomach drop, kissing him burns like coals on a hot day. It is the aching emptiness of his absence which scares her most of all, the black space that his presence leaves where once there had been light. All of these sit on her tongue, bite against it and crackle and pop, wanting to be shed into the world but too rough, too raw, too unrefined and insecure to withstand the vibrancy of his heat.

Settling back down onto her heels, Amalia regards him with a shuddering breath, not sure what the next step is. She wants to curl into his lap, to feel his arms about her again, her head on his shoulder, his breath on her face. But shed does not want to push, to act, to take when he may not be eager to give. Or perhaps he would be eager, and she would freeze- or she would shift, hurt, make a mistake, cause him discomfort with her awkward figure, her angular form.

Her hands return to her body, wrapping loosely around her chest as though she fears that otherwise the compulsion to touch him will be too great, as though she is miming the action she desires, the things she is unable to say aloud. And so Amalia says this instead, an earnest pledge, rivers of sincerity an undercurrent to her playful tone: "If you get in trouble, I will come save you." You may scare me, but the world does not. Not with you by my side.

Amalia

we are all b r o k e n
that's how the l i g h t gets in