[se] between two lungs

Deimos

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

A promise was a promise, a vow was a vow, an assurance was an assurance – mettle and determination he’d long since forged in his bones and in his thoughts – never wasting precious time on discourse and discussion when efforts could do much of the same. He’d sketched his outlines in sand, dirt, dust, and soil, pressed his sword into the earth and made everyone aware of just who he was, and not by the measures of his tongue, his voice, or his words, but the exploits, maneuvers, and endeavors. Declarations were sewn straight into his chest and sinew, detailed in the steady beat of his heart, in the constant crescendo of blood pulsing along his veins; he was not a knight, not a stalwart falcon, not a guardian, but he would always strive, try for her. She laughed at his proclamation, but it still didn’t go away – didn’t fetter, didn’t drift, didn’t dissipate into the loam, embedding itself in the heartlines of the books, in the echoes of their betters, in the triumph of his piercing gaze. I will do the same drummed against his jaw, over and over and over, and then he’d show it, with more than just wandering into pits and pendulums, with more than roaming into the unknown forest, waiting to taken to the next slaughter. A man of action and motives, of persistence and forbearing, capable of withstanding too many things all at once, driven to derision, to acrimony, to vehemence if it was required. Maybe naught would ever come to that again. Maybe it would, and time would sketch out those delicate moments of oaths and pledges with the method and means to achieve it. He’d do his best. He’d do his worst. He’d commit, because that was the Reaper, through and through.

Deimos didn’t bother to weave or tether the nuances to beatific, opulent things, there was no need, not in the glow of veracity and voracity, in the idle shifts and movements. The depths of silence crawled over them, stardust and starlight tracing over the floor, the air, the ether, and he tilted his head to regard her as she seemed to arrive at some decision, an ultimatum brewing amidst onyx and sable. Perhaps his pronouncement hadn’t gone well, despite the warm ring of laughter, the bell and peal of mischief, and she intended to evade, duck, slide away, back off into the Fae land with its beguiling, bewitching enigmas, stolen by their gilded alms and eldritch denominations. It was a touch of apprehension and consternation building along his ribs, curiosity unfolding, eyes narrowing, struggling to speculate –

At once, she rose above him, tremulous and tender, and he was frozen, rooted to the spot, love in the eyes, snared and snatched again, waiting while the rest of his figure struggled with the right motion. A smoldering flame kindled its way through his stomach and along his chest, heart pounding, an echoing, reverberating cadence and inflection set to embers and coals, no longer the chilling beast, no longer the glacial rock, rubble, and ruin. He was sure she could hear it, feel it, the wild, untamed, savage beat colliding against his lungs and senses, but wasn’t ashamed, didn’t hide it, permitted the rapture, the reverie, to ascend. His veins pulsed and quickened, swallowing down massive inhales, gaze hooded, darkening, smoke and coiled tempests building behind his stare, glancing up and up and up to regard her, lost, surrendered and triumphant all at once. Closer and closer still, his hands reach for her hips, requiring a settling point, a base, a fortification; fingers spreading along fabric and cloth, the heat of her skin underneath. A tease, a torment, a flutter, an incitement, a kindling of everything.

Then there was an abrupt switch, and his lungs bellowed a long exhale, a sharpened intake thereafter, ichor muting its previous rush: her flesh was no longer human, fur, and as he drew his head back to stare and puzzle out the complexities of the moment – bizarre, strange – her ears molded to a more rounded shape, made for certain predators, a tail following suit, and it was all he could do to lift his stare back to hers once more. For a few instances, he stayed in his stunned fixtures, puncturing gaze tracing back over her newfound features over and over again, working it out – until suddenly everything seemed to click into place and comprehension made its way over his bewildered senses. Attuned; amongst the many accustomed to altering and shifting themselves into their favored beasts – had he not seen Kiada transform once, he might’ve been a little more shaken.

But instead of dismissing, instead of tossing his cranium around in disbelief, the man was accepting; just as she’d done for him. It was easy, to regale and admire her power, her invocations, the qualities that made Amalia; and he could marvel at where the boldness had come from, the mischief, the audacity, let loose, freed. “Yes,” he breathed again, the softest of smiles coming to his lips before he loosened a laugh – realizing now just who’d been puttering around the garden as he’d attempted to plant furtive lavender. She must’ve had a decent laugh, watching him perform some more ridiculous maneuvers; but it’d been for her, only for her. He had the decency to look half-embarrassed, a dusting of rose along his cheeks in the dark, flustered by his ineptitude and ignorance. “So much for my secret.” It was polished and savored on a sigh, on a whim, his hands leaving her hips, lifting away from her form, and reaching for her ears – but letting them hover, there in the air, in the alleyway of tomes and scripture, waiting for permission. “What else can you do?” It was a challenge, it was a provocation he didn’t shy away from, a reckless nature in his eyes – temptation and enticement there too, following the lures and snares.

keep the ones who
h e a r d y o u
when you never said a word