we got that love, the crazy kind
I am his and he is mine
It's a strange thing, to be dead one minute and alive the next.Stranger still when the place you now live is, supposedly, a different world.
Shockingly strange to learn that years have passed, when to you it has been moments.
Strangest of all to find your lover waiting for you, in another world, in another house, with another scar- but still hopelessly, wonderfully mine.
He pulls me to him and I let it happen, tracing the new scars that dot his hide, visible above the collar is his shirt. He never had this mark, that tattoo; it's like looking at a painting in your house, but the colors have changed just a little and you're not sure if it's just your imagination, if you're the one who's wrong. His hand on my back feels the same, but his cheek is stubbled, and his jaw is a little bit harder than the boxer who would have been a king.
His eyes are still steel, through, as surely as mine are flint, and the sparks that ignite when I meet his stare are still as hot and dangerous as ever. He mentions my father and my breath catches, hard. "Is he okay? He's well?" The old man had blood of iron and the stubbornness of rain. It wouldn't surprise me to know that he's gone, too, but...
Well. You know.
He smells like smoke and cigarettes and blood. I close my eyes as his face presses against me, grinning, growling low in my throat. Fighting and fucking: they're the things we're best at, and I'm ready to sharpen up my skills. It's not the first time I'm tasting his blood; I wrap my lips around the wound, biting down gently before kissing him back, hungry and eager and holding nothing back. He tastes like he's alive, and I love it.
My hands slip up to tangle in his hair, and I jump up, legs wrapping around his waist, knowing he will catch me. "Sunny," I moan against his mouth, pulling at his shirt, trying to get him undressed, to see the scars and stains and markings he's gained since my demise.
LUSEA
