Maeve
We'll never get free
Lamb to the slaughter
Lamb to the slaughter
The fall is so easy. It's second nature. There isn't a single ounce of fear as he pulls her forward and she goes without a single thought. Her hands can't decide where to settle. One finds home in the front of his shirt, twisting there tightly and holding onto him with a white knuckled grip as her other curls at his shoulder, nails biting into his skin through the linen of his shirt. His own fingertips dig into her hips, bunching the fabric of her skirt around her waist as she shifts to straddle him, sinking into his lap as they devour each other with their kisses.
He draws back from her to take a sip of breath between the parting of their lips and a sound of indignation rises in her throat. Maeve's fingers tighten, spine arching and curving until she's forming herself against him, unwilling to let there be even a crack that moonlight can get through between their bodies. He tastes like salt and everything she's missed about him. How did she ever keep herself centered without him here to ground her? He was the sun in her life, keeping her tethered, casting his light on her so she might shine. Locke tilts her head to the side, exposing the milk white column of her throat to his lips and teeth, marking her with a bite that will surely bruise, but Maeve can't find it in herself to care.
His confession is a balm for her bruised and aching heart. Whatever lingering anger she held dissipates with his words and she can't help the way her breath catches in her throat. The way her heart seizes in her chest. Maeve clings to him, letting her own words come out in a hushed whisper, speaking a language he still doesn't fully know. "Je t'aime aussi, mon soleil. Je n'ai pas arrêté. Même si moi aussi je me suis perdu. Je suis désolé. Pour tout." Her breath leaves her in a shudder and she draws back enough to hold his gaze, lip catching between her teeth before she speaks again, more firmly this time. "I love you too. I never stopped. I'm sorry I got lost along the way..."
He draws back from her to take a sip of breath between the parting of their lips and a sound of indignation rises in her throat. Maeve's fingers tighten, spine arching and curving until she's forming herself against him, unwilling to let there be even a crack that moonlight can get through between their bodies. He tastes like salt and everything she's missed about him. How did she ever keep herself centered without him here to ground her? He was the sun in her life, keeping her tethered, casting his light on her so she might shine. Locke tilts her head to the side, exposing the milk white column of her throat to his lips and teeth, marking her with a bite that will surely bruise, but Maeve can't find it in herself to care.
His confession is a balm for her bruised and aching heart. Whatever lingering anger she held dissipates with his words and she can't help the way her breath catches in her throat. The way her heart seizes in her chest. Maeve clings to him, letting her own words come out in a hushed whisper, speaking a language he still doesn't fully know. "Je t'aime aussi, mon soleil. Je n'ai pas arrêté. Même si moi aussi je me suis perdu. Je suis désolé. Pour tout." Her breath leaves her in a shudder and she draws back enough to hold his gaze, lip catching between her teeth before she speaks again, more firmly this time. "I love you too. I never stopped. I'm sorry I got lost along the way..."
What you gon' do when there's blood in the water?
