DEIMOS
ache first, but then let the cuts close
spit out the blood
spit out the blood
Shared losses intertwined and numbed; he knew those pathways like the back of his hand, wounds and all. The mental preparation stilled for a moment, though he yearned to write it all down, until his skull wasn’t in some listless, transient fog. His eyes flickered to her briefly instead, their piercing sway not clouded by lust either – just the ache of knowing and the curiosity in the wake of her newfound scars, in the marks of survival, in the new lines and stories delineated across pale skin.
He nearly reached out to grab the tie in her hair, to do something other than feel the clambering notions of exhaustion prodding their way through every arch and mass of muscle; instead the depths of his scrutiny laid upon silver lacings along collarbone and shoulder, before he followed – in certainty, in peeling away layers, in removing armor and vulnerability, the metallic pieces undone and left along a little trail of clothing and protection towards the bath.
He'd never bothered to look at what scalded and bloomed, presumed any matter of wounds – but as he lifted and rolled his shoulders to remove his shirt, the pain segmented into a barely muffled hiss. He only glanced downward to find the circuity and bizarre wiring burnt into his flesh, still raw and incandescent, before snorting. The rest of him was merely mottled and covered in bruises and lacerations, snagged and snarled, nothing than couldn’t be altered and fixed with a little time and Zuriel’s incantations. “Next,” he offered her with a slight smirk, returning out of some of the deluge, enough for his hand to squeeze hers, then reach past to turn the water on.
He nearly reached out to grab the tie in her hair, to do something other than feel the clambering notions of exhaustion prodding their way through every arch and mass of muscle; instead the depths of his scrutiny laid upon silver lacings along collarbone and shoulder, before he followed – in certainty, in peeling away layers, in removing armor and vulnerability, the metallic pieces undone and left along a little trail of clothing and protection towards the bath.
He'd never bothered to look at what scalded and bloomed, presumed any matter of wounds – but as he lifted and rolled his shoulders to remove his shirt, the pain segmented into a barely muffled hiss. He only glanced downward to find the circuity and bizarre wiring burnt into his flesh, still raw and incandescent, before snorting. The rest of him was merely mottled and covered in bruises and lacerations, snagged and snarled, nothing than couldn’t be altered and fixed with a little time and Zuriel’s incantations. “Next,” he offered her with a slight smirk, returning out of some of the deluge, enough for his hand to squeeze hers, then reach past to turn the water on.
watch your body pull itself back together
then let your soul do the same
then let your soul do the same
