Work Text:
It was in between the interlude antecedent to the second song, equanimity in gradual congested the silence that wreathed the chilled air brimmed with scent of sweet myrtle and nectar. Ellian led her still in the dance, receding and drawing close, steps trampled the remnant of diapason plucked from lyre and the distant echo of grandeur liveliness behind the closed door of the balcony they currently occupied.
Anastasia gazed at him, taking the latter in beneath the waning evening; where starlight scattered its shards and fractal of moon set on his lashes, where words exuded with drip of conundrum. Silk fluttered in the last spin, heaved zephyr caressed diaphanous shawl draped over her shoulders. “I resent you sometimes.”
It was easier to have her dagger weighed on his throat or a knife nursed in betwixt the rib cage, to maim open a laceration and see if his venation would pour rosewater instead of blood. Their motion had come to a cessation, but his grasp on her lessened not and the mass of his reticence began to grow prominence. It ought to be easier, and yet.
Seconds elapsed before hand that she perched upon one of his shoulders was moved and she took his face in her palm, finger grazing ivory skin and briefly she wondered if this uncharacteristic tenderness of hers might break him—to have him who was painted with hallowed imageries of pale fire and gilded sanctity in her cradle. Love like this felt as if it was something that nestled in between the dented wishbone and clench of milk teeth, it felt like it belonged in an exequies of her oldfangled faith and childhood's allegory. Locality of her other hand was then altered as it soon traveled to tier his nape. Anastasia put a slight pressure to bring him inclining down, roseate lips hovering severely precarious over his; ghost of a taunt before she pressed kiss against his mouth.
“Be my darling,” Anastasia murmured. Digits traversed to trail his side profile, coursing downward and lodging on skin that encased the pulse palpitating underneath. “Be mine as I could be made as yours.”
He tightened his grip around her waist. “Always an excessive demand coming from you.”
A languid chuckle bubbled in her lungs. “I am no modest woman after all.”
And so, Anastasia came to claim another kiss with fervent intensity and vehement fervor. Tugging his jacket lapel and flushing him nigh, she tucked his lower lip between her teeth, tongue brushing the seam of his lips. Ellian’s blunt nail etched half-moon mark on skin in swathe of her dress and she sank herself into him, ceased not to take more while she seared. Bergamot and tang of blood mixed with honeyed wine were filling sense and Anastasia wanted to love him until he bruised; until nothing left to be gobbled up other than exit wounds and mangled flesh—it was as maddening as it was intoxicating and he was but a holy chaos to her.
Love like this, she decided, tasted sacrilegious.