Work Text:
Her name tastes different.
When he first says it, it is foreign and clunky in his mouth, as if he has bitten off more than he can chew. He shapes his mouth around it, pushing it past his lips in a muttered whisper. It is heavy on his tongue, and he deigns to hold it in his mouth, hoping to melt it, make it lighter, easier to swallow.
When she kisses him, her name bottles up in his throat, lodging there, and he wants to vomit it out onto the floor, wants to be rid of it, wants to keep it forever, and can’t decide, and so he chokes. He chokes beneath the satin of her mouth, the slick of her tongue, the taste of honey she leaves behind. He works hard but her name stays lodged in his throat that he must bite the syllables to get it out.
When they come together, he swallows her name by accident, too shocked by opportunity to use it, but when his hands touch her skin, it blooms in him, bright and warm. Her name seeps into his bones, swims in his blood, three syllables of a hymn to replace the blue and red that left him. He inhales, lets it come to every part of himself.
This time, when she kisses him, her name comes out in an easy exhale, barely above a whisper, as if the harshness of his voice will dispel the dream. Her name is no longer foreign to him, and weaves with his breath as easy as a familiar song. He says it again, watching her respond with a grin and a laugh. Names have power, she once told him, and it means something that she would allow him this small power over her.
Perhaps, in this, he will give her similar power over him one day. But when she whispers his name back to him, he realizes that perhaps she already has it.