Work Text:
Cold hands caressed their body, their blood flowing like fire through their veins. He worshipped them like ancient civilizations worshipped the stars. And oh, if they were the sun, then he was the moon; pushing and pulling and always finding more beauty.
They were always chasing shadows, always seeking out his cold to soothe their hunger. His icy flavour sizzled on their tongue, melting and flowing into the cracks in their soul, filling and freezing the empty space with his taste.
And oh, his taste. They craved it. There was no name for his flavour, no words could ever pay tribute to the ichor that flowed from his mouth into theirs, so they gave up trying. Actions spoke louder than words and oh were they screaming. Their actions were bold and passionate and blazing, steam rising from their skin at every point of contact. His eyes, his eyes were deep as lakes, and they could spend forever drowing in those frigid waters.
And his hands, his hands were made of the same liquid, filling the imperfections in their shell with pure euphoria and making them feel like they truly were a celestial body. Time had no meaning when the sun and the moon eclipsed like this, when they became whole for what was ultimately such a brief moment in time.
But they welcomed every second of it. And if they were to die like this, then they would die happy.
And if he were to die, he wanted to die with their magma on his tongue.
For what was the moon without the sun?
And what was the sun without the moon?
And what was the meaning of anything else when they could just hold each other in their arms and never, ever let go?