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The moment tastes like a memory, flavored sticky sweet and tinged pink by the idiocy of naivety. She licks the back of her teeth, savors it while it lasts, the faint bitter taste of him helping to keep her grounded.
It's not a perfect replica.
Her nails are longer now. She's grown her claws, kept them sharp and cruel, painted them blood red, learned how to keep them gentle. Sometimes she fails. Sometimes it's better to hurt than to be soft. Innocent.
Her nails were short back then. Inoffensive, painted sparkly bubblegum pink, starting to chip at the edges. She remembers the way they sparkled in the low light, the way her claws fail to now. The room is too dark, and her nail polish is glossy, not sparkly, because she's not a child. Not anymore.
The man laying on her chest is also different. His hair is equally soft, but fluffier, little rays of sunshine peeking between her fingers as she runs her nails down his scalp. Gentle. She doesn't want to hurt, not now, just walk the edge. The tingling pleasure of a light scratch, watching as his breath shudders ever so slightly, how he relaxes even further into her. Or he would, if Danny's natural state wasn't that of a helium filled balloon.
Willow holds back a chuckle, gently pulling him back down as he started to float. One arm over his back, his shoulders, holding him in place. Shuddering ever so slightly as he slots back against her, wrapping his arms around her waist in his sleep. It's been too long since the last time she had this, felt this, skin on skin contact, in her own body. Another major difference. She never got that far with Ricardo.
Danny is light, soft around the edges. He presses against her like a cloud, the warmth of a sunny day, thoughts fluttering lazily between dreams. She tries to be careful as she holds him, treating him like the precious thing he is.
Ortega had been heavy. She remembers being helpless when he fell asleep on top of her, stuck on a mildly uncomfortable position on his stupid couch. She remembers she didn't care, holding back laughter imagining how ridiculous they must have looked from the outside. There was no need to be gentle, not the way she has to force herself to be now. Was she truly happy, back then? Content? Running her fingers through Ricardo's hair like she does now with Daniel, having their faces rest between her breasts, holding them like a lover.
Danny's hair tickles her nose as she leans in to kiss the top of his head, another echo of a memory that should have been forgotten. He carries her marks now, a trail of hickeys running down his shoulder, one placed right above his adam's apple. Hard to hide, although she suspects he wouldn't want to even if he could. Ortega never did, too proud to carry around the proof of a conquest, wearing his bruises like medals.
Somehow she knows it'll be different with Daniel, however. She thinks he knows, instinctively, the meaning behind the marks, in a way Ortega never could. They're not medals, trophies, their value doesn't lie on what they imply but on who put them there. What they represent is not a lucky night, it's ownership.
The satisfaction that curls around her stomach at the sight of them is not new, but it is all the sweeter knowing Danny has been marked even deeper than Ortega ever had. It's carved into his flesh, the painful reminder of her cruelty with every step he takes. Forever.
The smirk comes unbidden at the thought, together with the stab of bitterness.
Danny feels so delicate in her arms. Fragile. So pure, cradled against her breast, feeding on her affection not realizing the way it cuts into his skin. He's still fresh, nothing but a seedling, and she's the soil and the storm that will help him grow.
For better and worse.
She'll ruin him.
The surge of sadness and despair in her chest only makes her smile wider. Oh, what a beautiful explosion it'll be, when they hit the ground.
She'll ruin him, and he'll come out better for it. From seedling to blooming flower.
Like her.
How beautiful he'll be.
How tragic it'll be, when she'll have to stomp him out.
The breath that escapes her lands on the space between a laughter and a sob. She forces her arms to relax, to not hold on to Daniel so tight. She'd hate to wake him up like that.
Willow knew she would suffer, one way or another. She never planned to go out alone. When she pictured her burning future, she always saw herself and Charge, standing among the ruins. She always wanted Ortega to suffer with her.
She never considered others could be dragged into it like this.
Oh well. Might as well turn it into a proper party. The more the merrier.
She'll burn down the world either way.