wintry, Hellboy II: The Golden Army (Nuada/Nuala)
Title: wintry Author/Artist: shiegra Rating: R Prompt: Hellboy II – Nuada/Nuala – Body worship – They were one in the same, yet so different. Word count: 786
The stars left a spangling of shadows on her floor, slipping to caress smooth dark ground and the heavy furs that layered her bed against the winter's chill.
The shadows cling like old rotted velvet, like human-spun fabric, draping from the corners of the room and touching her arms, her cheek, her hair where moonlight does not spill fully enough to wipe away the night. The air is very cold.
These nights she feels like a ghost; but at least, these coldly hollow, whispering nights, Nuala knows what she is looking for when she leaves her bed for the window and the wild wind, letting it whip the icy traces of maybe-tears from her cheeks.
These were the nights he came most often to her, slipping into her chamber's on cat-quiet feet, both of them more aware of each other, more aware of the space around them simply through their father's edict of separation. But still he came to her, and still she wanted him with her. "Sister," he said softly into her ear, and steadied her when she wheeled to face him. "What troubles you?"
Nuala shook her head, touched her arms, looked into his wide eyes. "It is so cold," she said finally, a murmur of sound that she almost doubted she had surrendered to his ears--before he stepped forward, fitting them together. He was still warm from his bed and said nothing when she put her chilled hands against his back, cupping the curve of his shoulders, her face pressed against his neck.
Slowly his heat filled her to brimming, making her shiver in his hands as he drew them from the window. "Winter is coming," he said softly, and she lowered her head and sighed, feeling the frost draw gentle patterns against her soul.
He kissed her fingers, curiously formal, a delicate touch. It made her shudder hard, jarring them both; of all the touches they'd shared, his gentleness was the most intense, that honest tenderness he showed no one but her. Even smiling his feral death's-head grin, his touch never hurt her.
Their clothes came away slowly in the chill, but he warmed her; his palms on her sides, cradling her ribs, her hands on him mirroring each gesture. You have my scars, and it was a thought that came from both of them--there, along the belly, there, scarring the swell of her breasts, there, where we bled together.
There, where my heartbeat once echoed yours, Nuala thought, and touched his chest, flattening her palm. And you are no longer so easy to rouse. It was pounding now at her touch, a deep steady--heady--slam of heat against her skin. He copied the movement, long callused fingers pressing against her breast, and the nipple hardened, making her shiver all over.
He moved restlessly when she said his name, and his eyes were wide and hungry and dark enough to drown in. His long hair swept over his shoulders as he leaned forward; Nuala lifted her face for his, swaying into the touch.
You are not quite my mirror any longer.
A thought to grieve.
He fit his hands against her hips and leaned in, letting their bodies align from shoulder to thigh. A perfect fit, a neat match--his arms longer than hers now, the gossamer skin at her wrists, the calluses on both their fingers--they'd suffered from blisters, she'd worried at the skin with her teeth--and the alignment of their hips.
Here they were not so much mirror as key and lock, and her head tipped back; fragile throat that he knew well, the pulse quickening to beat with his, her hands sliding in a long careful stroke up the swell of muscles in his shoulders. His lips parted and she moaned, a small lost sound in the dark of the room. He bent his head to drink it from her lips as one thigh pushed between hers and he guided them back towards the bed. Set in the wall, the cool stone arching over their heads more closely than in the rest of the chamber, she guided him to her in the thick weight of blankets and furs and he settled between her thighs, mouth hungry on hers.
No need for more of his touch; Nuala rocked her hips and slid her legs behind his, the not-quite-mirror of their limbs a pair of puzzle pieces, letting his hips slide against hers. And then feeling him inside her, suddenly and sharply, his lips on the corner of her mouth, on her throat, the hint of sharp teeth--none of them tame--and the blankets tangling around her legs.
There was no winter in her now. He banished it from her.