The Stillness of Frozen Breath and Empty Lungs (breath) wrote in faeparties, @ 2014-06-10 13:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, *maze, halis, nyx |
WHO: Nyx and Halis
WHAT: Trying sweets, a quick narrative.
WHEN: Before the dance with Aoife, but after the delivery of poisonous teas.
WHERE: The labyrinth
WARNINGS: Cuddling. You doubt me, but it's true.
He was still wearing the dress when he made his way to Nyx, feeling strangely off-kilter. Since the start of the feast – which was both seconds and ages ago in his mind – he’d spent more time with humans and fae than he’d spent with anyone in millennia. It unnerved him that he was gaining a sense of… empathy wasn’t the right word. Connection, perhaps. He felt connected to his people. And he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it. Ignoring his feelings, refusing to even acknowledge he felt at all, he followed his wisp into the maze, turning mindlessly down the paths it took to Nyx. He found her in one of the maze’s many nooks and crannies, not deep enough in for the oppressive humidity to make him truly uncomfortable, reclining on a pile of pillows that might have been a couch but probably wasn’t. He swallowed, sudden and unexpected anxiety twisting in his stomach. Redolent and lazy-eyed, Nyx watched him with one of those ambiguous expressions the mortals conflated with mystery. “Nyx,” the wisp said for him. Unlike the rest of the fae, its voice hadn’t changed. It was still that same monotone. After a moment’s hesitation, he settled in the mass of pillows, almost as far as the space would allow. “I didn’t expect you to be here.” “I said I would be.” She sounded vaguely annoyed with him. Then she swept her hand toward the delicate glass table between them – Halis wondered why everything looked like it belonged in a dollhouse. “The promised sweets.” He swept his eyes over the offering, trying to decide which food to attempt first. None of them looked particularly appealing, and the fact that a steaming loaf of bread was on display didn’t do much for his confidence. “This is nice, by the way.” It took everything in him not to jump out of his skin and flee. Nyx was suddenly much closer, one finger hovering over the sleeve of his dress. She gave him another of those enigmatic looks, all midnight and mystery, and he swallowed hard. Something twisted in his stomach, and it wasn’t anxiety. “It suits you,” Nyx said, her voice practically a purr. Because she hadn’t touched him, he didn’t run. Because she did touch him, her finger feather light as it trailed down the beaded sleeve, he stayed. “What do you want to try first?” she asked. It was safest to assume she was talking about the sweets – though he had the impression she was offering more than that. Leaning forward, he picked up a little cake-like thing, wrinkling his nose. It was sticky, another reason to hate sweets, and squishy, all but crumbling in his fingers. He picked off a flake of the pastry and put it in his mouth. The overwhelming taste of honey slammed into him with all the subtly of a hurricane. Swallowing quickly, he set the pastry down with a grimace and grasped at the cup on the table next to the platter. “So not baklava.” He shot Nyx a venomous look over the edge of the cup as he gulped down wine. “No,” his wisp said. “Not that. Not ever again.” Nyx leaned forward, her body an almost distressing wall of power beside him. He felt small, but not vulnerable – he knew too much of weaponsplay to ever be that – and over shadowed. In a way that was strangely pleasant. He couldn’t tell if those sensations were the product of being a woman (which he doubted strongly) or something else entirely; if it was something else, he didn’t want to think too much on it. “Try this,” Nyx said, offering him a piece of the steaming loaf of bread. She settled beside him, flinging one arm behind them on the mound of pillows. Her chest brushed his arm, and Halis shivered. “Cold, Halis?” “No.” He took the bread from her, trying to ignore her, and took a bite of it. Bitter chocolate tempered by sweetened bread. Sugary without being saccharine. A perfect combination. He didn’t hear the little sound of pleasure that escaped him, couldn’t hear it, as his eyes fluttered shut. Without the walls of the maze to distract him, with the heat of Nyx’s body making his prickle with awareness of every physical sensation, the taste was a rush of wind, a swirl of flavor. “You like that,” Nyx observed, and her hand, with its masculine but still elegant fingers, brushed over his lips. His eyes snapped open and his head whipped around. She was barely a breath away from him, her dark eyes intense. “You had a little something here.” She touched the corner of his mouth. His lips parted on a gasp. “Pan au chocolat, then. We’ll have to remember you like that.” Yes, they would, but it would have to be her. His brain had fuzzed out, turned to fluff and floated away. Just that one touch – almost impersonal but still so intimate – and he craved another. Reality hit him like a storm wall. If he let her touch him again, she would inevitably find his scars, and then— He didn’t want to think about then. The fae prized strength and the scars running like ropes around his body were a sign of weakness. Pulling away from her, he reached for the bread still in her hands. “What’s this?” He froze, glancing at his wrist. The sleeve, long and full to hide his hands to the tips of his fingers, had fallen back. Three scars, jagged and raised like little mountains, ripped down his forearm to the back of his hand. They were crossed by other scars, not as raised, but just as ugly, and the map they created across his body disappeared under the edge of his sleeve at his elbow. Stupid, he thought bitterly, yanking his hand back. She caught him, faster than he expected her to be. Gentler, too. Her fingers were a loose cage around his wrist, her chest pressed against his side. When she touched one of the raised knots of flesh, he turned away, shutting her out and bracing himself for the disparaging, cutting remarks he knew were coming. “How did this happen?” The wisp relayed the question directly into his mind, and so while he didn’t know the tone of her voice, he did know the cadence of it, the soft and curious way she asked. “One of the mountain creatures in a nearby realm. I was foolish, and it nearly killed me.” She released his wrist and he pressed his hand protectively to his chest, curling around it. To his surprise, she curled around him, a wall of darkness and protection; in the dark no one could see your scars. “Would you like another piece of bread?” He felt her breath on his ear when she spoke, and though he usually found the sensation revolting, he couldn’t this time. Instead, a pleasant, languorous heat stole across him like the humidity right before a thunderstorm. He relaxed against her, content to be held, quietly delighting in it. “I would.” Her arms around him, she offered the bread to him, and he leaned against her and ate it slowly, savoring every second. |