shiegra (shiegra) wrote in kinkfest, @ 2008-11-15 00:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | a: shiegra, f: hellboy, november 05, p: nuada/nuala |
dark of the night, Hellboy II (Nuala/Nuada)
Title: dark of the night
Author/Artist: shiegra
Rating: R/NC17
Prompt: Hellboy II – Nuada/Nuala – Possession/Jealousy – Anything to be in your presence, by your side.
Word count: 429
It was when they were in bed together that he revealed most.
His hand locked in her hair, pulling her neck into an arch, his mouth locked on her skin. In the soft damp earth, in the unearthly softness of her bedding, against marble or stone or rotted velvet, he held her almost too close to breathe, his eyes black with nightmares he sometimes fought and sometimes reveled in, sometimes battled side-by-side with.
The days had passed when they understood every thought that passed through each other's minds. But they understood enough simply through the sheer physicality, through the ghost of his fingers over her sweat-damp skin, the trembling muscles of her stomach, the taut line of her thigh, the way her hands flexed restlessly in sheets or against his shoulders.
There he lost the predatory quiet he'd gained as he grew and became some something else--someone else, someone she knew better, someone fiercer and closer, whose heartbeat she could read in her skin, who held onto her until bruises might flower, who whispered throaty words of surrender and possession into the fall of her hair as he drove into her body, as they moved together, locked together, her head tipped back to bare her throat and her lips parted, eyelashes fluttering.
He might have laid the heads of his enemies at her feet, in a wilder time. He brought her rare texts instead, strange scrolled spellwork, the curiosities she pored over in the night, the amusements she enjoyed most. He brought her anything she might have desired; he did not seem to understand how much she would have given for him, in the face of so little ground she would surrender.
They, too, deserve to live, she said to him. He would shake his head, mouth a stark line, and no matter what words she used, she could still see the death in his face, the sharp vehemence for vengeance, the savage anger.
As they grew, he no longer took her hand; no longer pressed their palms together, letting strands of her awareness slip through his, weaving them together like a terribly complex puzzle. Instead he offered her his arm--and later, pinned in bed, his body over or under her, their skin sliding together as slick and seamlessly as once their hearts did, he held her wrists, and she surrendered this--her heart, her mind, all the private corners of her soul--with all the fierce devotion she would never give her beliefs up to.
It was enough to hold them together.
In those days, they thought it would be enough forever.