Truth be told, he needed the breath as much as she, but when he pulled his in, it was only drawn in a hiss. She'd pulled away. She'd pulled away. His light eyes darkened again, the danger flaring up with the ice and possession. The hands in her hair tightened, perhaps to the point where he could be hurting her. He couldn't focus on it. All that was in his head was the rejection, the rejection that'd always, always followed him, the same that caused his body to starve, his bones to fracture, his skin to shred and bleed. Hatred, hatred, fear and rejection -- it was ingrained in him, far more real than this fantasy City, and the irrational terror that his face, his true face, had been granted back to him.
But she hadn't pulled away completely, not completely. She was still against him, and in fear that she'd leave, he took the single step needed to trap her against the wall and his body. She couldn't leave. She couldn't leave. And then her eyes... her eyes, her eyes, the deep brown of fertile earth, eyes he could fall into, eyes that invited him rather than hated him.
I have missed you, my love.
Erik groaned and closed his mouth over hers again and feasted. His hands were desperate against her sides, but barely touched at all -- as if he were afraid he'd be pressed away, as if he had forgotten the vows they'd exchanged or all the nights she'd told him without words that she was his. He would never be finished with her. He would never get enough. "Angel," he murmured against her lips.