shadowreignedâ:
although heâs still getting used to the adjustments that the change brings on, nixon doesnât think that strength will ever be one that he can wrap his head around. he only notices that heâs tugged too hard when aspen winces in pain at the action, and his face briefly contorts into one of guilt, shame, as he looks up at his tiny little lover, his own pitied noise trapped in his throat. nixonâs green gaze searches his expression desperately while his fingers quickly massage at the bunched muscles of aspenâs shoulder, a quiet âiâm sorryâ passing through him. no, he muses, he doesnât think heâll ever get used to temporarily being stronger than aspen, when it was painfully obvious before that when human, aspen had been stronger than him.
perhaps, in more ways than one.
nixon doesnât dwell on the negative thoughts that try to force their way into his mind, a metaphorical fortress of cement walls so high that itâs a wonder how any person can penetrate them. aspen is the exception. aspen is the only one who nixon swings the door wide open for, begging him inside with a look that screams iâm yours. he always has been. and he always will.
nixon groans with elation when aspen presses himself just as desperately into him, though he can feel the exhaustion nipping at both of them, the desire to stay until the last thing they have to do is pry apart. at the mention of bennie, nixonâs lips curl into a sardonic grin â he loves bennie immensely, but even he wouldnât tolerate her splitting them apart. not unless she wanted to be on his good side. âiâd like to see her try.â nixon says with a bit of a growl, the noise rumbling dark in his throat. even the idea⌠it twists his gut in ways that he knows isnât quite healthy, but who can blame him? years of disbelieving in everything aspen stands for⌠heâs not willing to give it up so easily.
and then aspen starts playing with the curls at the base of his neck, and whatever dark resolve nixon has started to let fester, eases just as quickly as it came. heâs found that lately, the beast inside of him is more than willing to rear its head at the first sign of tempers being raised, and he doesnât know if itâs the versuch side of him or if itâs always been there. god only knew after the death of sebastian, nixon wasnât the same. âthat sounds like a fantastic idea.â nixon muses gently, angling his head up so he has access to aspenâs neck. he presses kisses along the column of his windpipe and only stops when he feels himself start to get carried away, nips turning harder, mouth lingering longer. for once, he just wants to unwind naturally â not by something heâs inherently caused. not when aspen sinks too easily into him.
âaspenââ he chokes on his name, always, and tightens his grip on whatever place of aspen he holds. nixon gets lost in the warmth of him, the perfect way he molds against him, and nudges his nose softly against the sharp cut of aspenâs jawline. âhow often do you dream of me?â nixon knows the answer before aspen says it, but itâs not from heightened intelligence. the question is simple, but so much more: a rooting mechanism, one that pulls the other from their troubled thoughts, their growing hysteria, come-what-may. always. nixonâs been on the opposite end of the question a thousand times. it always works. âhow often am i on your mind?â
just as quickly as it came, the pain in aspenâs shoulder subsides completely, nixonâs touch and his genetically accelerated healing both doing their part to ease the ache. he, too, forgets that his lover now far surpasses him in strength, and likely will for a few more months at the least. admittedly, itâs as unsettling as it is reassuring; while he takes comfort in the idea that nixon can defend himself better than ever before, he also doesnât yet know his own power. that self-awareness will come with time but, for now, heâs like a fawn still finding footing on shaky legs â which means, on occasion, he still unintentionally jerks aspenâs arm out of its socket.
he supposes there are worse things.
âyouâre right. she wouldnât dare,â he giggles, slightly drunk off the feeling of nixonâs teeth on his neck. unconsciously, aspen rocks his hips side to side, desperate to readjust his weight so it isnât settled so uncomfortably on his groin. nixon bites hard enough to sting and aspen inhales, sharp, toes curling in his boots. âno one wouldâŚâ if he thought his family inexplicably respected him before, it was nothing compared to now. nixonâs towering presence is a constant, unspoken threat, punctuating aspenâs orders with a menacing glare. people listen to aspen when he talks â but nixon doesnât have to say anything.Â
together, theyâre quite a pair. bennie has said as much.
nixonâs voice drifts to him on a warm breath against his throat and aspen hums, a knowing smile working its way across his face as he shuts his eyes. itâs rare he remembers his dreams, and the ones he does are indistinct and lack a storyline, but theyâre full of texture and contrast, nixonâs face, touch, taste, smell flashing across his mindâs eye. even if he wanted to, aspen could never keep him out of his mind. his dna is wired to crave nixon.
ânot a single moment passes where you i donât think of you,â he coos, burying his face further into nixonâs collarbone. he wishes they could get closer. if he could, aspen would melt into his fiancĂŠ, never be without him. everyone else, he could sacrifice. âyouâre my everything.â despite his mumbling, aspenâs words carry weight. âmy beginning and end. mio tutto cuore.â the truth has never fit so comfortably on his tongue. âcan we go to bed? i wanna lay with you.â
















