lysius.
HE HUMS BENEATH HER TOUCH, like the low purr of a leopard, and it chases away any other sensation he could feel. even the self-stitching hole in his stomach feels like a dull ache, miles away, and it’s the sort of effect that he might have on others, but that no one’s ever had on him – until she came along. she cups his face with a look that was warm, real and unafraid, and there’s a tightness in his throat, an almost sad relief surging its way up to a half-parted mouth and glossed eyes, because he had hoped and he had waited so long to be looked at like this, to be looked at by her, as if there was no one else and nothing else that could matter.
IT WAS PARALYZING TO SEE HER LEAN INTO HIM, as if his heart had suddenly stopped. the light touch of her lips against his was both a pulse of life and a seal of death, for the sanctity of her kiss was now set into the core of his heart, made holy and vital, and to ever find himself without it would surely be his end. he was clearly in want of more when she pulled from him, and the lilac pool that now swirled and took over the blue of his irises was a testament to this, as was the gentle, coaxing touch of his hand cradling her face when her smile greeted his own. ❛ ariadne… i– ❜ his words were deliciously stolen from him, as was his breath by yet another kiss, far more exhilarated than the last. the taste of her was honey-sweet and addictive, transcending anything or anyone his mouth had ever touched, and he savors every second and every soft exchange of her breath as he deepens the kiss just enough to show how ardently he loved her.
HE TASTES OF HONEY-WINE, MINGLED WITH SPICES SHE CANNOT name and could not begin to describe. He tastes like joy and abandon and freedom, things she had never thought to pursue before she had met him. He pulls her deeper with his lips and his tongue and she opens for him, like a flower bending to the sun to drink in its life-giving rays. She wonders how she could have lived without him before this -- she vows to herself to never live without him again, to never deny herself this sensation of falling and rising and leaping and surrendering and everything she would never, never have wanted had she not been by his side, had it not been at his touch. Her fingers wend their way to his curls and become tangled; with no direction from her, her grip tightens and she kisses him more deeply, with more of herself than she’s ever given anyone. Eyes closed, she thinks only of him, and the way his mouth feels beneath hers. Ariadne does not know how long they remain locked together like this. She only knows that she feels something slip into place -- a missing piece of herself that has always been beyond her grasp of understanding has been found. With great effort, she pulls back and looks down at him, a smile that she is sure will never leave affixed upon her. “Dionysus ---” she breathes. “I ...” Her throat tightens. She knows what she has to say. She has only said it once, to her brother, and it meant something different, then. And the words had not proven a talisman against harm. They had been the opposite. Fear grips her, and instead of fighting back she lets it wash across her, through her, away from her. How can she be afraid to say such a simple phrase when Dionysus is looking at her like this? “I love you.”
