a reckoning

“I suppose you have some uses.” They were breathing each other’s air, his skin tingling where her breath touched it. His hand found its way around her waist, settling at the base of her spine and pulling her even closer, pressing themselves together despite the layers of fabric. “It would look so lovely on a pike, don’t you think?” He swallowed hard. “Staying there until you rot, letting the crows take your eyes.” His teeth skimmed his bottom lip, eyes darting to her own mouth. “There could still be many uses for you without a tongue. It might even make you charming, to be able to be in your presence without your mindless shrill babble.” The pressure of her hand in his hair caused him to retaliate, pushing his head towards hers instead. His face closer to hers than ever, he pressed his lips to hers, ending in a sharp bite upon her lip. “You wouldn’t dare, darling. For what is one of your cousins, when I have given you all you now have. In fact, I might now rid us of one of them simply because I can.”

“I have many uses, least of all giving your fragile claim some actual legitimacy.” The road towards victory was followed by one quick jab to be followed by a short lethal stab, two points gained for his one. And yet she could neither think of another slight good enough voice when the dampness of her clothes seemed to be minimising the layers of her clothing to the point where she could feel the scorch of his hand upon her very skin. Flimsy as her clothes suddenly felt they were the only armour between her and total consumption by him. And yet, as his throat bobbed and he swallowed, as his teeth proceeded to flash and seek purchase upon his bottom lip she had the most traitorous and fleeting thought that perhaps being consumed so entirely by him as to become one together would not be the worst of all fates. A shiver of cold ran down her spine, an uncontrollable tremble which betrayed her. “Be useful for once,” she murmured, unable to tear herself away, and feeling a flush of renewed anger at that fact. Weak, he was making her weak. “If you’re going to relieve me of another cousin, then remove the one that wears the Germanic crown. Make me watch as you have his head cut from his body.” 

Macbeth: Sentences.

“Perhaps if you bought a conditioner that worked, I wouldn’t complain.” Hand snaking to the nape of her neck, finding purchase in the dark waves there, he shook his head. “For as dry and brittle as it is, you’d think you’d never even heard of it.”

 “You’d find something to complain about, you have a gift for it.” She sighed then, more so as to annoy him than anything else, and leant her head back ever so slightly in his grip. The pressure wasn’t exactly pleasant, but she’d let him think otherwise. Besides, she had an itch just right about that area which he could no doubt be taunted into scratching for her. “Perhaps I should just simply shave it all off then if it’s so repulsively ugly.”

He scoffed at her words. “I am open to change, just not changes you make.” His hand gripped hers, nails scratching her pale skin. “Seeing as you don’t seem to know what conditioner is, there’s no way that mop you call a hair could look better than mine.”

“Last week you complained about the $100 I spent on conditioner, be consistent for once in your life, darling.”