She squeezes. The delicate bones under your skin grinding together in her grip. Any other day it would make you seethe, snapping and snarling at her to hide the fear you feel at the reminder of your weakness. (you know she knows. at times it unsettles you. the degree to which she knows you.) (you would kill her for it. you and your bloodied diamond both. if the ache of of being left alone didn't make you tremble like a lamb to slaughter more than being known.)

But it is not any other day.

Today you have made your request, couched as a demand. For you have thought a hundred, a thousand, times of how to do so.

You cannot say I want to see you, all of you. You cannot say I dream of cutting you open darling, dearest, wretched monstrous thing mine, that you may not hide a thing from me. You cannot say That there are things you have shared with others, but not me, is- I would kill us both rather than- you cannot-

The depth of your desire continuously disgusts you. Even now.

Your skin begins to crawl where she holds you. You idly wonder if she can feel it.

As the silence stretches on unbroken you wonder too how badly her grip shall bruise. If your Orphaner intends to snap your wrist for daring to cross this unspoken line. (you wonder what it says of you. that you would allow it.)(you wonder if she knows.)(you wonder, if even for all the ways she terrifies him, he has warned her what the depths of your devotion has led you to. or perhaps, like Bachus, she simply recognized another thing like her, and knows there is far too much you would allow.)

Slowly. Almost imperceptibly if not for the way blood rushes back to your fingers. Saturn loosens her grip.

Her paw is still on your wrist. A steady anchor. A warning. Both.

But she allows you to move, to lift her false face and-

Much as he teases you truly only wear your true thoughts on your face around Bachus. A steady, blank mask of mild disdain is what you wear elsewhere. (Saturn, of course, earns your truest disdain. or your biting smiles that somehow only she registers as a warning of your displeasure.)

Your body is another story.

Minute as it is you know she sees you flinch. ‘Sees’ as she clicks the tensing of your muscles in a failed attempt to abort it. Her paw clenches on your wrist once more.

You cannot lie to her, or yourself. You cannot say oh darling it's not that bad, I didn't mean to-

What comes from your mouth is, “I wish to touch you.”

She flinches then. And you can guess at what she thinks, that this is a cruel jest and mockery when it is anything but.

But once more her grip loosens enough. Your siblings tease at your inability to be gentle but by god do you attempt it now.

Fingertips alight on ruined, exposed muscle. Tracing her jaw, her muzzle, over blackened fangs that have met your flesh more than once, a brief detour to the scruff of her mustache that makes you huff an almost laugh. It suits her somehow.

You would pass just as gently over the emptiness of blank eye sockets but even you know there are limits to what she may allow.

Your other hand comes up, cups her jaw. You have been silently cataloguing each twitch of her fins, every aborted sharp inhale. It must hurt her even now. Yet she gentles ever so slightly as you hold her.

You allow your thumb to slide feather light, back and forth. Slowly. Softly. You have always been a good mimic after all. (it is all you are, really.)

“So.” Her voice is a quieter rasp than usual. Tone ringing with something you can't pin down fully. “Vvwerdict? Curiosity all fuckin satisfied?”

Ah. You have upset her inadvertently. That is..displeasing.

In truth to her question: your curiosity is not satisfied. It will never be until she allows you peel back her skin, to carve the muscle from her frame, hold her organs in your bloodied hands and scrawl your name in her fucking pusher and-

You're getting side tracked. Your Lady wants an answer.

“You're beautiful.” You say instead. Her breath hitches, jaws parting just barely and you're unsure if she means to bite or snarl and rebuke your words as lies.

You kiss her before she can do either.

She doesn't seem to know what to do with it, with you. You don't know either. So you kiss her again. And again. And again.

I think I'm falling in love with you. You don't say it. I think it makes me hate you more.