❛ ...how did you get these scars? ❜
woven in blankets — tangled in silence — the pair are far beyond rapt perception. the fleuret, an eternity brimming the weight of inimitable optics, accompanies ardyn’s restlessness with weary lashes and melodic irises. words are affixed to the reserve of tongue; the evening’s resonance dispersing within skulking shadows. the light never lasts, not as it once had. a blessing to those who flourish amidst the darkness, and retreat to its ambiguity like a familial bond.
artful leisure ornaments the pallidity of knuckles as they caress a foreign, restful cheekbone. the man is enslaved to the exhaustion of his anatomy, lethargy burrowed within posture concealed under linen. allowing him to rest remains a persistent wound upon ardyn’s shoulders. nevertheless, ravus surrenders to his gentleness — like an acquiescent lamb beneath the serrated affection of a butcher’s cleaver. ardyn has performed manslaughter in an abundance to accomplish refined iniquity, a sinful disposition of his pride to mutilate those in opposition to his cerebral designs ( methodically, of course ). however, no such desire encounters the mildness of touch within hand against the fleuret. a tenderness bequeaths him. it was moments such as these — intermittent, yet profound — that rehearse putrefied visions of ardyn’s supressed history. precedence of his anguish derides him — relaying his only instances of true joviality, harmony, and love as a countering insult against his mortality, or lack thereof. yet he stays, time and time again. he cannot resist the manifesting pestilence of ravus’s allure, no matter the consequences of the plague within him.
the fragrance of nightfall skitters throughout their ribcages, audaciousness of stupor reigning the naivety of ravus’s intent to sustain consciousness. ‘ it appears i don’t have long with you , now . ’ insensibility characterizes the commander’s flesh upon his accursed’s as ardyn adjusts himself within immediacy. an amending composure — pointer, middle, and ring finger smoothing the length of ravus’s abdomen — incites temperate curiosity of mirroring hands. as one traces, the other sketches — fingers exhibiting each contour of their counterpart’s body. a few crevices elicit squirm of the commander, as is their ‘ reserved locations ’ for the privilege of ardyn’s handle. they smile along one another, foreheads pressing together as a technique of their familiarity. shortly thereafter, incisors contact ravus’s ear, a determinism behind ardyn’s wakefulness. he yearns for — devours — a coveted desire to keep the young male awake. ‘ why must you sleep , i want you to stay with me , ’ he reflects; negligible guilt testifying his reluctance to be left behind as the fleuret must pursue the boundlessness of night’s psychological fiction.
“ —— how did you get these scars ? ”
tersely are the words enunciated, prying ardyn’s sensuality from suppleness of lobe to novelty of heterochromia. even upon the jurisdiction of slumber, sights nearest the border of wonderland, ravus’s digit manages to follow the inconsistency of tissue along stark physique. he had never asked about them before. mutilations of esteem, disfigurements of betrayal, the scars remained with him; some a result of his own doing — reactive castigation — while others an inevitable cruelty. to remind of his defeat; to remind of his imminent vengeance.
intending somnolence guides left hand over watchful eyelids, the immortal veiling ravus’s contrast of hues beneath the temptation of obscurity. lassitude accentuates purpose of motion, the fleuret relinquishing his consciousness to the serenity of imagination. ardyn speaks to no one.
“ i’m afraid that is a tale not meant for your ears ——— sleep well , my … ”
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