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ａ ｎ ｇ ｅ ｌ ． (
2016-01-10 11:06 am (UTC)
It's all so - so - a list of things for women who haven't done the things she has. Haven't been forced to watch and accept the world for what it was before she understood almost anything else. It's cliche, it's poetry for knights and ladies, and he's a killer and she's at best, traitor, dishonorable woman. Neither of them deserve getting what they want even for a moment, in a way that isn't just some encroaching self pity. It's the surety: this will end in blood and hurt for both of them. Neither of them are coming out from this in one piece.
But she doesn't need to tell him that. He knows, he must know, he's reckless and dangerous but no fool. Or maybe they were worse, because here they were - doing it all anyway. Because it's not a question that he would be cruel, and it's not a question that she would let him. That in the second he's reaching for her, she's stepping into it. The second to know - know there's going to be only pain that follows every moment spent like this - and it disregard it for the sharp inhalation of breath as her hands loosen their grip at her throat, and shift to his shoulders. Taking hold in his jacket, and parting her lips against him in something that is firm in return. That is at odds that the softest, softest noise she makes in the back of her throat, because no, it had not been her loneliness embellishing. It feels more than just good, yes, yes it hurts, because that's better. It's something more than she's ever had and it doesn't loosen her hold on him.
He won't let her go and she doesn't know how to let him. So maybe it's all - fair, in it's way.
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