The Violet Hour

[shelley_winters]

Shelley tugs the neck of the shirt up again, irritated. His clothes are all far too big, the shirt she is wearing as a pyjama top almost as long as a tunic, falling down to her thighs. A pair of his socks - an attempt to keep her freezing feet warmer - flop pathetically against the floor as she walks out of the bathroom, hair soft and clinging with static to her cheeks from overbrushing.

She had stayed there as long as possible, but you can't ever hide forever. As she closes the door behind her, she grits her teeth, determined. There are couches in the other room, and that's where she's headed.

The girl doesn't look at Ishamael as she makes silently for the other door.

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[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

A flicker of ire across his face in that violet darkness. Pulling his hand from her breast, and his mouth from hers, Ishamael rolled over and lay on his back beside her. It was a bitter-sweet, but he had planted the seed of doubt and the knowledge of what she herself feels in her heart.

"...Very well, my lady. I will be true to my word."

[shelley_winters]

Shelley shuts her eyes, breathing unsteadily in the sudden space. He stopped. And in the sudden silence, she knows that if he hadn't, she couldn't have made herself fight him.

Stop thinking, don't even- she won't think about that. Not now.

Slowly, she turns on her side. Cooler sheets slide over her body as she moves that little bit further away. She'll feel the cold again soon.

Good.

[always-a-liar.livejournal.com]

His breathing is labored in the stillness as he glanced over towards her. A thin sheen of sweat on his body as he laid back with arms outstretched, the cold biting. The smile on his face was triumphant. The sensation of silk over her skin on his fingertips and lips was slow to fade and he cherished it while he could.

Oh, it had certainly been glorious. Hearing her ragged, unsteady breathing next to him, Ishamael was aware of one thing for certain. This had not been her victory, far from it. The seeds and thoughts and feelings planted in her brain would serve him far better than a wet spasm of pleasure.

He smiled.

(I win again.)