15A/N My deep gratitude to the ever-gracious YoungBoho for helping me out with this.
LoveHenge
Yet another full day alone. I feel dejected, lonely, and depressed. I am in desperate need for a vacation from my sad life and my unfulfilled needs. But I lack the energy and money. However, the alluring magic box is here, with its cable attached.
Cuddling on the soft worn sofa, I emerge myself in sweet oblivion pushing the tiny buttons of the remote. My lifeline.
The documentary about Druids and Megaliths is interesting, Stonehenge, Carnac, countless others mysterious sites scattered across Europe. Fascinating, and yet not sufficiently so.
I stretch my hand again, surfing the channels.
That's it! A marathon of some television series. A 24-hour break. Escape.
There are vampires, werewolves, and fairies. There is a girl that looks like me, slightly older and more self-confident, and a vampire that resembles him exactly, only with shorter hair. There is romance, betrayal, and gore.
My troubles with him dissolve and slip away from my brain, as my eyes focus on the hypnotic screen. I live with the characters, cry with them, laugh with them. All is forgotten.
Hours pass, light turns dark, and I fight my fluttering eyelids...
~o~
The forest again. The same one where I first met him. There are trees and trails and a full moon. Tiny half-paths that disappear into the trees. A still pond. A gentle breeze. Soft green grass, moss, and old fallen leaves that rasp whenever the wind moves through them. Dark jade forest between mountains. No one is around.
Then there is me. Short—curvy. Soft. Bronze skin. Blonde hair falling to my back in waves. A long white strapless cotton dress with a flowing skirt covered in tiny rosebuds. A sundress. A dress made for a summer afternoon but worn in the middle of the night.
I am walking in front of him mostly. I feel his eyes on my body, on my honeyed skin, glowing faintly in the moonlight, on my ass and my wiggly walk. I am walking slowly, trying not to trip over uneven ground, toward a henge, a circle of ancient standing stones. He says we'll sit there.
He sits on a tumbled slab.
He pats his lap and tells me to sit.
Normally, I would hesitate. I would feel unsure, scared, even though I would surely want it more than anything. But not tonight. This night is magic, and I sit without pause. His legs feel sturdy and cool underneath me, like granite serving as a bench. I sit on his right thigh, and kick my legs over his left. I twine my arms around his neck, and press my face into him. I breathe all of him in.
Watch while he tells me a story. No one could hear us; we talk low, near each others ears. We talk about his life with the druids, about witnessing these stones rising and falling. About the perpetual cycle of life and death. Rebirth for all but him.
His hands grabs at my little belly. He feels me through the thin cotton. I do not have a bra or panties on, and he knows it well because he asked. He makes me feel perfect in my secret exposure. He rocks me on his lap, and slides his hands beneath the long skirt. No one can see. He touches my dripping secret, then laughs, and tells me I am wonderful.
I feel wonderful.
He grabs a fistful of my hair when he kisses me. Then, he pats my ass and tells me to walk.
We walk down a trail used only by the shy deer. Down a hill we trample and stop against a tree. We are out of view now. Alone. His voice comes from a tantalizing short distance asking me to tell him what I want, and the sinful words pour out of me. They are fantastically naughty. Words like kiss, fuck, yours, mine. And all the words in between. I release them and look into his eyes, feeling him cool against my warm belly. He pulls me into him, so close.
He reminds me about blood. I drop my eyes. I feel unsure. My tummy flips nervously. What if it's ghastly and I want to spit it out? How will I swallow if it's weird?
I close my eyes anyway. Because I want to know. Because it is he, and there is nothing more I want than to give him what he asks for. I open my mouth softly, lips parted, and my breath comes quickly.
I wait for him to do it.
He surprises me by kissing me hard, holding my face still between his hands. I keep my eyes closed and let the world go fuzzy. I fall into that cottony place where it is all soft, heavy, and wet breathing punctuated only by the sharpness of his fangs. He pulls away and watches my face. Then he puts his bleeding wrist to my open, waiting mouth. I think it feels like sap and his semen, and fire, and life. It feels intimate, sexy, dangerous, and beautiful. Like claiming. I didn't know it could feel like this. Fizzy at first. Foreign. Distinct. Then, inseparable from myself. Inside me. Mine. His. My knees buckle a little from the sheer eroticism, and I forget how to breathe.
He takes away the spring of his arm.
And bites deep into my wrist. The sting is swift and, ah... so good.
I feel him draw on my vein as if he were pulling from deep within my loins.
Then he bites his arm once more, holding both our hands above the sacrificial stone. Dripping, bleeding, pooling—a puddle of blood.
He licks my wrist and heals the wound.
With a sudden theatrical movement, he rips my dress away then nudges me into onto my back.
He dips his long white fingers in the blood. His blood and my blood. Our blood.
Like Chinese brushes, his digits glide over my feet, my legs, my thighs and hips, tracing intricate patterns. Drawing magic runes on my abdomen, hieroglyphs on my chest, sun and the moon on my forehead. He whispers their names, calling them out in forgotten languages, archaic dialects.
He stops, standing tall to admire his masterpiece—his word, not mine.
Then he lays, naked too, on top of me, touching, just barely. Motionless. Not crushing me with his weight, but almost levitating. Twining our fingers, he then presses more of his flesh on mine, copying onto his own flawless skin the complex design that he created. A mirror image of my own, equally blond locks, equally blue eyes, and same red embellishment. I am burning between the equal coldness of the rock and his rock-hard body.
He asks me if I'll take him. As a lover, as a husband, as everything. Deep in his eyes is the answer. My everything. I nod, finally accepting the truth.
For a time as long as eternity, he stares at me, his look piercing my very soul as I shiver in anticipation. Until I cannot stand it. Either the waiting or the flames within will consume my entire being. I wrap my legs around his waist, in a desperate gesture, nudging him closer.
In a swift, smooth movement, he enters me, filling my aching void. Yes. Our joining makes me complete. A vital missing piece finally in place. Our fire melting us into each other. Fire in our veins, our eyes, our breath, our hearts. Where there was nothing, there now is plenty. Where there was solitude, there is now us.
Over and over, he thrusts, coming home.
We dance in the rhythm of my heart, the primordial dance of creation. In his eyes, I see the depths of the Universe. His ambrosia lips are dripping nectar of the Gods. His breath—the anima of life.
Eye to eye, mouth to mouth, sex to sex. Vibrating, pulsating. Awakening every cell within my body
Heart to heart, soul to soul. As one. His former silent chest is back to life, his soul reaching from the darkness that held it captive, reaching for mine.
Vibration turns into currents, of light. Swirling, running on my skin, on our skins.
His eyes break the gaze and I take in the magnificence of his body above mine. Where there was dried blood on his skin, now there is light. Live fire, dancing fire, magic fire. Eerie light radiating from our joined body, exuding countless sparks.
I watch in wonder as the patterns on my arm radiate a phosphorescent light.
And only now, I see we are not lying any more, but floating and twirling in the air. No longer "up" or "down."
I become aware of them, of stars of flashing light all around us. Electric blue tiny stars, golden flakes, blinding white sparks. Light-flakes. Like crumbs of the sun and moon. Vibrating, pulsating. Murmuring about us, about them, about life and death and about hope and love. About remembering. Silently singing to us, like millions of tiny silver bells. A stream of celestial crystal sounds spiraling all around us.
Deep, boiling chaos grew within me, within us. Rising and rising, adding further dimensions to bliss. Wonder.
One heart. One soul. One.
"Welcome back. Welcome home."
A/N
Disclaimer: I do not own those. Nevertheless, I love them.
Tradition in Romania says that between Christmas and New Year the skies open, and you can see and hear the angels. The veil between realities thinness, sometimes even lifts for a bit.
I hope each of us we will catch a glimpse of the world's magnificence in this time of year, even if only for a moment.
Let me know what you want in this brain new year of your life. May it bring you your heart desire. If that means running into a half-naked Viking, so be it.
*blowing a million kisses*