americanvvitch | (Reply)

the terrible fire of old regret is honey on my tongue

I feel it in my blood
In the fire and the flood
The beast that can't be killed
Even now you mark my steps
Lovely bitter water
All the days of our delights are poison in my veins
I know I shouldn't love you
I know

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From:

devildo

Another thing to keep locked away in Alastor's mental file of acutely vivid mental images of Lotte: the way she held her poise as she drank, the way it never seemed to affect her. He was sure this was all carefully planned on her part; he saw that delicate sip from the neck of the bottle sliding down her gently pulsing throat. Ah, yes. Pulsing. He fixed his eyes on the beat of her heart there for a moment, his chin in his hand, his elbow on his knee, his lips smashed against his fingers.

"Twenty-three," he answered her in reverse. The number would always stick out in his mind. It was his favourite, he planned it that way. And he reached his slender fingers out towards her, wriggling them in the air for the bottle. She hadn't said she cared how he got to sleep, had she? That was her mistake.

"Yes." And he admitted, "I didn't plan a career of it - that would be silly." But once you got the taste for such things, it was impossible to rinse it out of your mouth, no matter what you drank, and how much. "I don't fancy myself silly. But I did it anyway. How's that for absurd?"