[ Men have told her lies and half-truths before in hopes to make her theirs, so they could use her power and glory as a queen or a saint and claim it as their own.
This is not one of those times.
(It might be easier if it was).
Hearts and promises exchanged, Alina whines once again at the utter unfairness of it all against his lips. The stretch of him is sudden and blunt, but they do not have the time for the meandering affectionate exchanges, not in the life that she wants it. Neither of them owns their fate enough to give it freely to the other, and for a moment Alina is forced to contend with the fact that letting herself fall in love resulted in a sacrifice of her own making. She does not think the word love. She might think the word love.
People think ridiculous things in the heat of the moment. Men are supposed to make ridiculous promises seeking the warmth between women's legs, and the wet slide of bodies, a possessive hand at their breasts, a shower of shockingly affectionate kisses are supposed to make them believe. ]
I wishβ [ Stuttered and stopped with the rhythm of her body, arms wrapped around him and clinging as she tries to pull herself into the whole of his grip. She is light enough and he is strong enough that it should work.
What does she wish? That it was true? It is, but it isn't. She wishes that fate and time were not so cruel.
(Maybe they aren't, she thinks belatedly. After all, fate and time gave them this.)
Her head curls into the top of his shoulder, panting heavily as her fingers dig into the skin of his back. Her traitorous heart cracks. ]
no subject
This is not one of those times.
(It might be easier if it was).
Hearts and promises exchanged, Alina whines once again at the utter unfairness of it all against his lips. The stretch of him is sudden and blunt, but they do not have the time for the meandering affectionate exchanges, not in the life that she wants it. Neither of them owns their fate enough to give it freely to the other, and for a moment Alina is forced to contend with the fact that letting herself fall in love resulted in a sacrifice of her own making. She does not think the word love. She might think the word love.
People think ridiculous things in the heat of the moment. Men are supposed to make ridiculous promises seeking the warmth between women's legs, and the wet slide of bodies, a possessive hand at their breasts, a shower of shockingly affectionate kisses are supposed to make them believe. ]
I wishβ [ Stuttered and stopped with the rhythm of her body, arms wrapped around him and clinging as she tries to pull herself into the whole of his grip. She is light enough and he is strong enough that it should work.
What does she wish? That it was true? It is, but it isn't. She wishes that fate and time were not so cruel.
(Maybe they aren't, she thinks belatedly. After all, fate and time gave them this.)
Her head curls into the top of his shoulder, panting heavily as her fingers dig into the skin of his back. Her traitorous heart cracks. ]
I want you to be happy.