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lykomancer

Loss and Longing


The cool metal fingers drifted through the blonde hair, taking their time, and the owner of said fingers rolled back further onto the ground, watching his companion with an intensity matched that the other had only seen once before, in one other person.

The one that had touched them both so deeply that those left in his wake were helpless to do anything but seek out each others' miserable company, remembering and not-remembering, aching and seething and crying out lonely and hurting in the dew-cold grass under the full moon.

On nights like this, that one, like the distant moon, seemed attainable if only hands could be stretched out to embrace warm flesh and hard steel and eyes half-closed and deluded in the dark to see what they wanted to see.

The blonde pulled the other closer, hand wrapped around the inhuman wrist, and he went willingly, letting himself be pulled into the sanctuary of the cinnamon-scented crimson coat to cuddle close, purring like a contented kitten. There was an edge to him still, even like this, a harsh jaggedness that electrified the air, and the blonde shifted under his weight, golden eyes glowing in the dim light reflected from the metal shoulder, pleased.

That muted anger, slicking the other's pale skin like a sheen of sweat, was so close to his determination and tempestuous temper, so like the sour teeth-on-edge not of his frustration and ambition and exasperation...

The blonde's mouth quirked up in a smirk, rolling the flavor of it across his tongue before licking it over his lips, smoothing it on like balm on aching, chapped skin, and he wrapped his arms around the smaller, heavier boy, feeling the steel joints catch his clothes and bite at his flesh, feeling the other gasp softly and then growl, eyes narrowing briefly.

"You look... " he said in his growling, rasping voice as he looked up. ... just like him... "... fucking perfect." He reached up again to toy with the long, thick blonde bangs, using his real hand this time.

Al nodded, leaning into the caress. He brought Wrath's other hand up to his lips, kissing the steel knuckles slowly, reverently. The smell of it was comforting, and he nuzzled against the metal for a moment, savoring the slight hum of the electricity within it. It dragged something, something unspeakable and unspoken, slow across his soul like the edge of a razor—not quite a memory, but something, something painfully familiar, loved and lost and longed for. But he smiled again, forcing the confident grin onto his face, feeling for the compliment in those words and trying not to hear the ones that Wrath hadn't said.

"You are... " he responded with a soft sigh. ... so like him, in so many ways... "... perfect."

The moon rose higher, bathing the two below in its pale golden glow as they embraced, seeking one that they could no longer find anyplace other than in each other.