five acts meme
I've never done Five Acts before, but I've always been tempted. And ha, during law finals seems like a good time to do so! Or I'm just really wanting to read/write sex and sexuality right now.
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ha. haha. still untitled his dark materials <3
Asriel is uncontrolled.
Marisa wants to laugh. She wants to crawl her fingers into his hair, tug his brutal mouth down to her stomach, exult in who he is - what she commands - what they've created. Between the two of them is a battlefield but also so much - so much - more, and soon there will be more still. There will be a child. (Will she tell him? Neither Marisa's thorny heart nor calculated mind can tell.)
But she knows when she kisses him, when his big body presses her against the bookshelves and all her plans twist and knot diabolically in her mind she's perilously close to not being able to tell. Asriel breathes out a guttural deep, sharp breath into her mouth and she wants to sink her nails in and pull him into her, into the pious strictures on the shelf behind her, into the pearly holy shine of the artifacts they've pressed beneath their bodies.
This is real, she wants to but will never say. Between the two of them is theology and cosmology and dried-black blood and nothing, no space. He arches his hips into his - a bizarrely artful lover, in the end, and she teaches him every contour of her desire in the end and then promptly regrets it as the student surpasses the teacher - and buries his mouth in her throat. She thinks briefly that he'll bite viciously, end this charade of trust and honesty (but are they dishonest or can she simply not bare to see gentility in its form from his lips and her skin) and she knows she'll take him with her.
She's always known that. Marisa has no surrender left in her.
If she was going to die, though - and these are the things she thinks about when he's buried warmly in her body, when his breath almost gasps against her throat - she'd choose he to be the one to take her down into perdition. (Of course she would.) She'd kiss him until their lips stung because he wouldn't be winning and he, of all people, would understand that. You lose when you surrender. Marisa doesn't surrender. Sometimes she makes a passable attempt at not feeling at all.
Asriel laughs in a raw, grind-stone darkness against her throat. Her furs spill up against her thighs, skin that he'll leave marks against, his square black shape blocking out the light. He closes his eyes and for a second in his black rain-speckled coat against antique manuscripts and collectibles he's exquisitely vulnerable, brutishly indefatigable, and Marisa gasps. Light spills up into her throat, behind her eyes. He thrusts back into her, deeply, and she fancies they're a closed circuit.
Now is not a moment when she's missing their lies. Now is a moment when she exults in their communion.
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Forgive me if I just read this over and over again. Forever my favorite otp.
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