estdeus_innobis | Yeah you wanna do right but not right now

"Which was your favourite?"

Brant.

"That depends," I say, "on what I was using it for. Each body to its purpose." I smile at him. "I have worn so many bodies over the years. I could make something new in a heartbeat," I add. "What would you like?" I want to remind him of what I can do, perhaps. And maybe a new body will remind me less of our past together.

Edited 2011-11-06 20:37 (UTC)

"I have worn so many bodies over the years. I could make something new in a heartbeat. What would you like?"

I look at him thoughtfully. I wonder for what purpose he made the body he wore before, the pretty boy? Do his bodies shape him the way that Micah's memories have affected me: slight, but real?

"Something," I say, "that - feels like you. To you. As much as any body can," I add, because I know that about him: that he is not flesh. I want to know him again.

"Something that - feels like you. To you. As much as any body can."

I look at him thoughtfully for a moment.

"That is a gift," I say softly. "Very well." I think about it, because it is a difficult thing to decide on, and then I become.

This body is shaped like a man, though it could be a woman, wrapped as it is lightly in a white robe, and its face is quite sexless. No blood runs in its veins, only the scent of the desert. It is young, or old, or neither. My skin is amber, my eyes as pale as sea glass. I look something, I think, like גַּבְרִיאֵל who said hail. This is how they came, my kin, like and unlike men. But this body does not resonate with the same song. It is very beautiful, and very sad.

A gift for him, or for me? The softness of his voice is strange. I -

"Oh," I say, and my voice is soft too. He is - he looks -

I wish I could make him less sad, even though the sadness itself is beautiful. There's no consolation, is there, for what he is.

He looks less like a man - a human - than the idea of one, the lines and angles but none of the meat and sweat. "You are a strange thing," I tell him gently, and touch the skin of his hand. The bones there are very fine. "Thank you." It is a gift for me, even if he didn't mean it to be. "This is more beautiful than the others."

Because it is him - is it, because him is wrong too, though it sounds like an object and this is very much a being. إبليس‎. The skin almost glows, like a smokeless fire. It makes my eyes feel sore, like staring into a light. Not human, far less human than me even in my making. It's like being in love with the sea, or the sky, and the scope of that makes me feel dizzy. But I don't look away. Can you see how I feel?

"You are a strange thing," he says, and I smile a little. He takes my hand, and I can feel the humanness of it more in this form, the rough imperfections in the skin, the pulse of blood. "This is more beautiful than the others."

"Yes," I say. "You see, do you not, why men have worshipped me." I run my fine golden fingers over his face. "But you would not hunger for this body the way you would for the others. You would hold it like glass, something precious." I lean forward and kiss him. It is very chaste, and it is passionate too, in a way of all of air and light, nothing of skin. I straighten up. "Do you remember," I say, and I smile a little, "that you knew how to be in the body of a girl?"

Is he right? Something precious, yes. He kisses me, and perhaps it isn't the same hunger, but it's a hunger in me none the less. A yearning, sharp and hollow under my breastbone. Sweet, too, and fierce. Being kissed by him is like turning my face up to the sun.

I do hunger for you.

"Do you remember that you knew how to be in the body of a girl?"

"Oh," I say, my fingers touching my lips, "I did remember, earlier." It seems less strange than when the memory came back to me. Most things would, looking at him now. "This body is - less malleable, I think. So far." I look down at it. My eyes are drawn back to his face. You would hold it like glass.

"It will come back to you," I say. "I reminded you how to do it," I say. I put my fingertips over his eyelids, shutting them. "It was like this -"

And I show him the memory (http://estdeus-innobis.livejournal.com/155634.html#comments).

Both standing in the night-dark water, and I have the taste of his semen in my boy mouth as I say "Do you remember how to be a woman?", running a hand over his chest, taking hold of his cock. "Do you remember how it felt, its neat wet darkness, a finger or cock sliding inside you?" And his body transforming into hers, and later, rolling her onto her back, pushing my whole hand inside her, pale fingers deep inside her heat.

"You can be so many things, Night Wind. You are never just this."

I let him close my eyes. It's strange, how much I trust him.

Is that what I looked like? I can see myself in his memory, male and then female. I can feel myself around his hand. How strange it is, and - sweet.

"You can be so many things, Night Wind. You are never just this."

I can see-feel-understand it, how I made that change. And I can feel this body resisting the idea, its years of humanness heavy as lead. Healing it was easier - it moves towards that anyway - but this is something different. It makes me frustrated, my bones aching.

It doesn't help that his memory of sex has made my penis remarkably hard. I laugh a little, shakily. "I can see the way of it. I just can't - I will learn."

"I can see the way of it. I just can't - I will learn."

"You will," I say, quite certainly. And then I put this bright body away and slip back into Brant's, because I do not wish today to dazzle him too much. "And you remember how this works," I point out, quite meanly, as I put my hand around his erection. "Some things do not change." I smile at him and drop my hand. "But I should be grateful to it, since it led you back here." I wonder what human he wants - wanted - so much. I could look inside him, but I do not. I do not think it really matters a great deal.

He is the boy - Brant - again. I suck in a breath when he puts his hand on my penis. I didn't expect that, somehow.

"Some things do not change. but I should be grateful to it, since it led you back here."

I shake my head, but I'm laughing. I wish he hadn't moved his hand. "No. That was you, with your wish-granting. And I knew from the first that I wanted to be here. Your tower, I mean."

I put my own hand on his hip. It's quite different from touching that other body he made.

"Yes," I say patiently, "but it was your desire that made you want a wish, was it not?" I shake my head. "Your weakness for humans. I hope he is pretty, at least." And at least it is not Syl. I am not going to remind him of her, if he has not remembered yet.

He puts his hand on my hip, and I look at him through my eyelashes.

"I am glad you like the tower," I say, and I stroke his fingers where they rest on my hip. "I am quite fond of it myself."

"If you weren't known for granting wishes," I come back, "I wouldn't have come here. And yes, pretty. But not as pretty as you." Though it wasn't Valmont's prettiness that made me want him.

"I am glad you like the tower. I am quite fond of it myself."

"People are scared of it," I tell him, but I'm mostly focusing on his fingers on mine. I move my hand a little. The way he looks at me...I realise I'm biting my lip, and make myself stop.

"No one is as a pretty as me," I say, and I keep smiling at him because I can see that it is bothering him. He does not really remember flirting, does he? It makes my smile twitch up.

"People are scared of it," he adds, and his expression is flustered. It makes me want to goad him. I make my stroking of his hand very, very light and slow. His old self would have tried to touch me by now, even if he thought he might be rejected. He is such a child again.

It was easier, with Val. Then I just put my hand on his penis. But I don't dare do that now, even though I dared annoy him into throwing me across the room. My lips are parted, a little, and I feel hot in the face.

His fingers make me shiver.

I don't know what he wants. I reach out and put the palm of my other hand against his chest. I can feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt.

I can feel his heart beat, and that brings up a sudden sharp memory that makes my fingers dig in. Yes, I remember that.

I feel how he digs his fingers into my chest.

"You ate my heart," I say, "in a filthy alleyway, out of this chest." I pull open my shirt with my free hand, showing the pale skin, and I smile at him. And then I take hold of his hand, pull it off my chest. "Not today." He wants it now; let him need it.

Yes, I think I am finding my feet again, after the shock of his return, and I lift his hand, push his forefinger into my mouth, right back, and I bite down lightly on the base of it, tongue hot against his finger.

"You at my heart, in a filthy alleyway, out of this chest." His words, and the feel of his skin, turns my shiver into a hard shudder. "Not today."

A low disappointed sound in my throat, and then a startled noise as he draws my finger into his mouth. The feeling of that alone is almost enough to make this body ejaculate. I feel my mouth twist and I focus hard with that new awareness, pushing it away. My breath is coming fast through my nose. Can he tell that I haven't had sex in this body?

"You," I tell him, and I'm not-quite-laughing, at myself and at the situation, "are terrible. Horrible. Oh," as his tongue moves against my finger. Half-memories are crowding me, things that I've done with him. Oh, yes.

"You are terrible. Horrible."

I smile around his finger and pull it out of my mouth.

"You may yet remember how accurate that is," I say, and I tip his head to the side so I can bite down where his neck meets his shoulder.

"You may yet remember how accurate that is."

"I have no doubt of - ah! - of that." He hasn't forgiven me; he doesn't forgive. He hates me for what I did. He will hurt me, in one way or another, a very great deal.

But for now his teeth are digging into my skin, and I tilt my head to let him bite me. My hand is on the back of his head, lightly holding him. It's like a caress, though it isn't.

I can remember enough to know that I have never had much sense in situations like this.

I do not bite hard enough to break the skin, but it will bruise him, teeth grinding against flesh. I can imagine the mottled colour the skin will turn, and it satisfies me. I think of Tez's teeth in the back of my neck as he knocked me to the ground. I wore riding boots that evening, and I threatened him with a crop.

I use one hand to catch hold of his wrists, hold them against him so he cannot touch me, and my other hand opens his fly and gets hold of his erect penis.

I want to hold him. It's frustrating. Once there was a bed here, I think, and light through leaves, and I want -

I want this, oh god. My head goes back. Does it make him feel better, to be in control of this? I can let him have that. Yes, I can let him have that.

His hand feels so good. Micah's memories are more immediate than my own, and this is - this is -

I won't orgasm. I won't. I won't.

He gives himself over, the part of him that is the human teenager who needs to come and the part of him that wants this because he loves me.

It does not take very long at all, even though I can tell he is trying not to climax. He does not yet have that control over himself.

I am still holding his wrists after he has climaxed, and I put the fingers of my other hand in my mouth, lick them clean. He tastes different, but I still close my eyes with satisfaction. I hate him, and I will ruin him again for what he did to me, and - I am glad he is here.

I'm glad he doesn't let go of me. I continue spasming for a few moments after I ejaculate, all my muscles tense. My eyes have rolled back in my head. Afterwards I'm weak and trembling, but my whole body twitches again when he tastes my semen.

"I." My voice is hoarse. "Will you let me - ?" I don't expect him to say yes.

I smile at him.

"No," I say. And that might be frustrating enough, but I think this might be worse. And so keeping a firm grip on his wrists - they will have bruised after this, I think - I pull down my own fly and get my hand inside my trousers. I do not even pull out my cock; I just work it tightly. I look at him as I do it, listening to his breathing. I feel my nostrils flare, my own breathing quicken, and I touch my tongue to my lip, taste him on my mouth, and I push myself into orgasm with a sharp cry.

I let go of his wrists then and fasten my trousers, sit down on a chair and stretch out my legs. My cheeks are very flushed, but I keep my expression calm.

"No."

I can see how smug he is. How he watches me, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared. The movement of his hand. The bones of my wrists feel like they're grinding together.

"Please," I say. He won't. I feel a low tight satisfaction of my own when he comes. It's still because of me.

I look at him sitting in his chair when he's done. I moisten my own lips. "Thank you," I say, my voice low. I rub my wrists. My penis is still hanging outside of my trousers, and I tuck it away.

I look at him thoughtfully for a moment longer, then come and kneel down by his chair. I don't think it's a gesture of fealty, this time.

He kneels down next to me, and it tugs something inside me. I put my clean hand on his hair, stroke it for a little while.

"You should go now," I say. It is strangely difficult to send him away, although I know he will try to see me again soon.

I'm content to kneel there and let him pet my hair. I could stay like this for a long time. I haven't felt this content since - I don't know. Since I went to sleep lying with Val, I think, with his arm around me. The thought makes me sad. Everything was simpler, then.

"You should go now."

I look up at him. I don't want to go. I don't try to hide that from him. But I'm so very tired, as well, after this. "Must I?" The corner of my mouth's turned up: half a smile.

He gives me a little smile, and I tug his hair lightly.

"Yes," I say. I stand up and walk back to the window, light another cigarette and draw on it. I glance back at him. "I am pleased that you found me again."

I stand up when he walks away. My legs are shaky under me. "I am pleased that you found me again."

I go across to him and gently take the cigarette from between his fingers, puff on it. It helps the wobbly feeling. "I am, too. Even though you complicate everything."

I lean in and kiss his cheek, pass the cigarette back. "I think I may sleep for a week."

I have to snort a little at his cheek. No one else would dare treat me so casually.

"Here," I say, taking another cigarette out of the case, and I tuck it behind his ear. "For later."

I turn back to the window, and do not look round as he leaves. He looks very small as he walks out of the tower, and I put the cigarette back in my mouth, taste him on it, and then let it drop from the window, a tiny glint of light falling towards the earth.

Yeah you wanna do right but not right now

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