[ M ] put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throat

In the silence that lingers, Senka tips her chin up to meet his gaze, and there is only an endless well of patience and hope that lingers in her olive eyes. It's foolish, how desperately she wants to know him; she knows she shouldn't. She shouldn't be drawing closer to him, like he might whisk her away from her broken marriage and all the wreckage in her wake. It's unfair of her to think she might want such a thing of him, unfair of her to consider putting such a weight on his shoulders. And yet, she can't stop herself. He vexes her, calls her beautiful and filthy things, sets her nerves on fire like she has never known—and Senka is addicted to every sinful part of it.

She is not strong enough to draw a line in the sand.

Not when it comes to him.

And so she draws closer with every helpless breath, as though he provides her with the very oxygen she needs to breathe. When the low tenor of his voice finally breaks the quiet, she nestles her cheek back into the curve of his shoulder, her muzzle dipping down to spare him from the scrutiny of her watchful gaze. And true to her word, Senka listens, the room filling with the rumble of Odysseus's voice and the steady cadence of her breathing.

It's not what she expects, this slow revelation of his family, his childhood—but it is more valuable to her than anything else he could have said. She gets the impression that Odysseus was a happy child, until he wasn't, until life and all its cruelties barged into his life with the force of a tsunami. War, she supposes, did that to many of them, though some suffered more substantially than others.

"You might have heard of my family..." Slowly, Senka peers owlishly back up at him, attentive and thoughtful as the weight of his admissions grow darker and heavier. Her eyes widen ever so slightly at the revelation of what happened to his family, her lips parting on a soft breath, but she holds tight to her sympathies, knowing what little use pity is when it won't bring them back. He forges on, a bulldozer on a mission to finish this story he'd begun, and her head tilts slightly at the name Barin.

It's a name she recalls vaguely, written in her parents' records, murmured at upscale parties along with others lost to the brutality of the war. Over the years, the Barin name faded to a footnote; she cannot recall the last time she heard mention of the name. "Well," she says after a minute of contemplation, unable to help the slight smile that tugs at her lips, "you're full of surprises, Odysseus Barin."

Her expression sobers a moment later. "What of those responsible for their deaths? Did you repay them in kind?" Senka asks, her tone earnest. She hopes he did. Of all the reasons to stain his hands in blood, that seems like the most justified, though it ultimately doesn't matter to Senka how he began accumulating a body count.

And whilst he hasn't explicitly said as much, there is no doubt in her mind that there is a number.

how strange,
to dream of you

even when
i am wide awake

code // art

fangs out in the moonlight

True to her word, she is silent as he speaks. Resting against him with her gaze downcast, offering him that little bit of privacy as he dragged the past to the surface. When she did finally peek up at him with wide eyes, he sees the shock, the realization as she puts things together. In the silence that follows, she processes his story for a minute that feels just short of an eternity. The smile that tugs gently at the corners of her mouth was a bit of a surprise, just as was the sensation that slid down his spine when she spoke his full name, A ghost of a smile touch touch one side of his mouth.

The lightness was quickly sobered when she asked what had become of his parents murderers. The faint smile turned darker, something more akin to a sneer. "Who do you think I got the house from?" He crooned. Whether his parents would have wanted it or not, Odysseus had gotten his revenge. It had been the kick start to his career, immediately branding him as a man you did not cross.

That night was always all to easy to recall. The blood stains that had truly started it all, because it had always been there, that distance he could surround himself with when he cut someone down, that viciousness that came with getting what he wanted.

It was his turn to sober, to look at her with a seriousness uncharacteristic of him. "You are the only one who knows about this place." His housekeeper had her own reasons for keeping his secret, and it was that willingness that allowed them to protect each other in a way. He never had to worry about her telling anyone who owned this place because she never wanted to be found. But that had changed tonight. He could have sought out one of the dens he knew were around here, instead he had chosen to bring her here. An annoying voice asked if he regretted it or not.

"speech"

code // art

A soft huff leaves her at his answer—very nearly a laugh. It's precisely the sort of thing she expected him to say, a reassurance to herself that she does know him on some level, even if it is just the version of him he's allowed her to see. Senka can hardly blame him; she's no vengeful killer, but she's been every bit as guarded as him, every bit as unwilling to open up in any way past the physical.

The malevolent simper on his lips dies, and she quirks a brow, her gaze unwavering upon his as he makes it explicitly clear how much he is trusting her to even have brought her here. Senka's eyes do another slow sweep of the room, seeing it in a new light—a reverence as though she has been welcomed into some holy place. When she makes it back to his face, there is a softening at the corners of her eyes, a lilt to the corners of her lips. Stretching up, Senka presses a soft kiss to the side of his throat before murmuring, "your secrets are safe with me."

None of this explains the fleeing woman from the lagoon, but Senka doesn't care to press him on the matter. Odysseus is entitled to hold onto his demons; fates know she has.

Her cheek falls to his chest, leaning into him. "I don't suppose August ever told you how we met," she muses, considering her own narrative. "When I was a pup, my mother sat me down and told me that I had a duty to our house. I was hardly old enough to understand what the word duty even meant, let alone how my future life in Sussex with a stranger would allow me to fulfill it." It had seemed so important at the time, her mother's face grave and serious, and Senka would have done anything to see her expression soften, to see her smile.

Every now and then, Effie Melnik's eyes lit with pride, but she never smiled.

"I was terrified the first time I met Augustine. I was only a year old, and he was—" she falters, clearing her throat— "older." Years older, a fully fledged man come to inspect his future prize. Except, when she'd found the courage to meet his gaze, she hadn't found scrutiny there, but kind eyes and a boyish smile. "But he was...kind. Funny. Charming. He put me at ease—he became my best friend." There is an ache in her chest to put it to words, a melancholy to her tone. Because Augustine was her best friend, but he isn't any longer, and she grieves the loss of that connection.

Senka swallows, draws in a soft breath, and continues. "When his father was killed," publicly, brutally, and dumped in the streets of Sussex during the height of the war, "he changed. I understood, of course, but I watched him turn into a ghost. The man you know now is not the one I fell in love with." And fates, if her mother knew the depth of his indiscretions, she would be furious with Augustine. It is, perhaps, only her father's death that has kept the rest of her family from prying too much.

"But..." she pauses, chewing on her lip and wishing just a little bit that she hadn't left the bourbon behind. She could use some liquid courage, but she'll just have to find it within herself the old-fashioned way. "Even back then, I didn't—I didn't ever feel the way I do when I'm with you." She had been happy enough, she supposes; complacent, if only because she was ignorant to what it could feel like. "You make me feel alive, Odysseus," she breathes on a near-whisper, her eyes finally sliding back up find his, "and it fucking terrifies me."

how strange,
to dream of you

even when
i am wide awake

code // art

fangs out in the moonlight

Her laugh, however small it was, however almost it sounded, it was a relief. She took it all in stride, just as she had with everything else he had thrown at her. Senka appeared neither surprised or perturbed by the information. The halls of this house had been painted red, not unlike his childhood home, upon his return. He wasn't even suppose to be alive, so no one ever expected him to come knocking. But the sad retelling of his childhood wasn't what he was after, he wanted her reaction, he searched for her stumble, the moment she faltered and decided too much blood stained his hands. That moment still hadn't come.

Not even when he trusted her with his most closely guarded secret. Her olive stare swept the room again, like she was seeing it in a new light now that she knew she was the only one to see it. A promise to keep his secrets was sealed with a kiss, her lips pressing gently to the side of his throat. Odysseus blows a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, one that let his shoulders soften just slightly.

But thats the not the entirely of the story. He still hadn't given her answers to all of her questions. Isolde.

Much to his surprise, she didn't ask. Instead, she cracked open the door of her own past. He would shake his head, confirming that he had never been hold about how her and Augustine had started. Not that he was particularly keen on their the start of their story. That didn't keep his ears from angling towards her, attentive to each word that left her lips. Dark brows pinched together, a faint frown tugging at his lips when she told him that the first time they met was when she's been a yearling. Odysseus didn't know how much older Augustine was, but from the way she fumbled her words, he figured it was substantial enough. Her mother had spent her youth grooming her for an arranged marriage, one that would further their family and it didn’t matter the cost her daughter would pay. It wasn't a concept that was entirely foreign to him, he been betrothed once, his father had told him he would marry this girl, but she'd at least been the same age as Odysseus. He kept the disgust he felt, for her parents, for Augustine, carefully off his features.

For all his shortcomings, at least Augustine had given her the perception of being her friend, though Odysseus wasn't entirely convinced Augustine felt the same, not in the beginning of their marriage anyway, when their age gap was still enough to an affect. Could he have truly been her friend, if he had showed up to select her like a broodmare he just needed to wait to come of age?

The death of her father in law would change everything. A horrific death had a way of changing someone. Senka might not have shared details, but he saw his parents fall all over again, their blood that stained the floors. Odysseus would say nothing when she fell quiet, mostly because he was digesting everything she had told him.

...I didn't ever feel the way I do when I'm with you. That had his attention snapping back to her. It was the first real insight she’d offered regarding her feelings. Suddenly, the air was stifling as he waited for her to continue. You make me feel alive, Odysseus. Her wandering state returned to him. And it fucking terrifies me. If only she knew.

“Senka, I-…” He paused, carefully choosing his next words. Blowing out a frustrated breath, he weighed his words. She deserved to know. “What I feel for you, I’ve not felt for anyone else.” He offered that assurance. Against his better judgement, he opted for honesty. “But I won’t share you with Augustine forever.” Eventually, she would have to choose one of them. And there was the problem. He wasn’t ready to not be chosen, again. Maybe he should make her choose now, but the idea of being locked in this house with her if she chose her husband was too much. They would have this night, at the very least. “I’ve been not good enough before.” He started and promptly stopped. "The way I feel about you, it terrifies me too." An admission of his feelings, the closest she would get, for now. Amethyst hues swirled with the certainty of how he felt and the uncertainty that he might just live long enough to regret it.

"speech"

code // art

She’s caught him off-guard, though it comes as no surprise. This is the first honest conversation they’ve had, a lowering of their guard in some way other than the physical, and she patiently allows him to collect his thoughts, her heart thudding heavily against her breastbone. She is comforted—relieved—by the admittance that he feels it too, this emotion that they are both unwilling to put a name to. It’s dangerous, when they exist only in scandal and shadow, to get too close; but Senka can feel it, whether she wants to or not. She can feel her soul stitching to his, one pass of the needle at a time.

“I know,” she says softly when he admits that he won’t share her forever. It’s unfair, to demand all of him when he only has half of her, but he is swaying her, reeling her in closer. Senka isn’t certain which parts of her, if any, still belong to Augustine. There is a part of her that wants to protect him, to shelter him from the devastation of her scandal, because Senka still cannot bring herself to see her royalist husband as a criminal; she just sees a broken man who has lost his way, but with each passing day, she grows more certain that he will never find the way back.

She could have forgiven his illicit activities, truth be told—she certainly has no problems with what Odysseus does under the cover of night. But it’s the lies that have gotten under her skin and taken root there. At his core, Augustine does not trust her with the truth, and that bitter reality is something she is still struggling to accept. Odysseus has no idea how much it means to her that he’s brought her here, that he’s trusted her with his best-kept secret.

”I’ve been not good enough before.” He is quick to cut off that line of conversation the moment he starts it, but Senka frowns slightly, studying the hard planes of his face. She snags on that more than the fact that they are terrified together, and there’s a possessive, protective flare in her that makes her want to exact penance on whomever had made him feel that way. “Odysseus,” she breathes, shifting to sit up straighter, to invade his space even further until she’s all but sitting in his lap, her chest pressed to his. She laves a kiss just above his breastbone, another at his collarbone, slowly working her way up the column of his throat.

“You,” she says firmly when she reaches the edge of his jaw, pressing another kiss there, “are,” punctuated by a kiss to his cheek, “good enough.” For her, or anyone else lucky enough in this world to have him—but that thought flares a jealous beast in her breast. She knows, then, that she will not let anyone else have him again. She knows, but she can’t voice the thought even in her mind; that doesn’t make it any less true. Odysseus Barin is hers.

how strange,
to dream of you

even when
i am wide awake

code // art

fangs out in the moonlight

Senka understood the ledge they stood on. She knew the choice she was going to have to make and that decision was fast approaching. In that moment, she offered him no insight to her choice, only acceptance that she would have to choose. It made his anxiety peak. Isolde may have wounded his ego, left a crack in his heart and jumbled his feelings to something he couldn’t decipher - even if he didn’t that at first - but Senka was something else entirely. The woman tucked into his side had the powder to do so much worse. Realization landed a heavy blow. What would he do if she chose to go back to Augustine? The thought had his ears flicking back quickly and briefly against his skull. He didn’t want to think about it though that was unavoidable and he could feel himself mentally, emotionally pulling back.

His slip of the tongue wasn’t helping. Odysseus. The change in her expression didn’t go unnoticed or the way she shifted against him until she all but sat in his lap, forcing his attention. Looking into her eyes, he let him get lost in their olive depths. Watching with open skepticism, she peppered kisses along his chest and neck, leaving him guessing what she would say next. It seemed implausible that she’d agree, that after all this time she too would spurn him in the end. Doubt was a cruel master and it festered like an unchecked infection.

You - kiss - are - another kiss - good enough. It wasn’t often that Odysseus found himself dumbfounded, utterly speechless, especially in the wake of a woman. All he could do was stare at her. Amethyst gems looked at her, really looked at her, almost as if he were truly seeing her for the first time. Senka spoke with conviction, as if she truly meant every word. Doubt lingered in the recesses of his mind. He wasn’t a good man, he’d made a career in the underbelly of Rionnach, stealing souls for the right price. He traded in back alley deals and dirty politicians. He offered protection to those who didn’t deserve it. If someone could afford it, there was very little he wouldn’t do. With nothing to redeem him, what could possible make him worth loving?

A melancholy smile touched his dark lips. He didn’t quite believe her but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. Still not sure what to say to her, he pressed a kiss to her lips. It was gentle, softer than he’d ever been with her, all he needed was to cup her face with rough hands. But the gesture was dual purposed, it was an end, he was done talking, about this at least. "Should I find us something to eat?"

"speech"

code // art

rated M for sexual themes

She cannot offer him peace of mind—not when it comes to Augustine, not yet. Senka will not do him the disservice of making promises she has no idea if she can keep, and nor will she do her husband the disservice of making a decision to damn them without allowing him to even speak his mind. Much as she dreads the inevitability of that conversation, she knows she cannot avoid it entirely. She is torn between clinging to shreds of familiarity or taking a leap of faith on something so recklessly passionate; how can either of them know they won't crash and burn in blazing glory?

That's the risk to take, she supposes, and she isn't certain if she's ready for it yet.

For now, this is enough. It has to be enough.

She cannot give him all of herself.

Not yet.

The sad twist of his lips is enough to make Senka's heart ache, his chaste kiss increasing the tug, but she doesn't let it show. For his sake, and obvious doubt and discomfort, she shores up her defenses. His abrupt change of topic causes her to arch a brow, her head tipping to the side; Senka makes no effort whatsoever to climb off of him. He can shut down their conversation all he likes, but she's not about to let him skulk off to go wallow in the uncertainty of what they don't know.

Slowly, Senka shakes her head, and just as deliberately, a smile begins to curl at the edges of her lips. "No," she murmurs, her tone soft but firm. Her smile turns just a little bit devious. A glint sparks in her eyes. Senka cannot soothe his worries with her words, but she has other ways of showing him that he is wanted, thorns and all. That he is worthy. That he is loved. And—she thinks he's earned a little torment for his stunt in the woods.

Her head dips again, but this time she doesn't lay soft kisses against his skin; instead, she drags her tongue up the column of his throat, just like she had that first time in the inn. "Did you think I forgot you chased me through the woods?" Senka purrs, her breath ghosting across his cheek as her muzzle trails a path towards the base of his ear. "Pinned me down?" she reminds him tauntingly, her voice dropping an octave, her hips rolling against him. "And then walked away?" Her tone sharpens, and she nips at his ear roughly, her next words a challenge, "surely, you aren't going to leave me unsatisfied." Senka curls her forepaws possessively around the back of his neck, and though she's trying to goad him into action, she's igniting a need in herself—a need for him both to finish what he started, and to show her that he still wants her.

That even when she cannot give him everything she thinks he deserves, she can still have him.

She isn't ready for their house of cards to collapse yet.

how strange,
to dream of you

even when
i am wide awake

code // art