In Love and War
By Milady Hawke
You came to me again tonight, not even a light knock to announce your entrance but the slow creak of hinges groaning and your footfall soft and measured as you entered my chamber.
You stood to face me then wordlessly, the fear and doubt and pleading in your eyes speaking volumes for you, for your need. Many is the time you have come to me seeking comfort and solace away from the teeming mass of men preparing to march off to uncertain fate, to the filth of battle, the black blood spraying from severed limbs, the high-pitched screams of men and orcs shrieking their anguish and hate while the dead and the dying lay mingled in heaping piles waiting to be burned, and the sight of those you care for falling around you while you look on helplessly.
You fear that it taints you, your very soul, that you will somehow not be able to wash away the dark stain, and so you come to me, to touch something pure and be purged in my light, the warmth of my skin, the taste of my mouth. And tonight as I found myself burned in the feral fire of your gaze, I knew I was helpless not to pull you to me and offer you fealty from my lips.
You closed the distance between us and found the back of my neck, cradling it in what could have almost been tenderness but for the selfish hunger in your eyes, followed by the desperate rending of cloth and unlashing of buckles as you undressed me and flung my clothes to the floor heedlessly. A rough shove to my chest and I felt myself falling backwards, felt myself opening to you, parting my mouth and my legs for you to claim as you descended upon me.
In one quick thrust, you forced yourself in, and I tasted the metallic blood on my lips as I bit down hard to stifle my weak gasp, never quite steeled against the onslaught of your love. You couple as you fight, fierce, unyielding, and desperate, with the possessed gleam in your eyes of one acting on instinct. You cleave me deeply, as you would your foe, thrusting in forcefully to the hilt and then swiftly pulling out from body after body, always screaming your pleasure in the moment of your kill. Often, they say, one does not later remember their violence in the mad rush of battle, scarce recalling a face out of all they have slain, and I wonder if it is the same for you the mornings after you’ve fucked me relentlessly. I would not know. You never stay the night.
Calmed and sated, you leaned in to kiss my mouth gently before quickly pulling away to find and sort out your clothes from mine. And as always, I saw for the fleeting moment after that sole gentle kiss the gratitude in your eyes, mixed with something else, mayhap apology. But one day you may linger long enough to see in my eyes just what you take from me a little more each time, the light that diminishes. Or maybe, should light with hope go out, perhaps you will come to me no more.
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