Sweet Nothing

He understood, by definition, what love was. He understood that it was something magnificent between two people. He understood that it was an ethereal amount of caring, and very few times could he say he had witnessed it. His mother. She had loved him. There was no doubt in his mind that the woman who bore him had been completely loving of him. Would have done anything for him despite the circumstances, and he so longed to know that kind of thing. So longed to be able to make his heart grow with so much affection that it frothed over. He loved Gerhardt. Would do anything to make sure that his brother succeeded, and yet, he had to wonder...did that line go as far as death? Would he die for Gerhardt? Would Gerhardt die for him? It was a hard pill to try and swallow, a hard thing to try and understand. He couldn't claim to anything. Not for Chrysanthe. Not for him.

He was so egotistical, so entranced by the things he longed to have that he could not see what so willingly stood before him. That here, in her eyes, she screamed of the chance of love. She offered him so much. She offered him the choice of a life. He couldn?t understand why things were so difficult. Why they had turned out the way they had. Why did he have to come across her? Why did her will, her heart, her love
The warmth that moved from her body to his body; from his body to her body. It was whimsical, perfect, and divine. She was so sure that in the space against him that she so perfectly fit against, and yet he knew, that the closer he drew her in, the closer he took her, the worse and worse it would become for her. The more he became a part of her, and she a part of him, the more he would end up breaking her heart when he failed her. This. He was not meant for any of it. He was meant to be a joke. He was meant to lack any kind of skills or commitment. He was meant to be the brother that populated the Earth for his brother. Offered his genes so that Gerhardt would have something to rule. Yet, here he was, neglecting the duties that were supposed to be offered. Here he was making a mockery of the traditions he was born upon. Here he was falling in love.

?If you could explain, I would only fail to understand. My heart is not as warm, as full, and as ready to accept as yours is. You are something so much more capable, you have a heart that could win nations, and yet, you choose to wander beside me. Why? Why in a world that could offer you so much are you yearning to be with a man that has done nothing more than bedded you and broken your heart? How dare you love me...it only causes pain. For us both,?

Yet, in his perfect questioning he knew why she did it. He knew that her heart yearned for him because he had shown her something no one else had. He knew that he had shown her just how much she could open to someone. Just how much someone could be an impact to her life. He had been the stranger that had seemed to demand her heart, and now, he was stuck. He was a fool. He was going to demand so much more, for she was before him. She was still, she was willing, she had to be. He was needy. Gideon, o what a fool he was to pull the strings of the woman, to toy with her in ways that he should have shut down so long ago. Yet, burning in his body came the same masculine drive. The same need. The same pull to her that he knew he could never relinquish. Perfection was written across her eyes, her heart. All he did, with every glance he cast her way, was taint that divinity. Taint that flawless feature she offered him. He was a sinner. He was a devil. For torturing her so, and destroying her witness; O he should have been destroyed.

He would listen to her soft singing, her samba, as she hummed against his chest. The gentle vibration of her larynx throbbing against his chest and his head would ascend over hers. His eyes would devout the features before him. His ears would listen to each melodical note that chimed from her throat as though it was the last sound she would make. Love...was this love? Could he say that in all his selfish deeds here he was falling so quickly for the Seracian? Could he say that in all his time fooling around, pulling strings, beckoning women, that he could surrender it all for her? As much as his head quickly lurched to scream yes, he knew where his heart. was. It was not love. It was lust. it was undiluted. It was needy.

Her head would turn towards his and immediately his ears would press firmly against his skull. Her tongue would dance over his lips and her nose would press against his own. He could feel the electricity between them both, he could feel the warmth that resonated from her breath, and he could feel his left paw leave the Earth and attempt to press against her chest. He needed her. He needed to bury himself in her yet again and proclaim her as his. He needed to sate the ravenous fire that she caused in his loins. He needed to feel her love. He needed to know that he held her affection. He needed to use her. It broke his heart, and while he knew that he did not love her, tears would froth in his eyes and he knew that to her, it would probably look like the emotions she wanted were there. He needed to make himself believe that, and yet he knew it was a lie. Prodding her, urging her, and needing her to turn before him. He had to have her. It was relentless, and without much else his head would attempt to snake beneath her skull. His tongue would attempt to press against her throat, the need written clear before her. He wanted to make love to her, and sadly, all without loving her.