Flight

Desire

E’vesdar Fingall stretched his black wings; agitated he turned back to Evan. His eyes were speckled with blazing pieces of gold and stardust. 'Shut up,' his voice was a low growl, heavily lined with desire. His movements brusque, he closed in on the other man. He was not exactly flying, but his feet were not touching the ground either. 'Shut up,' he repeated, softer this time, touching Evan’s face. His touch was not as rough as it normally would have been. His mood was more tender than before. He had been caught by the fire, and hesitation, always that hesitation, in Evan's eyes. 'You never say the things you mean,' he breathed the words against the lips of the other man, 'and the things you say, you don't mean.’ He grabbed the cowboy’s hair and pulled his face closer, never breaking eye-contact. ‘So, just for this once, let us skip all the bullshit, shall we?’ The air around them was pregnant with tension; electricity. Fingall couldn’t tell if the sparks were floating from his body, or that it was something that happened when the two of them were put in close proximity of each other. ‘You can marry every woman you like; lie in her arms for every single night of forever -’ He cut himself short; let his eyes trail down to Evan’s lips. Slow and deliberate; for the sole purpose to build up more tension. After a heartbeat, perhaps two, he shook his head. ‘You will always want me.’ His golden eyes flashed up again - and now there was a slight smirk around the corners of his mouth. ‘Nothing you do, or do not, say will ever change that.’ And Fingall wanted him just as bad, but in the same way that was a truth to be left unspoken.

Song of the wind

Corinne Her pale and slender fingers moved seamlessly over the keyboard of her piano. He barely registered the music she produced as he watched her. His mind was dancing around one single thought: I am going to leave you. It should hurt him, but it didn’t. He should feel sorry, in one way or another, but he didn’t. It was his nature to leave, it was the only thing he knew. He was not the man to feel sorry, nor the person to apologise. The only thing he could do, was being truthful about it: ‘I will leave you, you know.’