writing_shadows

This is hearkening back a few months… for

evergreen_d :)

Darcy liked Bastion; his rough, strong hands and awkward gentility, and the tailored leather military jacket he wore made him smell like warmth and excitement and adrenaline highs; all the things that he was not. She was content enough murmuring quietly to him as they danced, gently moving to the sultry throb of the music she had picked, like a heartbeat; amusement glistening in her eyes and sincerity in his as they whispered to one another. But she heard, because how could she not, the gentle invitation being proffered on the sofas behind them, and her eyes drifted lazily across the dancefloor as Simanti rose to her feet, all elegance and refinement, exotic and foreign and well-bred, and her throat tightened instinctively.

She tried not to watch; she turned her head back to her dance partner and forced a smile, stepping a little closer and laughing a little more indulgently. But every time she turned, she could not help but catch a glimpse. They were a far more natural fit, and they looked it as they danced. Theirs was an act of relative peace and gentleness, they looked almost at home. But it was just that; an act. Everything here was an act. Vampires pretending that their blood did not burn with the instinct to tear one another open or flee, to keep their Beast in check as it stirred inside of them at every slight, every quip, every petty jealousy.

No; he did not want peace and gentleness. He wanted fire, and passion, and youth, and brightness and excitement. At least, that’s what she kept reassuring herself as her gaze flickered across to the backstage door, spilling its light down the corridor and into the dancehall, counting down the minutes until she might be able to excuse herself and find a way to throw him out of it and show him just what he got for daring to look so fitting in someone else’s arms.