There was tension in the air, a stinging lightness to the atmosphere that felt as good as it did dangerous. He shouldn't have felt like this, shouldn't be so easily swayed by unexpected things Monty did, should not have let him slip the ring onto his finger like it meant something it didn't.
And it didn't mean anything, and Ishmael didn't want it to. He'd lived a hundred years and more, knew by now that the only way to survive was with light feet and a light heart, drifting from place to place and person to person like a leaf on the wind, a shadow in the sun. There was nothing to be gained from attachment, only lost. And too much losing - it wasn't worth the living.
Still. He wanted to kiss Monty now, not like usual, but careful and subdued and soft and grateful; he wanted to live in this quiet feeling forever; did not want to break the spell. And that? Was fucking terrifying. So Ishmael tore his hand away from Monty, and returned his gaze to the ring again, pretending to be critical. Better to break the spell himself. "I'll bet you can," he said, with an impish quirk of his mouth. He knew what he'd promised, but he pulled back and sauntered a few paces away, half as though he were going to flop back on the couch again, as though he'd gotten all he wanted -
Before he did, though, he tossed Monty another glance over his shoulder. "Careful, though," Ishmael added slyly, "if I see the ring going off every other night, I'll start thinking it's less about need and more about you just feeling deprived of my company."
And it didn't mean anything, and Ishmael didn't want it to. He'd lived a hundred years and more, knew by now that the only way to survive was with light feet and a light heart, drifting from place to place and person to person like a leaf on the wind, a shadow in the sun. There was nothing to be gained from attachment, only lost. And too much losing - it wasn't worth the living.
Still. He wanted to kiss Monty now, not like usual, but careful and subdued and soft and grateful; he wanted to live in this quiet feeling forever; did not want to break the spell. And that? Was fucking terrifying. So Ishmael tore his hand away from Monty, and returned his gaze to the ring again, pretending to be critical. Better to break the spell himself. "I'll bet you can," he said, with an impish quirk of his mouth. He knew what he'd promised, but he pulled back and sauntered a few paces away, half as though he were going to flop back on the couch again, as though he'd gotten all he wanted -
Before he did, though, he tossed Monty another glance over his shoulder. "Careful, though," Ishmael added slyly, "if I see the ring going off every other night, I'll start thinking it's less about need and more about you just feeling deprived of my company."
