Angerwhite (At Times Remix)
Jan. 24th, 2007 09:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nestarWritten for the Remix/Redux II from the story "Angerwhite" by Dilly
Her voice is haunted at times, like her eyes and her hair. Like her whole being.
I have watched her, at times It seems to push from inside till… I have wondered what it takes for her to control her mutation. Or is it the mutation that controls her?
There are times when I can see Ororo, not Storm. Not the cold, angry, white beauty.
At times I feel like a cat stalking it’s prey. But she is not something to prey on. She is what I pray for, for her thoughts, for the knowledge of her will, for her trust.
As she walks I see a flicker, I press, “Ororo?” The flicker grows. I feel It recede. “Ororo? What is it?” I ask what has been lingering in my thoughts for so long. “When you bring out nature, what is it that takes hold?” She is hearing me, but not listening. She is fighting with It. But my talking seems to help, so I go on. “I can see there is something else.”
She takes my hand and I stop. I can feel a pounding under her skin that blood can not account for. A heat I can not cool. It catches me up. Tries to push me away. Then I feel a pounding of a different kind. Her lips have found mine and they pound for more.
The feel of her tongue on my teeth.
No one, of the few who have, has ever given more then a brush of their lips. The taste of her blood moves into the kiss. I have hurt her, but she leans into me and I am reminded of a night with the circus. There was no show that night, not with the winds tearing at the tents, scaring the animals, throwing around any lose thing it could find.
The wind tears around me, through me. I lay back and she is atop me, her skin ashen. I can see It rage, the fight inside her showing at the window outside.
Then, peace. I am immersed in her light and it burns me even as it cool her enough to live.
Her voice is haunted at times, like her eyes and her hair. Like her whole being.
I have watched her, at times It seems to push from inside till… I have wondered what it takes for her to control her mutation. Or is it the mutation that controls her?
There are times when I can see Ororo, not Storm. Not the cold, angry, white beauty.
At times I feel like a cat stalking it’s prey. But she is not something to prey on. She is what I pray for, for her thoughts, for the knowledge of her will, for her trust.
As she walks I see a flicker, I press, “Ororo?” The flicker grows. I feel It recede. “Ororo? What is it?” I ask what has been lingering in my thoughts for so long. “When you bring out nature, what is it that takes hold?” She is hearing me, but not listening. She is fighting with It. But my talking seems to help, so I go on. “I can see there is something else.”
She takes my hand and I stop. I can feel a pounding under her skin that blood can not account for. A heat I can not cool. It catches me up. Tries to push me away. Then I feel a pounding of a different kind. Her lips have found mine and they pound for more.
The feel of her tongue on my teeth.
No one, of the few who have, has ever given more then a brush of their lips. The taste of her blood moves into the kiss. I have hurt her, but she leans into me and I am reminded of a night with the circus. There was no show that night, not with the winds tearing at the tents, scaring the animals, throwing around any lose thing it could find.
The wind tears around me, through me. I lay back and she is atop me, her skin ashen. I can see It rage, the fight inside her showing at the window outside.
Then, peace. I am immersed in her light and it burns me even as it cool her enough to live.
