I could not care less if my death should be ruled a murder or a suicide. It is merely a question of semantics; at the core they seem identical to me. After all, if I stay, if I let you wrap your lovely hands around my neck in the dark of some night, who is really to blame – you for your action or myself for my inaction? To whom should my death be attributed, and why should I care one way or another when I am gone? The beauty of that final moment is that we are together, conjoined in our shared sin and experiencing its climax as one. Your squeezing hands, my bruising skin, they are really not so different. Here, darling, take the last breath off my lips and keep it as your own. You may call it a trophy or a suicide note, I do not care.
roses are red
Daren’s disdain is black
perhaps we should go now
I don’t need a knife in my back
Body recalls the weight of silk, velvet, sculpted armor, fingers heavy with moonstones and amber, wrists dripping with gold and silver; the warmth of bodies embraced, murmured devotions, lips wet with salty tears. Heart remembers the agony of separation and the anticipation of each brief meeting, pulse beating against the vice grip of bitter, beautiful love; and the icy electric shock of confusion, dawning understanding, horror and sorrow and forgiveness. Soul cannot deny the phantom pressure of the blade slicing through velvet and flesh to pierce the life within, golden blood spattering pale hands; nor the bond, marrow deep and unbreakable, which drives every part of this unending cycle: passion, betrayal, acceptance, grief, sacrifice, reunion, again and again and again. Though the mind may succeed in repression, the body and heart and soul still retain memory of the dawn and dusk, summer and winter, life and death. Radiance. Darkness. Love.
[ My long-time friend and nemesis Inno Tenshi drew these gorgeous pictures of Tanim and Daren in their Sun and Moon forms (including designing the outfits herself), so I of course had to write something to go with them. Check out her Tumblr for more amazing, bad ass art. I am crazy jealous of her skillz. ]
Who were you before?
I long to know that man, too
I will love his ghost
[ The newest picture I commissioned from the amazingly talented E. M. Engel. I can’t get over her gorgeous artwork! Also, check out my banner; it rotates between pictures of my lovely boys each time you refresh. …and yes, I’ve been clicking obsessively just to look at Tanim and Daren. I’m not obsessed, I swear. ]
“What did you call me?”
“What?” Tanim cast a bemused glance over his shoulder as he poured two bourbons from the bar. “When?”
“Before,” Daren waved vaguely and lounged back against the couch. “Back when you were doing the cute lonely-stalker thing. You didn’t know my name for months but you’ve said before you couldn’t stop thinking about me then, so you must have called me something in your head.” A sly smile crept over his lips as he added, “Or your dreams. So… what was it?”
“What makes you think I called you anything?” Tanim sank down beside him, holding out one tumbler while he sipped nonchalantly at the other in a poor effort to hide the blush burning his cheeks. “That’s rather arrogant of you.” Daren smirked over the rim of his own glass. “Never play poker, dear,” he replied with a pitying head shake. “You’re terrible at bluffing.” Setting down his drink untouched, he leaned in to toy with an errant lock of Tanim’s hair. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. Just tell me; I won’t drop it otherwise.”
“No, you won’t, will you,” Tanim managed a glare at the attempt to sway him but his heart wasn’t in it. He never could resist that mischievous smile, so rare and therefore too cherished to fault as it was. Sliding his gaze down to the glass clenched in his hand he gave in and muttered, “Angel. I called you Angel.”
“Angel?” Daren choked on a snort of skeptic surprise, one pale eyebrow jumping high. “Why? My sparkling personality?”
“I don’t know,” Tanim kept his eyes averted to hide his embarrassment, though Daren’s remark soothed the sting of it a bit. “It was just the first thing that came to mind when I saw you. And then I couldn’t shake it. It felt right. You were so distant, so cold, so…” he traced the rim of his glass as he searched for the right word, “perfect. Someone I desperately wanted but could never have.” A foolish, impulsive smile tugged his lips and with a shrug he downed the last of his drink before adding, “It’s stupid, I know.”
“It’s not stupid,” Daren’s laugh teased but his eyes were kind. “It’s… oddly sweet, really. Maybe a little cheesy, and just a bit desperate, but still sweet.” He shifted nearer as if preparing to divulge a great secret and murmured, “You were wrong, though.” The empty tumbler fell forgotten from Tanim’s hand as Daren took hold of his tie and drew him in for a kiss, a devious smirk spreading over his face as he corrected, “I’m no angel.”
[ The third of my planned commissions from the amazingly talented Megan Engel (not the last, of course, but the last while I have no spending money). I figured if I had a serious one and a sweet/sad one, I needed a sexy one as well. It’s not all doom and gloom with my boys, after all. …just most of the time. ]
I used to dream about burning the world down until only a wasteland remained, as silent and devoid without as I was within. Then one day I woke up and realized my dreams were pointless. I didn’t need to burn the world down; the world was already burning itself. I only had to wait.
[ I’ve wanted a picture of Daren with this make-up for years, so I finally splurged and commissioned the wonderful Megan Engel yet again. She’s certainly making bank off of my obsession but it’s totally worth it. Check out my “art of Tanim and Daren” category for more! ]
Tell me, love, what sin commits your thumb for the brushing of my wrist? What crime is there in desiring the touch of skin to skin, the comfort of another’s heartbeat beneath your palm? Surely none could grudge us this brief connection; we are but human, after all, and there are some things which cannot be expressed in words alone. Darling, let go of this guilt which so cripples and tortures you. Set free the man you have numbed with alcohol and loathing all these years. You deserve better. You deserve more. There is no perversion in love, no deviance, no sickness. This touch does not taint us. If you would but embrace the longing and seek its fulfillment through our union, our devotion, you could understand how by love we are transformed into something greater than our separate selves. This misery will pass one day, I promise. You have me now, and in my arms you will find only safety and acceptance.
[ Above is the second of the pictures I commissioned from Megan Engel. It makes me want to give both of my boys a big hug (ah, the look on Tanim’s face!) – or maybe a smack on the head to stop being so angsty. Don’t worry, the third picture will be a tad more upbeat. And by upbeat I of course mean sexy. ]