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“Whole thing? Right now?”

“I told you to go nuts, my love, so here I am, and there you are. Besides, I have the best numbing agent on this side of the Maelstrom.” Lilith chirped, waggling a bottle of whiskey as she lay on her bare belly, one of his T-shirts’ sling lazily over the back of the chair she lounged on. Erik snorted and shook his head with a little smirk.

“Suit y’self, babe. Ain’t my fault if you tap out in the first hour.” He teased gently as the gloves were pulled on after he washed his hands. She could hear the shit eating grin he wore and she snorted next.

“Me? Tap out after a little pain? Who do you take me for, Army Boy?” She grinned against his lips in a quick stolen kiss and he shook his head. He supposed that was fair. The familiar buzz of the tattoo gun filled her ears and he gave her rear end a reassuring pat-pat.

“Deep breath. We’re gonna be here a while.”

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Another photobash illustration destined to become a book cover

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ANA DE ARMAS as PALOMA NO TIME TO DIE (2021) dir. Cary Joji Fukunaga

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She felt his fingers through her hair, it was Sunday, their lazy day, and the hot summer sun threatened the drawn curtains into Erik’s room but they didn’t care. Breakfast was had, showers, and the only thing they had left was to pick up the clothes thrown in disarray along the floor from the night before.

The pair were an entanglement of limbs and bedsheets, hips flush, skin warm against the other’s. Lilith’s thigh was hitched against Erik’s right hip and his right thigh kept her in place where his arms didn’t, her face nestled in the crook of his neck and the pair of them were quiet for a long time and shared in idle kisses brushed against a collarbone or a trail of them whispered along her hairline as calloused fingers brushed through thick, sleep tangled curls.

Silence was loud, silence was telling, and some days the mind was as much a prison as it was an escape no matter who you distracted yourself with. Lilith’s eyes had closed as soon as their backs hit the bed and it was clear that today would be the day where her mind was a prison.

It had gotten easier to ignore the instinct that was etched in her bones, her soul, the one that told her to run away at every touch that was gentle and every kiss that had meaning behind it didn’t mean a thing after all.

They did, and the touches that were gentle were just as much kind as they were possessive. His. Hers.

When the voices and instinct were loud Erik always knew, at least she assumed he did, or he was some sort of weird telepath and could just will away the shackles and replace it with a warmth in her chest that rooted and stayed, bloomed. This one didn’t turn cold and die in her palms. This one stayed warm and sweet, like chocolate melting in your palm. Fleeting, this time.

“The gentle voices are so loud -- Erik, he is a simple and gentle soul..”

Erik’s and Harmony’s were the only voices she gave a shit about lately. They were both gentle, both boisterous. Full of love and simplicity, nothing to hide and nothing to gain. Her search for Delilah turned up with nothing, therefore she was dead, and therefore collateral damage. Bruce told her he hated her and everyone else. Collateral damage.

Used. Temporary. Dead.

Lilith’s spine rippled with the tickle of her hair against the back of her hip, and she felt Erik smirk against the top of her head but she remained still regardless. Tristan hadn’t afforded her with a fucking goodbye before their partnership had ended. Dead. Collateral damage. Had that been real…?

“Communication with him will be your burden for the snake is silent and sad, when he is in pain he does not share it and he will quietly go numb.”

She doesn’t… talk. In fact, being vulnerable about anything with anyone wasn’t her strong suit. She was trained to forget. Not to let herself feel, not to let herself be alone long enough for her to figure her shit out. Lilith was learning and it was slow, a grueling process as far as she was concerned, but somehow Erik made it easy. The voice was quieter, an allowance of relief, she hadn’t needed to remind herself she was going to die by letting herself feel comfort in the man’s arms in weeks.

Finally her eyes fluttered open at the sound of a disgruntled man and the rock of a shoulder back, instinct telling her to run and fight and—

“Ima clip them fuckin’ nails.” Erik grunted, a chocolate hue cracked open to push an accusatory, if playful, stare her way. Electric emeralds blinked blearily, her palm flattening over a tattooed shoulder before that Cheshire grin formed lazily.

“Like Hel you will. I thought you liked that shit anyway.. don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft, Army-Boy..” she sighed, albeit dramatically, and her grin widened as his grew with a shake of his head. His fingers tightened around her hips when he felt her begin to roll, shifting him to his back and her to roll onto his chest. She brought her lips to his shoulder to soothe the wound that was gushing blood and gore and oh the poor man wasn’t gonna make it..

When he laughed she did, and it was a warm chorus of sounds, that melted chocolate in her palm.

Perhaps her mind wasn’t so much of a prison as she thought it would be. Not anymore. Not today.

@beerbloodandabike