Drag My Teeth Across Your Chest to Taste Your Beating Heart
Drag My Teeth Across Your Chest to Taste Your Beating Heart
A room with black walls should invoke anxiety, foreboding, animosity... But not for Cara Mramer. The ebony walls were like a blanket of thick warmth that could protect from anything out there in the world- like the Nevada heat, or the raging stress of being a twenty-four year old woman trying to find a meaning that didn’t disappoint anybody.
Her scratchy sheets, an identical shade of raven black, rippled like vines under her still sitting body. Her straight, red hair hung down to her waist like dripping paint on a pale wall.
“Cara?” called the careful croon of Brendon Urie. Brendon stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. He had expected as much, but Cara’s jaded eyes didn’t even swivel in his direction. They were fixed forward, glazed, and lacking their rare shimmer of lustrous love. When nothing but the creaky, faded wood floors answered him, he spoke again, “a bad day?”
Her chin tipped up, then back down, very meticulously.
“Oh, Cara...”
Brendon closed the gap between them and took his rightful spot next to her on those cheap sheets. Slowly, just as carefully as he had spoke, he laid her down so that her hair fell across the bed like fiery sun-rays framing her pale face. He rested on his side next to her, bringing his chin to rest on the crook of her shoulder so his breath would caress the tender skin on her neck.
He didn’t prompt her. Cara’s panic attacks, which they had always called her “bad days,” left her stoic this way. She’d thaw again over time, like an angel trapped in ice. Brendon was the solar body gently waiting beside her as they danced a celestial dance- revolving around each other in symphony.
Brendon couldn’t possibly love her any more. It fascinated him to see her like this- and as much as it pained him to see what fear could do to such an ethereal body, he couldn’t possibly love her anymore than he did at this very moment.
Despite the rhythmic sound of her slow breath, Cara laid perfectly still for some time, until the slightest twitch placed her fingers around the hem of Brendon’s pale blue T. She tugged, and Brendon obliged. The shirt hit the floor with an echoing swish.
Hers came off just as easily. They tugged and twisted through each other’s curves with the desperation to feel a physically close as possible. Cara’s statue hands navigated Brendon until the were both naked and white- the perfect compliments to the blackness of the room.
As if on cue, she whispered, “where am I going?”
“Wherever you want,” Brendon answered in a quiet, husky tone. “You forge your own path, you know?”
“Me? I never act on what I really want.”
“What do you really want?”
His chest bare and alive above Cara, with her cold hands clawing against the soft skin as if trying to tear through gossamer, Brendon breathed against her touch shallowly. “I want to drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart.”
Her scratchy sheets, an identical shade of raven black, rippled like vines under her still sitting body. Her straight, red hair hung down to her waist like dripping paint on a pale wall.
“Cara?” called the careful croon of Brendon Urie. Brendon stood in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. He had expected as much, but Cara’s jaded eyes didn’t even swivel in his direction. They were fixed forward, glazed, and lacking their rare shimmer of lustrous love. When nothing but the creaky, faded wood floors answered him, he spoke again, “a bad day?”
Her chin tipped up, then back down, very meticulously.
“Oh, Cara...”
Brendon closed the gap between them and took his rightful spot next to her on those cheap sheets. Slowly, just as carefully as he had spoke, he laid her down so that her hair fell across the bed like fiery sun-rays framing her pale face. He rested on his side next to her, bringing his chin to rest on the crook of her shoulder so his breath would caress the tender skin on her neck.
He didn’t prompt her. Cara’s panic attacks, which they had always called her “bad days,” left her stoic this way. She’d thaw again over time, like an angel trapped in ice. Brendon was the solar body gently waiting beside her as they danced a celestial dance- revolving around each other in symphony.
Brendon couldn’t possibly love her any more. It fascinated him to see her like this- and as much as it pained him to see what fear could do to such an ethereal body, he couldn’t possibly love her anymore than he did at this very moment.
Despite the rhythmic sound of her slow breath, Cara laid perfectly still for some time, until the slightest twitch placed her fingers around the hem of Brendon’s pale blue T. She tugged, and Brendon obliged. The shirt hit the floor with an echoing swish.
Hers came off just as easily. They tugged and twisted through each other’s curves with the desperation to feel a physically close as possible. Cara’s statue hands navigated Brendon until the were both naked and white- the perfect compliments to the blackness of the room.
As if on cue, she whispered, “where am I going?”
“Wherever you want,” Brendon answered in a quiet, husky tone. “You forge your own path, you know?”
“Me? I never act on what I really want.”
“What do you really want?”
His chest bare and alive above Cara, with her cold hands clawing against the soft skin as if trying to tear through gossamer, Brendon breathed against her touch shallowly. “I want to drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart.”