Sea Spray [Closed]

His heartbeat was slow.

He was grateful for that. Last night, it raced so hard inside his chest that he ached.Right now, he still ached, but it was a different kind of ache, a dull pull like an old bruise through every limb of his body. A wave washed up against the shore and Lochlann inhaled. It rolled back into the ocean and he exhaled. Repeat.

A breeze carried a burst of sea spray at him, dampening his shirt and making his skin feel clammy and sticky. Maybe it already felt like that and the sea was just his excuse. He couldn't be sure anymore. Dark clouds billowed in the distance, but for now, the sun clawed its way down and ran tendrils of warmth against his skin.He shuddered, or maybe he was shaking. He just couldn't be sure. He wanted to take his shirt off, but if he did that, the water would have more access to his skin and he didn't think he could take much more.

He couldn't leave though, oh no. He couldn't just get up and walk into the bare dorm room with its four white walls with nothing to do. He couldn't walk through the hallways, smelling perfume, smelling the stink of males, catching the eye of some little tart and seeing her smile and feel that dull ache inside him turn into sharp spikes.

Oh no.

Lochlann couldn't do that. He didn't want to go through that again* .

But he was lonely. He wanted to be found, he wanted to have someone sit in the sand next to him. He wanted to feel someone's skin, warmed by the sun, wanted to feel hands on the back of his neck and--

Oh no. He couldn't do that.

He realized he'd missed a breath and his count was off.
Inhale, pause. Exhale. Inhale, pause, exhale.

He needed to be left alone.

Inhale, pause. Exhale.

But oh god, did he want to be found.

Up until this point, being kicked while you're down was just some silly English expression that he'd assumed was a metaphor. He didn't know that, while being both literally and physically down, he could be kicked. Or that it would hurt. He inhaled sharply.

He jerked his head to the side and looked up, ready to make a smart retort, but it died before he could even exhale.

The sunlight bounced off hair that he first mistook for platinum blond, but upon closer inspection was white. Her eyes were a shade he hadn't seen on a women before and he watched his own expression shift from gaping to composed before he blinked his own eyes.

The dull ache that was coursing through him tightened in his chest and twisted his gut. Want had become a need.

He wanted to ask her why she was wearing heels on the beach. He wanted to ask her why she kicked him. He wanted to ask these things without a slow smile rippling across his face while he slowly raised his head in an appraising nod with a gentle "hey".

He failed.

"Hey," he said, that damn smile rippling across his face. "You're not dreaming--I'm real-- so there's no need to kick me."

He hoped it came out pompous. He hoped she'd slap him and walk away and he'd be safe, left on the beach without wondering what her skin felt like, because if he reached his hand up now he could trace his fingers up her boots and brush his thumb against her thigh.

He was trying, but he couldn't mask the panic that was flitting across his face at the thought of being alone.

For once, Lochlann wasn't completely in control of the situation.

His body ached, his head was swimming, and getting kicked in the ribs twice (in the same freakin' spot!) hurt like a bitch.

But he loved it.

He loved every aching moment of it.

Lochlann pressed his palm flat against the sad, enjoying the gritty warmth under his fingertips, and pushed himself up onto his feet. He wiped the sand off his pants and gave this strange girl another once over.

Standing, he was still several inches taller than she was, but he imagined that she'd be much shorter without the heels on. Still, there was something intimidating about her small frame, and he didn't miss the way her voice went from spit fire to sugar between two sentences. Lochlann was a predator first and foremost, so whether it was instinct or experience, he could recognize that the girl standing before him wasn't prey.

She still looked delicious, though. He wondered if she'd taste sweet like she pretended to be or--

he shook his head. No. Not again.

He felt another gust of wind bring a spray of ocean towards him and he stepped away, tossing his head and gritting his teeth, unintentionally putting a little more space between the two of them.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, then paused, wrinkling his forehead. "Well, no, I can't, because I didn't kick you, so I can assume you're fine."

The clouds were getting darker and he cast them a warry glance. He wanted to ask her if she was going to tell him her name if he told her his, but that game wasn't one he really wanted to play. He wrestled for control. "My name is Lochlann."

All he had to do was shake her hand. It was one simple task: Wrap his fingers around hers, move it up and down, release.

It should be easy. This is what humans do, this is what normal people do. His breath caught in his throat. His stomach twisted and clawed at the back of his throat, and the dull pain turned itself into a throb that started to match his heart beat. His eyes dilated even as parts of his vision started to blur.

He could do this.

"Guinevere," he said, tasting her name on his lips. Very carefully, like he was touching something fragile, he slid his fingers against her gloved ones and squeezed gently. His skin, normally cold, would have been feverishly hot though he didn't know if she'd feel it through her gloves.

He realized he was holding his breath and exhaled sharply. How the hell was he supposed to politely explain his reaction to her? With other girls, he'd been in control, there was no question about the situation, but maybe it was because it's been so long--

"It's nothing," he said, dismissing the idea of drowning with another easy grin. He noticed her accent, and he liked it, made him think she could probably handle saying his full name. "Do people call you Guin, or do you only go by the full name?"

He didn't know if he could do this, but he was going to try.
Breath in, pause. exhale.

"Guinevere. I insist."

If she hadn't said it the way she did, Lochlann would have called her Guinevere. But it was her no-nonsense manner that made the grin stretch itself across his face again.

Keep it together, he told himself.

He was doing good so far, but that was probably because she refused to look directly at him. Her gaze never lingered for Loch, which was a relief, because the longer he stared into those violet eyes, the hungrier he got. His body was on the edge as it was, but he felt some shreds of hope. He didn't expect to make it this far.

"What are you doing here?"

He followed her gaze to the ocean and felt his heart start to race again. The thick clouds were rolling towards them, not away like he'd hoped. Like it or not, he was going to be on this damn island when it started to rain. He thought the tiny droplets of water from the sea spray were bad? Wait till he was drenched. He wasn't sure what would happen.

"I came out here to breath," He said, though he struggled with his next words. His mouth was dry and it hurt to swallow, even though he was certain that if the breeze drifted her scent towards him he'd be drooling. "I get headaches and the noise makes them worse. It's quiet out here, but the water doesn't help, and neither will the storm."

That was technically the truth. It was part of the truth.

He couldn't explain the other half. Couldn't tell her that he was in pain because he hadn't ate or slept in days, that his mind wouldn't shut off, and that being this close to her made him hungry in more ways that one. He couldn't explain that he felt trapped and he physically hurt and the storm would give him a headache so strong that he wouldn't even be able to pass out...

...all because he ate his last girlfriend. And a few others, but it was an accident.

That wasn't a conversation to have with a complete stranger. Or anyone for that matter.

"And why are you out here?" He said, kicking the sand with the tip of his shoe. "You don't look like you woke up today with the intention of coming to the beach."

He watched the storm pick up and lightning strike over into the ocean. Another burst of sea spray hit him, dampening his skin and coaxing goosebumps even though he had started to sweat.

He watched her shift her hips and felt something in him lurch. He wasn't sure if he could weather this storm, not in his state, not with her doing things like that. He didn't care if it was an innocent gesture, it made his heart race and stagger all at once.

"Come along, then. I'll save you from the rain, though I doubt I can save you from a migraine. That's your own problem"

"I...I don't think that's such a good idea," he started to say, his voice dropping. It should have been sexy, but there was something akin to terror lurking just behind it. This was a bad idea, it'd been a bad idea from the start, what had he been thinking?

The rain started to pour over the ocean, close enough that he could hear it, and Lochlann felt his knees buckle and a startled gasp escaped as the pain started to hit him in steady bursts like the wind. He really did follow her without hesitation, because now he didn't have a choice.

"You don't understand," he panted, "this is going to be so much worse than a migraine."

His pupils had dilated until both his eyes were black. If they were inside that cabin together, he wasn't sure he'd be able to control himself. He realized he was walking too close behind her when her skirt brushed against his tremblings legs and he leaned forward, his voice coming out hoarse from trying to stop the purr that was going to creep into it whether he wanted to or not.

"You'll have to stop me." It probably would have sounded creepy, or rather it did sound creepy, if it wasn't for the desperate "Please" that followed.

Lochlann stumbled inside the cabin.

Trapped in a tight, cramped cabin in the pouring rain with a smoking hot girl should have been every straight man's dream, but instead it was Lochlann's nightmare.

He was still laying where he collapsed early, and he tucked his knees in. As the first of the rain pounded the cabin, the storm inside Lochlann howled louder than the wind, his insides churning and his head pounding harder than the waves against the store. He wanted to say something to her, something reassuring, maybe, but when he opened his mouth he groaned instead. When he opened his eyes and realized his vision was, for the most part, intact, he felt the faintest glimmer of hope. It was going to get worse, he knew, but he had time.

"You. Are you alright?"

He could barely hear her over the storm and the pounding of his heart in his ears, and at first Loch wondered if he even imagined her speaking.

"No," he said, just no. How the hell was he supposed to explain this? He could barely think, let alone come up with an explanation that wouldn't send her running out into that storm. Maybe he should tell her the truth, maybe she'd be safer in the storm than in here with him.

He pulled his knees under him and was eventually on his hands and knees, shaking and gasping, and though the room around him shifted, he managed to get up and start to frantically unbutton his shirt. He avoided eye contact, especially after he pulled it off him and rubbed it against his arms and face, trying to absorb any stray water that had pelted him over the last few minutes. Satisfied, he twisted into a sitting position, sprawling against the cramped space with his back supported by the wall.

But it happened.

His leg brushed against hers.

It was the barest of contact but it was electrifying in the split moment of clarity that it gave Loch. When he touched her, he felt....okay. He withdrew his leg and the pain rolled back.

"you make me feel sick to the stomach. What have you done to make me feel this way?"

"I want you," he said, his voice breathless. His bare skin felt clammy in the cramped cabin, feverish, and the air did nothing to cool it. "And there's some part of you, Guin, that wants me, too, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. It makes this...dangerous."

He didn't think he could take it much longer. He fingered the chain around his neck, ready to rip it off, his fingers shaking. He'd do anything to make the pain stop, anything. He groaned, shifting against the wall, silently apologizing for what he was going to have to do when--

his leg brushed against hers again. His breath caught in his throat, but when the pain didn't come back, he exhaled. He didn't move his leg again, but he was braced for the moment we she moved.

"To begin, I requested you call me Guinevere. Be sure not to make the same mistake again."

That slow smile ripples its way across his face and he gave the briefest chuckle, too tense to really relax. He observed her with eyes that were so far black as to make his green iris just a tiny sliver on the edge.

"And second of all, what you have made me feel is an outside force outside of my control. It is fraud and fake. You have a gift, correct? Is it not possible to confer that this is it?"

The smile on his face faltered. He still felt feverish, sweating despite the goosebumps, and he knew it was only a matter of time. He supposed he should explain something, didn't he owe her that? But he didn't want to. It was selfish, but he was lonely, and being alone hurt almost as bad as the physical pain. But didn't not telling her make him the monster he really was?

He exhaled.

"It's not a gift," he started, pausing to take a deep breath. He clenched and unclenched his fists. "It's more like a...symptom. I'm at this school because I have problems managing."

Thunder crashed overhead and Loch jumped, pulling his leg away from hers.

It started.

"I can't make you feel anything you don't want to feel on some level. It's not hard to want you, but it's not your eyes or your legs that make it so--although don't get me wrong, both are delicious--" he licked his lips, leaning forward, bringing his eyes up to meet hers.

"It's the way you answer things. You didn't request I call you Guinevere, you commanded. It's that fire that makes you irresistible. It makes me want to delve deeper, learn more. Why are you at this school, Guin..evere?"

He leaned so far forward that he was almost on his hands and knees again, peering into her eyes, his lips parted, his face flush.

Several things hit Lochlann at once.

One of them was obviously a fist, but with it was mixed a little shock and indignation (she thinks I have to manipulate girls?), admiration (she really did just punch me) and pain, but not the gut-wrenching pain he'd been feeling. It was just normal, physical pain, not the deep pain welding up within him.

His arms collapsed from the blow and Lochlann's body slumped forward on its own, his head flopping onto her legs with only a muffled "Hng!" to acknowledge he'd been hit at all.

The last thing Lochlann felt was gratitude. He swallowed the blood that was pooling into his mouth--he must have bit the inside of his cheek when she hit him, and he knew he'd have a bruise later.

"Thank you," he breathed against her leg, taking a deep breath, and then lifted himself up slowly, keeping as much contact with her as possible. His eyes were still dilated and his teeth looked a little too sharp, but it was clear that she'd literally knocked some sense into him.

"That was a good punch," he said, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm. "If I was going to hit you back, I knew I wouldn't stand a chance."

He exhaled sharply, the rain splattering against the windows like a shotgun blast, and Lochlann leaned forward so his arm was brushing against her leg again.

He frowned, but it was clear that something else was bothering him besides the physical pain. "But I'll have you know I never manipulated anyone. They came willingly. I didn't even want to get involved with the last one. It was an accident."

There was a hitch in the end of his sentence that he disguised quite well, oblivious to it himself, but someone with Guinevere's talents would be able to pick up on it quite easily. He fingered the chain around his neck with his free hand almost absentmindedly. He looked up at her face, searching for her eyes. "So why were you at the beach?"

His jaw was throbbing, but it was a good throb, better than his other aches. He continued to lay on his stomach, propped up by his elbows, his right arm against her leg. Occasionally, he would lower his head and rub his forehead and scalp with his hands, trying to ease the headache, but he paid little attention to his jaw.

"No need to thank me... It was my pleasure."

Cripes, he liked that. He smiled, but then caught himself and frowned. He watched her play with her braid, his dark eyes watching the way his fingers worked. He hoped she'd hit him again if he got too close again. He still wanted to, though.

He was a mess. He knew he looked like one, laying on a freakin' floor in the middle of a shack on this god forsaken island while rain and wind rattled the windows. He was still feverish and tired and he ached all over and he was getting really tired of feeling that way. Lochlann hurts, blablabla, lets list the ways, he thought to himself, exhaling too sharply again.

"I was looking for you, in a sense. But that isn't important. Tell me about this accident," she said and Lochlann heard her voice soften. He didn't look up to catch her eyes this time, instead curling his fingers into fists and then releasing them when he caught his own reaction.

"I don't think so," he said, but then he looked up at her and tried to keep her gaze. "Not without you telling me something about you first. Why were you looking for me? I didn't even know you until.."

He frowned. He did not know this word in English.

"A time ago." He finally settled on. Lochlann could read a clock, could feel time certainly, but he never had a reason to measure it. In his previous school, it was time to go to class when the bells rang, and he could tell time passed, but he'd never thought about the words. He was floundering mentally. He hoped he didn't sound like an idiot. Not that it mattered. he was sure he ruined whatever chance he had when, well, he thought about eating her.

It was still a tempting idea, and he was starved.

This was exhausting.

"How did you even know I'd be at the beach?" His eyes narrowed, but he was smiling, "can you foresee those things?"