send me five times kissed for a drabble about five times our muses kissed.
i. Natalia is just a girl with hopes & dreams, a young lamb who has fallen into the wolf’s clutches. She doesn’t think him a wolf, but a F-F-FATHER. Mad King Macbeth sits atop his throne with his legs slightly parted. Here, he shows no fear. Here, he feels no fear. Lax in pose, he has the gall to manage a thin smile. Poor child misconstrues the gentle curve as something amiable, coaxing her forward in her lone soldier’s march. Galaxies dance behind his head, forming a parody of a halo. She watches in wonder, her blue eyes wide in awe & wonder. As an oracle would, she holds out her hands – so young and naïve is she!
He watches her, his gaze omniscient, his will of forged steel. Faux God {BLASPHEMY ! } flicks his wrists out, drags his fingers over her palms before reeling her in like a wriggling fish caught on a hook. He places a kiss on the back of her hand, as Prince Charming would. This ain’t no hymn. Nor is it a fairy tale.
’ These hands will kill, ’ says he.
She believes.
ii. A nightmare stirs the little killer awake. Alert, the young girl leaps up from her bed with such a fright. Panic grips her heart, plucking the strings one by one. Tonight, she seeks out the firm hand of King Lear. She should have known better when she finds him atop his throne, as still as stone. Does he sleep? Does he eat? There is an inhuman quality to him. Even in her youth, she gravitates to it. For that, she condemns herself. Just a moth to a flame.
Tears sully her vision, dried onto her rosy cheeks. Balled fists rub at the corner of her eyes before she wraps her arms around him, on her knees, begging him to relieve her of the horrific vision that assaults her dreams. He cannot. He is not the Sandman. She knows this, but somehow, she feels safer when her head rests in his lap. Where he tells her stories of his youth. A siren song that lulls her in. To sleep perchance to dream, but she dreams not when she whimpers out in a trembling voice: ’ I wasn’t real. I’m not REAL. ‘
His hand, so warm despite the cruelty of his cybernetic eyes, coasts along her head. Pats her hair down, smooths a lock behind her ear. Honey flows from his lips & she drinks it with her obeying ears: ’ You are. You’re here with me. ‘
On the crown of her head, he places a gentle kiss. He assures her with all his good virtue, wrapping his arms around her. It’s a strange-love. A stranglehold. Forgive her, Hera! In Hades’ arms, she must stay.
She calls him father & he allows it.
iii. Teenage years mark a pivotal age! It’s her birthday – or so she has been led to believe. Sixteen. That’s how many years she’s gained under her belt {can it match the KILLS ? }. He gives her gifts as though she’s a holy altar for each year that passes. The guns, she uses. The sentimental presents, shevalues. What can it be today? She stares at the black box, eyes narrowed. Already, she has learned that emotions are POINTLESS, useless things. Natalia has learned from the best.
With a ghostly smile, she opens the gift to reveal a necklace. Emblem of a spider. Black Widow. He’s too good & knows it. Kisses her on the cheek like good fathers – good, sane men – do.
’ You burn brighter than the sun. ‘
She’s got the fire; he’s got the ice. The two will cancel out.
iv. Biotics & guns, O my! All grown up, she has become a forced to be RECKONED with. She’s the loyal dog chained to his side. She fancies herself not as Persephone. She has a fire all her own, the stuff of legends. Still, the woman king has much to learn. Practice makes perfect. A girl masquerading as the Illusive Man’s D A U G H T E R must attain perfection no matter the cost. With her finger on the trigger, she blasts away targets. Bang, bang, bang. They fall, reduced to fine shreds of dust.
He steadies her, this veritable force. Together, they resemble masterful titans, bringing several lives down beneath the firm stomp of their heel. His fingers,cool to the touch, caress the inside of her wrist & he steps in front of her. She wonders if this is a nightmare, but it isn’t.
She tells him to MOVE.
He kisses the gun, a challenge in her eyes.
Now, she sees the monster.
v. O! Mercy! What has become of THEM? She defected, little Red Riding Hood had run away! Black Widow has had enough of the games, enough of all the king’s men desperate to hound her down. Tonight, she faces her fears& her monsters. With fire in her eyes, she approached him. Many have fallen beneath her heel. She’s learned from the best. He knows it, he taught her. On his knees, he smiles through the blood that stains her teeth. This isn’t anightmare he can wake up from, but she wishes it was.
The muzzle of her gun is a hateful spear in his side, a kiss to his jawline. He rises without a word, his eyes threat’ning to freeze her immortal soul. He kisses her brow. Then, her cheek. A red streak lingers. She feels the blood dry along with the promise he made: ‘ I WILL DRAG YOU DOWN. ‘
She believes.