Work Text:
The firs time, she says it because she likes the taste of his name,
how it sounds like an old record, smells like a book one hasn't opened for a long time.
Then she says out of habit,
because he seems to turn his icy gaze each time and a bit of it melts under her green one; because no one else seems to use it.
...then because it seems to curve his lips.
Each time.
With each letter of his whispered from her lips.
J. A. M. E. S.
Then the shadows come:
They fill her mind in shades of red, in the taste of rust in her mouth,
In how snow falls around her.
They come in the shape of dark hair on her lap,
In fingers tracing and the electric sensation they leave behind.
In his blow against her skin — in how she screams,
but it's not in pain.
"James?" she calls him last, and he turns, and this time....
....this time she remembers. "James."