Chapter Text
To Crave Your Gaze, To Feel Your Lips
Larissa knew what it was to want. To crave. To ache for the bare minimum. And she hated it. She buried it deep within her chest as she walked down Nevermore’s hallways, her shoes making loud thuds against the grain as if the very sound of it could scare away ghosts. Shadows slanted and pooled in the crevices of the stone, making the hallways a perfect place for hiding.
Larissa paused at the banister, her one foot half on the stair, the other frozen halfway off. Because Morticia never hid. Morticia’s black hair was pushed against the wall, her chin thrown upwards, eyelashes fluttering against her stark cheekbones that were barely dusted pink. Gomez’s shoulders and body caged Morticia in, and Larissa could see the girl’s fingers curling into the fabric around his neck.
Larissa’s stomach was ash.
Morticia’s hand slithered up Gomez’s neck to rake in his hair, and her dark soulless eyes peered back at her across the hall. Her breath caught between her teeth as Morticia gazed at her with hunger. It broke Larissa’s frozen stance and she pounded down the stairs, the smooth banister keeping her upright.
She was early to her herbology class and she used that time to precisely sketch out today’s poison. Darkened the ridges with her blunt pencil to blot out the way she wanted to be Gomez, to feel Morticia’s nails scrap against the nape of her neck. Those nails that she had just painted last night in their dorm room, with the spelled polish that was blacker than a dark hole. She had been tempted to paint her nails to match, to snatch anything from the girl. To claim something.
Her peers gradually filed into the classroom. Larissa’s diagram was completed and labeled by the time Morticia glided into the room, taking the spot across from her. Her long hair was like silk down her back, with no strand out of place, as if it wasn’t just splayed against the wall.
The teacher wrote on the blackboard and Larissa tried to soak everything up, so she wouldn’t have any room left in her. Her pencil was in constant movement and when it was time for the comprehensive review, her hand shot up.
“Yes, Weems? Explain what pH the soil needs to be for Nightshade and why.” The teacher leaned against the blackboard, the chalk dangling from her hand.
“They need a pH range of 6.0 to 6.5, otherwise their growth is stunted. It might be because they are highly responsive to nitrogen--”
“In comparison to what household plant?”
“The tomato plant.” Morticia chimed in when Larissa didn’t answer right away.
“Good,” the teacher grinned and she looked down at her notes. They had never brought up household plants, and what did that have to do with Nightshades? And why did Morticia know the answer?
Larissa lingered when class was dismissed. She took her time checking her ink pen, and straightened the non-existent creases in her skirt. Watched Morticia through her eyelashes, simmering with something buzzing, like iron nails being hammered into her bones. Nails on a chalkboard. Rage, indignation. Familiar feelings twisted with the way she soaked up the sound of Morticia’s laugh. She wanted to rip the longing out of herself, like exercising a pest, but it rooted itself deeper and deeper inside.
Morticia waved her friend away and then stood in front of Larissa’s desk. Morticia splayed her pale fingers against the wood, her hair spilling onto it like ink.
“What?” Larissa snapped while putting her notebook away.
“We have practice tonight, don’t forget.”
“You’d be the one to forget,” Larissa muttered and swung her bag over her shoulder. “Playing in the hallways like a spider.”
“And like a spider I see you.” Morticia’s lip quirked in a one-sided smile while Larissa swept away from her.
Fencing was one thing where Larissa could have all of Morticia’s focus. It was heady having the shorter girl tuned into her, watching for every move, anticipating the way their bodies worked together. And because of that, it was when she felt the most tortured. It was the only time she got to have all of Morticia and even then, it wasn’t enough. A few weeks ago they agreed on practicing for the upcoming Championships, and she never wanted it to end. Even if it left her sore and hungry.
She flicked the practice room lights on, dressed in light workout clothes. The windows were spelled to keep out the winter air, but a draft still made her shiver. She laid her practice bag near the wall and began simple stretches, luxuriating in the feeling of her limbs. She still had tension in her forearms from shapeshifting into a bear during her practical.
“You’re still thinking too hard-- thinking like a human. To take the shape of a bear, be a bear.” Her mentor had lectured before dismissing her with a sigh. But being anything else was easy, it was the coming back that was hard. She shook out her ankles and leaned into the need to make sure they were in the right shape. Shifting left her untethered like she couldn’t figure out what she was supposed to be, and what form she had taken. She was always in flux, changing, and the stretches rooted her. The pull of her muscles in a lunge, the flick of her wrist. The sweat on her forehead was right where it was supposed to be.
“You’re early.” Morticia’s voice echoed in the room, standing in the doorway watching her. Her dark gaze was the same as in the hall when she caught Larissa watching her being kissed.
“Maybe you’re just late.” She countered.
“Show me that stretch you just did.” Morticia didn’t ask, her words a command bound in a honey tone. Her hair was in a low ponytail, and her black clothes covered up to her collarbones, making her moon-pale skin glow.
Morticia stood close, less than a yoga mat’s width away, and mirrored her foot placement. “Wider,” Larissa moved Morticia’s foot lightly.
“Move your core this way, keep your back straight.” Her fingers lingered, applying light pressure to adjust Morticia’s angles.
“This is harder than you made it look.” Morticia laughed. “Even my thighs are quivering.”
“Sink lower,” Morticia didn’t break eye contact, her large gaze tracking each inch of Larissa. She towered over her, almost like Morticia was kneeling, was bowed like a prayer before a looming God. It made her feel powerful. Morticia’s high cheekbones were dusted pink and her black lipstick was smeared at the edges.
“You didn’t spell your lipstick,” Larissa whispered, the air around them tight. “Playing with Gomez again?” She reached out and Morticia’s skin was cool, her hand so much bigger than Morticia's chin. She was heady on Morticia’s gaze, the way it darkened like a liquid sky, giving her courage.
“Like watching me that much?”
“No.” Larissa scowled and smeared the black lipstick, ruining the blurred edge even further. She could see Morticia swallow and the flash of her white teeth.
“A pity,” Morticia gripped Larissa’s wrist, her eyes searching for something Larissa didn’t know. “Are you going to ruin it more?”
Larissa shuttered, her craving running molten hot within her blood, and she felt like the bear again: driven by desire and instinct. She twisted that silky black hair in her hand, heard her gasp, and watched the pink dusting become a red flush that traveled down her pretty cheekbones.
Larissa kissed Morticia like she was starving. She smeared that black lipstick with all her want, luxuriating in the softness of the girl’s mouth. The warmth of her breath, the heat of her tongue lapping at Larissa’s. She bit and sucked, wanting to consume every single inch Morticia could give her.
Morticia dipped out of the stance, clinging onto Larissa. Grabbing fistfuls of Larissa’s loose t-shirt and pressed her shorter body as close as she could. The pressure of Morticia’s hands pushed Larssia out to sea, her mind blank of everything but Morticia, Morticia, Morticia.
The heat of her tongue against her own. The sting of Morticia’s teeth on her lips, the heat that was like lightning going through her body. She swallowed every moan Morticia relinquished, and savored it like a dying man. She nipped at Morticia’s chin, placing open-mouthed kisses that were more like bites down the column of her moon-white neck. Felt crazed by seeing the purple bloom under her teeth, knowing she was the one responsible. Morticia pressed closer, whined, and tried to climb up Larissa’s thigh.
Larissa tried to breathe, each inhales rasping, every exhale a groaned moan. She felt stars behind her eyes and was drunk when Morticia pulled back, and her black eyes were glazed. Pupils and iris are indistinguishable. She was the one making Morticia that way.
“Down,” Morticia pushed at Larssia’s stomach, and like the falling bridge of London, her knees gave way to the floor. Her heart was frantic in her chest and her elbows hurt when she skidded down on the wooden floor. She looked up at Morticia, unable to break her gaze away. Watched the shadows play against Morticia’s beautiful face, the way the black lipstick was smeared over her pinking lips, her pale chin, and down her throat. The messiness of her hair, which was falling out of the ponytail like a siren luring its prey, the rise and fall of her chest like a hummingbird.
Larissa felt undone by her.