Don't Make A Sound by demondreaming on fanfiction.net
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"Don't make a sound."
She whispers the words to you, breath feathering the delicate shell of your ear. Her fingers tiptoe down your shoulder, warm, so warm, and you can feel her chest pressing up against you, rising and falling against your spine as she breathes.
She doesn't need to tell you now. It's not the first time she's been pressed up against you in the dark. You'd like to think this is the last time. But you're always proven wrong. But all this happened without words. It seems almost right it should continue in silence.
The first time Rosé kissed you – or the first time you kissed her – it was dark, and it wasn't her and it wasn't you, it was just two shapes in a sleeping bag with hot hands and soft mouths and sighs. You were made of touches, and she was made of shadows and curves. And when you woke up she was Rosé again, and you were Jennie, and you were both separate people again. You're always separate people until the lights are off. Then you're liquid, mixing with her, puffs of smoke that curl into each other and form a dark cloud. Inhaled and exhaled.
At first it was only on those rare sleepovers, even rarer after it happened. After the first time, the second time was too real. The first was like a dream, all sweating hands and shattered breath. Easily dismissed as a fantasy, if it wasn't for the taste she left on your lips, the throb she left in your belly. But the second time was fumbling, the darkness cut with a strip of light from under the door, and it made everything edges, everything rimmed with light. Maybe you should've stopped then, but her hand was already in your pants, and your mouth was already dampening her throat with its gasps. It was awkward, and clumsy, and real. At least until the lights came on again. Then it was a finger held to flushed lips. A secret you don't tell.
Never make a sound.
It progressed from sleepovers to anywhere dark, really. A pool of darkness in an alley, sounds of traffic rumbling by, footsteps in the distance, muffled by a quiet moan. A flicker in the movie theatre, a hand on your thigh. It became so it was almost as if the shadows themselves were touching you. Like they crept inside the both of you to gain a semblance of life. Or maybe the two of you just melted away, became shadows yourselves. You don't know how it works, how the two of you change in the dark. You're better at feeling things than expressing them. It's easier to not make a sound. It'd only raise questions neither of you could answer.
Wrong or right never comes into it. You're sure if you thought about it, if you closed your eyes and had the light bleed red into your eyelids, you'd see what this was. Or rather, what it wasn't. It's not normal. Normal's never meant much to you, really. It's not what bothers you. No, it's not a question of morality or normality that irks you. You just don't think about that when you're with her. It's something else, something that niggles at your spine, that catches in your throat and tears at your lungs. Something that infects the darkness, a little voice in your head that whispers wait. But she doesn't wait. You never say it. It's a flicker, a flash, and it's too quick for you to pin down. You get lost in her lips, in the curve of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts. You get lost in the tangible dark.
You do make sounds though.
Little ones. So does she. Not words, no. Never words. Words belong to Jennie and Rosé, and you're just shapes. You're just secrets. You're just lies.
She pants, you whimper, she sighs, you gasp. You can feel the vibrations in her throat where your lips trace. You can feel her breath feather you unevenly. You can feel the darkness shake and hum with her tiny sounds. They're little bees that buzz around you, stinging your ears before they die in the cage of your chest, swallowed up by the insatiable silence. You wonder sometimes if darkness and silence are the same thing. Sounds are so much louder in the dark. They shatter it, prickle your arms and widen your eyes. It feels right to be quiet when there's no light. It feels like hiding, like huddling. Like safety.
