There are fang extensions in her mouth. He seldom thought of them – he had gotten used to them almost since the beginning. He didn’t feel them at all when they kissed – even when she went down on him … Now it was as if he was kissing her for the first time, his head was spinning, he wanted to guttle her, he was already out of breath. Somewhere he found the strength to start wriggling around again, to pull her jeans off, push his hand down her panties as she was taking off her T-shirt, sitting on him in an uncomfortable pose, her knees pressed into the bed on both sides of his hips.
She almost never wore bras, and she had small breasts – but Richard liked her small breasts. He moved deeper into the bed, back to the pillows, impatient for her to take the rest of the clothes off, he pulled her towards himself with one hand, his other hand inside her. Her palms were already on his cock, he dug into her lips, holding her by the hair, exhaling moans into her mouth, throwing his head back when she started to trail kisses down his neck to his chest, to his chiseled abdomen, to his lower stomach.
Now it was he who grabbed her hair with both hands, trying not to move his hips, admiring her and immediately getting lost again, closing his eyes, dissolving.
Then he pulled her away from himself and kissed her on the lips again, she was already sitting on top of him, moving her hips rhythmically, his embrace left raspberry-red marks on her shoulders and back that will later become bruises – because her skin is prone to bruising – even under the black geometrical pattern of the tattoos … Suddenly, he gave a quiet cry of surprise through his brief moaning. He was already gasping, hoarsely, for air, she barely had time to pull away, still holding him by the shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he managed to say.
He reached to her inner thigh again, but she stopped him, pulling his hand away, kissing his sweat-soaked temple.
“It’s okay.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
They only just started … He forgot everything, he lost control. With her, he lost control – but wasn’t afraid of this free fall anymore, everything was different. He trusted her – with both body and mind – and knew she did, too. It wasn’t even about the sex, though sex with a loved one – a privilege previously inaccessible – was one of the pleasant discoveries.
In many ways, it was as if he was born again … What it’s like to finish too soon, it turned out, was also something he had to learn. Disappointment, confusion, and something of abashment – since the clarity comes quickly.
Alexandra lay next to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, Richard hugged her, touching her forehead, the wet strands of hair stuck to it, with his lips. He closed his eyes, the exhaustion came back, the pain in his side pulsed vividly.
The painkiller was somewhere in the pocket of his jacket, discarded on the entrance hall floor.
He realized that, half-laying on the pillows, he can’t even move, though now he definitely needed to take a shower. Richard huffed, opened his eyes – but only to make himself more comfortable, feeling the cool body next to him, breathing in the scent of the sweet perfume and shampoo, mixed with the smell of the car, the airport, plane, the taxi, the salty sweat.
She never told him that she loved him … It was an odd thought – uncharacteristic for him, too sentimental – though neutral, more of the realm of unresolved questions. Even he said it – genuinely, not as a loud declaration or the way it’s normally said as a goodbye or in carelessness – but as an argument, as a thesis in dialogue.
It seems the latest events, the wounds, and flights, really did exhaust him. What damn difference did it make if she said it or not – if he knows that she loves him anyway.
Richard fell asleep almost right away, Alexandra lay next to him for some time, looking at the flecks of light that shifted on the beige wall opposite the bed. The escape, the wound, riddles again, this Circus again …
Alexandra hated the Circus – for what they did to Richard and for what they kept doing – though now he was immune to their manipulations and brainwashing.
He was a tool – a plastic doll in a plastic dollhouse, with stage scenery and genius – in its cynicism – direction … Behind the altisonant words about duty and honor, evil and good, chaos and order were ordinary human motives – though at a lower level of influence from the divine.
The problem was not that Richard and his colleagues served the powers that were not at all good and order – but in that the absolute trust and unquestioning execution of order turned them from humans into meat. Meat of professional liars and seductors, expensive in maintenance but yet a commodity, high-class specialists – loyal hunting dogs regularly bringing truffles.
When they first met, Richard seemed an empty shell to her, she never knew he was a spy – but saw that he was pretending – skillfully, so well that no one would ever figure it out … But she felt that he was lying. He looked at her with his beautiful blue eyes, he followed her everywhere, not imposing, but offering – and giving help – in solving the problem … The problem that he himself created – so she would run into his arms, seeking protection.
The Circus considered the writer Stella Fracta dangerous – because of the popularity of her book about alchemy – and the popularization of the secrets of the Poets’ society. The Circus will never understand that there are no secrets – there’s only the level of engagement in the Great Work, the level of understanding and trust – in oneself and all the symbols that guide the alchemist towards his purpose over his lifetime.
MI6 is too rational to believe that nigredo, albedo, citrinitas, and rubedo – are not just words and a magic recipe, they’re obvious keys and a process that describes any task.
When Richard’s world began to crumble – without asking for his permission – he suddenly understood. He stopped being a doll with broad shoulders, a taut ass and dry abs – but without a soul; he could no more unsee what he saw.
He simply understood that he never knew himself – and when the time came to choose, he had nothing to choose from. He suddenly understood that he was robbed – when they took his self, but gave him dozens of other biographies in exchange – and they were never enough anyway.
There will never be enough wardrobe sets – even the most exquisite ones – if he’s never been in his own skin – and doesn’t know his own reflection.
Richard remembered that he is someone, besides his undercover personas and missions, only when he fell in love. Alexandra herself had no idea she would fall in love – just a year ago she lay next to him like this and was waiting when this weirdo would finally leave – because Richard North was perfect and right in every way, but reeked of emptiness.
He revealed himself – she barely had to try. She just allowed him to get involved in her game, in her adventure, to see the world through her eyes – and in the end got an MI6 agent hook, line, and sinker.
She began to love him when he stopped pretending and hiding behind masks. When he admitted that he understands nothing – and asked her to help. When he shed his artificial guises and came naked, slightly frightened of his own nakedness, confused for want of habit – without prompts and safety nets.
He’s been to hell – more than once. He’s become a Poet – and watched everything crumble around him, everything he clung onto, everything that comprised his reality, be taken from him … He passed the first step of the Great Work – nigredo – and now it’s up to him to build his new reality anew, an alchemist’s reality, his albedo castle.
Richard is impatient … He’s used to everything turning out the first time. He’s used to people