Niko's face

shines like golden stuff

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& while I'm here...
Steam rose from the cup, as his small hands gently cradled it between chill fingers. Mist swirled ominously through the streets from this vantage point in the clouds, and his breath unfurled before him into the night sky. Lights twinkled far below. Winter gripped the heart of the city, slowing its beat while the people down below failed to notice. Instead they simply hurried their footfalls and gathered their clothing around them to strangulate some warmth from the fabric. Dark eyes sheathed in darker circles scanned the edge of the cup, unseeing as the steam gently caressed the tip of his nose. There was a sound from far below – perhaps the sound of tyres screeching or raised voices, but they did not penetrate the silence of his vigil. Nearby a VDU gave off the faintest of glows, offering the only illumination in the room. 
When nights such as these approached, he thought of her as he always would. 
Both French doors were thrown open, while he sat as close to the guardrail as humanly possible. He couldn't feel the cold. Not tonight. The mind's eye was all the warmth he needed. 
A door whispered gently and a floorboard sighed softly to announce her arrival. On silent steps she crossed the threshold, bringing forth a warmth and radiance that had not graced this room for many a year. Warmth that had not graced his life for longer, perhaps. 
Focusing on the thought of flame can cause even those with a most chilly disposition to thaw, their walls of ice come crashing down. Imagination makes real those things we dare only to dream if only for a time. Upon waking from such sweet slumber, the imprint of angel kisses still adorning your groggy head, the winter closes back with all the mercy of a trained attack hound. Just for a moment though, all your wishes are granted under waves of pleasure and comfort. Safe are these dreams locked within the mind, until longing draws them unbidden from your lips, causing the sun to set on this summery outlook forevermore. 
The frame of divinity stood behind his chair now as he maintained his posture, frozen in place. Deep in winter sleep. 
What was this creature that stood waiting just outside of perception? This happy breeze that brought the scent of rose hips and baking bread. The wonderful feeling of dew dripping down your bare neck, of frost slowly slipping away. One hand was all it would take, gently pressing down on his shoulder. Squeezing lightly with a stray thumb's caress. The sleeper would wake, winter dispelled through some kind of otherworldly power. 
Standing to greet her, his hands gently found her arms. Smooth like silk with real red blood pumping just below the surface of the skin where nerves danced a merry jig. Their eyes locked, a spectrum of colour danced playfully between them as fire danced behind each pair. He descended upon her like a bird of prey swooping down to place his lips upon her own, claiming her as she demanded to be claimed. Fingertips found their way to hairlines then back down to caress skin and clothing alike, every sensation accounted for. 
Intensity increases tenfold within the boundaries of your mind. What to one may feel like a gentle touch on the tips of the fingers can mean thousands of volts surging up and down the nervous system of another.
One flex of his arms was all it took to steal the ground from beneath her feet. He lifted her upwards and closer to his body, feeling a slight weight press reassuringly against his chest. They flew in a flurry of lips and skin to skin contact, one being for the meantime. Crossing another threshold, submissive winter completely dissolved in summer wind. A tempest of nerve impulses surged with each gentle touch of her lips to his, up and down his spinal column connected by a direct line to his brain. 
Slowly they explored every inch of each other, uncovering secrets now lain bare. He revealed a side of himself he was unaware still lived within his rotten shell. Something there still breathing with a warmth of its own. Shocked and surprised, pleasantly, he drifted to sleep in her milky arms. Giving in to the sleep was the last thing he remembered and the last thing he ever wanted to remember. 
Upon waking, she was not there. 
Upon waking, she had never been there.
Upon waking, she would never be there. 
For she was not she who could be,
but rather she was she who does not exist, 
at least not in that capacity. 
And when he realized all of this, he wept. 
Winter slowly crept back inside. Blood turned once more to ice. 


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