FROM HER ASHES³ ━━ Bellamy Blake

𝐈𝐗: Science Bros Strike Again

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SCIENCE BROS STRIKE AGAIN!

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THE WAY OCTAVIA carves her lips into Lyra's makes her feel as if she is being cut open.

Octavia is another knife that Lyra can feel. Razor sharp fingers flashing against her hips. A different sort, but a knife still. Her mouth tastes like blood and ash. Always a knife. So commanding and yet there is something gentle there, too. As if Lyra is still a porcelain doll with a heart of glass and Octavia is scared of shattering her. Her hoarse voice whispering dirty words in her ears. Blade sharp. And Lyra is a mess beneath her. She does not care if this cuts her open, if this ruins her. All she can think of is Give me the blade. Some things are worth spilling blood for.

She wants to sin every time she is with Octavia.

Octavia leans towards her, close enough for another kiss. Lyra closes her eyes in anticipation, but it never comes.

Lyra can feel the warmth of Octavia's breath. "Tell me you love me."

Lyra opens her eyes in alarm. "What?"

"You heard me," drawls Octavia in that low rasp of hers, changing the angle of her hand so that it is wrapped around her neck. Not hard enough to hurt in that pleasant way, but all too close. "Tell me you love me."

Lyra stares up at her. But Octavia remains stoic and serious as ever. And so she inhales deeply, twitching underneath her.

"I love you," she says mildly.

Octavia shakes her head with a trace of displeasure. "You have to mean it."

After a moment, Lyra speaks, her voice scarcely a whisper. "I love you."

Octavia chuckles then, kissing her forehead. . . tracing a path of kisses down to her cheeks. . . her nose. . . her ears. . . her neck finally landing her mouth on Lyra's, devouring her lips, unleashing a lifetime of resentment and passion all right there in that moment. Lyra is desperate to please her, praying to all the gods that might listen that she could remain in Octavia's arms forever, stay right there because she needs to, because she belongs there, because this is her safe-haven. And as she gazes into Octavia's tender blue eyes, she sees a fire in them, a fire that she would gladly let burn for an eternity.

All until Octavia pulls away from her again.

"You've gotten good at pretending," the girl under the floor whispers to her. "But I can still see right through you."

Lyra stares up at her, caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"

"You've been lying to yourself for so long that you can't even tell anymore," says Octavia with the ghost of a dry smile. "What am I to you, Lyra? Who am I to you?"

"You're — you're my best friend," Lyra stumbles over her words frantically, fighting the urge to gape. "I — I — "

"I'm not Bellamy."