Bikes & Blood

𝐗𝐗𝐕.

"Take my hand, and don't you ever let go"
-Take My Hand, 5 Seconds of Summer

Candle wax dripped down the cavernous walls, trickling down like dozens of tiny tree roots branching off in every direction. Amara watched the dancing flames with rapt attention. A soft smile playing at the corners of her lips, her head resting on Paul's shoulder as his nimble fingers plucked at the strings of his electric guitar with lithe grace. Filling the spacious cave with soft but distinguishable rock chords that elicited a beguiled chuckle from the depths of Marko's chest, his curls mused as the trio basked in the serene atmosphere.

The lavish bed sheets brushed against Amara's legs as she shifted amongst the assortment of pillows and the two blondes beside her, nestling herself deeper into the nest of pillows, and simultaneously prompting Marko to readjust his hold on her as she settled her head back upon Paul's shoulder, smiling down at the sleeping Malamute on the rock star blonde's chest. She rolled her eyes with a diverted tilt to her lips as Marko nestled his head in the crook of her neck, his chin resting atop her shoulders as her fingers toyed with the assortment of bracelets around his wrist.

Her brows screwed together as the familiarity of the slow rock song registered in her mind, ghosting across the cave like lovers danced in the summer rain. "Are you playing what I think you're playing?"

Paul grinned, peering down at her with charming eyes that rolled like the ocean they reflected. "What do you think I'm playing?"

She paused, surveying the blonde and the smug grin across his face. Her eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. "Not, I think." She corrected. "I know what you're playing."

"Don't be shy then. Tell me what I'm playing." His skilled fingers perfectly danced across the neck of the guitar, whilst his Atlantic-blue-eyed stare seared into the skin of her face with mischievous intensity.

"With or Without You by U2." She shook her head with deft amusement, forcing herself not to smile as his eyes lit up at her words. "You know."

"Know what?"

She narrowed her eyes, eyebrows coming together into a displeased scowl. "Don't play-"

"It's the perfect song for a first kiss. Beautiful, really." His grin seemed to grow, dimples revealing themselves on either side of his cheeks. "Marky's a good kisser, isn't he?"

She blinked once. Twice. Lifting her head from his shoulder to peer down at him with a slight tilt to her head, disturbing Marko as a groan of annoyance tumbled from the back of the sandy-blonde's throat. Her forehead creased with palpable confusion-utterly convinced she'd heard him wrong, that she'd merely imagined it-but as he held her gaze, his stare unwavering. She knew that she'd heard him correctly. And she found, despite the 'taboo' of what society deemed wrong, that she didn't care. Because who was she to judge an immortal being?

To dictate someone else's life because of something as fickle as their personal preferences. She pondered the idea of the easy, teasing confession he'd made-turning it over in her mind whilst reminding herself that he was immortal and was bound to try everything that the world offered. And she wondered what the dirty-blonde with turbulent azure-blue irises had seen, what he'd experienced in his decade shy of a century existence.

"Chika?" He prompted. A devious smirk playing at the edges of his lips in a way that revealed his teeth.

Blinking the cloud of thoughts from her mind, she refocused on the broad and yet chiselled planes of his face. His scent of sea-salt, weed and copper washing over her like the swell of high tide; ever-changing and sure. "What's it like?" She asked, ignoring the playful question he'd uttered so off-handily.