<strong>Name</strong>: Mock<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Lost<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Doormouse<br/><br/><br/>The light, such as it ever was in these parts, had faded from the high windows and was replaced by a cold blue luminescence of half-remembered lanterns held by half-forgotten hands. Wisps of the glow drifted around the room. The city was all secrets but doubly so at night.<br/><br/>Her hand, Mouse's hand, touched him first. He started, causing his various accoutrements to jingle in surprise, but completely failed to cringe. How scandalous! For such a small soft thing to be so brazen as to wet herself with his tears right off; usually there at least two supper dates involved prior to such an intimate act. But then this was a tryst behind an exotic door.<br/><br/><em>"Y...yo..you can... I think... I'd like it... just... no hurt? Please?" </em><br/><br/>It might have been a trick of the shifting light that caused his black eyes to glitter so brilliantly. Mustn't rush, wouldn't do, savor every last moment. Mock listed to the left until he met the wall with his shoulder and crept ever so close to the girl in the corner, his ragged coat whispering along the wainscoting. “You are such the generous mouse; we two alone in this eerie house of ghosts and tears with which, perchance, to dowse one another's fears?”  His tongue was rambling but better that than the alternative so he let it go on as he reached for her. Long and clever fingers twisted her fallen curls around them, gently, carefully, not pulling, being very nice indeed. A surprisingly warm palm cupped her damp cheek with proper gentility and his thumb smoothed away one of her diamond tears.<br/><br/>“You weep, I think, and as do I, for loss. For every golden dream that's turned to dross, reflections now bereft of gloss, and needs that melt like candy floss on bloodied stone. Yet I cannot stop 'til I atone and find that which was once my own; for then, again, I might be real and not a mockery wrought of steel.”<br/><br/>He smiled to stifle a sob as he withdrew his hand and sat cross-legged once more, pushing his heavy key chains off to the side, his thigh touching hers. “Come come,” he managed. "No hurt." His teeth were ever so politely clenched. Mock extended both arms around her shoulders and tugged her into his lap. He enfolded her, pressed her ample bosom to his chest, rested his cheek on her curly hair, felt her soft curves meet his angular solidity, and a thousand other pleasant sensations that had almost quite gone out of his mind as the most distant of memories.  A haunted lullaby drifted past and caught in his throat as he closed his eyes and mouthed the words in time to the pulsing of blood in her veins.<br/><br/><div class="floatright"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">A Lullaby</div><div class="spoiler_body">O Willow Waly. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_annB8AsLcI#) </div></div></div><em>We lay my love and I<br/>beneath the weeping willow<br/>but now alone I lie<br/>and weep beside the tree<br/><br/>Singing 'O willow waly' by the tree that weeps with me<br/>Singling 'O willow waly' till my lover returns to me...<br/><br/>We lay my love and I<br/>beneath the weeping willow<br/>but now alone I lie<br/>O willow I die...<br/>O willow I die...</em>