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felinefablesA prompt for piratekingpitchblack o3o
Everything about North matches his size for the most part. He is loud and boisterous, his laughter sounds like thunder and when he is in battle, he is a sight to behold.
But there is always a part of him that knows when he doesn’t need to be loud or boisterous. He can be surprisingly calm when he needs to be, and that is something that Pitch Black appreciates more than most.
They both figure it has to do with their different natures. Pitch is darkness and silence, the creeping apprehension that follows your steps down dark hallways. North is warmth and the glowing embers in the hearth.
Perhaps that is why Pitch feels safe with North, why he doesn’t resist when the massive Russian holds him close, or on impulse pulls him into a slow dance.
They don’t need music for this dance. They don’t need to speak. Sometimes North might hum a wordless melody from his motherland, or Pitch will murmur bits of songs from an age long ago.
The way they move can’t really be called a dance in the ordinary sense either. It’s just North holding Pitch close in a warm embrace, while Pitch rests his head against his shoulder, their eyes closed.
But it’s all the two of them need.
Everything about North matches his size for the most part. He is loud and boisterous, his laughter sounds like thunder and when he is in battle, he is a sight to behold.
But there is always a part of him that knows when he doesn’t need to be loud or boisterous. He can be surprisingly calm when he needs to be, and that is something that Pitch Black appreciates more than most.
They both figure it has to do with their different natures. Pitch is darkness and silence, the creeping apprehension that follows your steps down dark hallways. North is warmth and the glowing embers in the hearth.
Perhaps that is why Pitch feels safe with North, why he doesn’t resist when the massive Russian holds him close, or on impulse pulls him into a slow dance.
They don’t need music for this dance. They don’t need to speak. Sometimes North might hum a wordless melody from his motherland, or Pitch will murmur bits of songs from an age long ago.
The way they move can’t really be called a dance in the ordinary sense either. It’s just North holding Pitch close in a warm embrace, while Pitch rests his head against his shoulder, their eyes closed.
But it’s all the two of them need.
