The smell of smoke wafts in from the stage. Moze chews her bottom lip, pacing the hall. The leaves of the bladeflowers rustle in her hand. She glances sideways at the trashcan in the corner of the hall. Were the flowers too much? She was invited, after all. Surely it would be rude not to get her anything...

A click behind her turns Moze around. Her heart floats as a lopsided smile greets her. "How did you find tonight's performance?"

Moze blinks up at Ember, feeling a stupid grin spread over her lips. "Breathtaking," she whispers.

Ember's shoulder bounces as she chuckles. Her scarred eyebrow quirks as she looks down. "Are those for me?"

Moze glances down at the bouquet, then nods and holds it out. "Sorry. I mean- not..." She shuts her eyes and shakes her head. Did she just apologize for giving her flowers? Stupid, stupid. She opens her eyes to see Ember offering her an encouraging smile. Surely she doesn't deserve someone so patient. "Can I... come in?"

Ember steps to the side, guiding Moze in with a flourish of her metal arm.

Her eyes catch the vanity to her left, lined by an oval of bright lights. Ember slides the bouquet into a vase by the door, then slides up next to Moze, her cold metal fingers finding the skin on Moze's hip, just above her belt. Moze gasps and arches her back.

"How lucky are you," Ember says, her voice a dark, rich melody. "Not many have seen where the magic happens."

A nervous chuckle spills from Moze's lips. "M-magic," she mumbles, her breaths coming quick and tight.

Ember raises her other arm. Warm knuckles graze Moze's jawline. "Don't play coy, little moth," she whispers. "We both know what drew you here."

Warm lips brush up Moze's jawline, and Ember starts sucking on her earlobe. Moze's throat tightens, and she sucks in a long breath through her nose, savoring the firm pinch of Ember's teeth. "Oh..."

She should stop her. Tell her they need to talk. But Ember is right: they both know what drew her here. Her weakness. She can't resist. The power and grace that pours out of her body on the stage. The confidence in her burning stare. The fire in her kiss.

Moze lets out a helpless murmur as Ember sucks at the pulse point on her neck, beating harder and faster with longing.

The heat of the night starts to soar as Ember tears her clothes off. Moze tries to keep her at bay long enough to memorize the sight of her: lopsided grin, ravenous eyes, shoulders tensed up in anticipation. Ember pushes her back into the couch.

Part of her wonders if Ember ever truly lets herself act as if she's not onstage. Every movement exudes such purpose. Every caress, confident; every stroke, subdued and smooth. When Moze hesitates, Ember's hand is on hers, guiding her, reassuring her. When she throws her head back, warm fingers tangle in her hair, blunted nails grazing her scalp. When she lets out a trembling moan, Ember is there to swallow it in a kiss. The doubting voice nagging at the back of her mind grows fainter and fainter, until she can only hear Ember's heavy breathing, and her name spilling from those lips - fuck, it never sounded so beautiful. And then her nerves are aflame, and that dangerous pulse thunders in her blood, and the sharp tang of the night air stings in her eyes and feasts on her deep inside, and all she can do is surrender.

Warmth spills from Ember's mouth as they kiss. The tips of her metal fingers are warm and smooth on her cheek. Her smile is too warm. Her steel blue eyes, too deep. "I fear I'm falling for you, my little moth."

Moze averts her eyes. She's feared the same for a while. "Ember... please."

Her smoldering smile flickers. "We cannot avoid this forever."

She sighs. She knew coming here was a mistake, but she knew she never could've stopped herself. "Ember, that's not fair."

Ember sits up, her eyebrows bunching up. "You think this isn't fair?"

If she didn't regret the words as soon as they left her lips, the wounded look in Ember's eyes would've done it. "Look, it isn't that easy. Or that simple—"

"Oh?" Ember stands up, and grabs a robe from the hook by the door. "No, I think it's plenty simple. All I want is for you to show me what we mean."

That nervous tension starts sinking into Moze's jaw. If only she could figure that out for herself.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

The door hisses behind her, and she tosses her belt onto the hook by the door. The shame lingers, thick and sour at the back of her throat. A voice calls out from the bedroom. "Mozie?"

Despite herself, she feels a smile pulling at her lips, at the eager timbre to her voice. She unlaces and toes off her boots, then shuffles down the hall.

Amara's tattoos, ice blue, spill light over the plush sheets. A lump wedges into Moze's throat as she lingers by the door. Will she smell the smoke in her hair? Can she see the doubt in her eyes?

"You kept me up," Amara says, tracing in small, rounded patterns over the bed.

Her mouth fails her as she takes in Amara's heavy-lidded gaze, her teeth sinking into the swell of her lower lip. She doesn't suspect a thing. And somehow, that feels worse.

Moze lets out a low chuckle as she steps slowly into the bedroom. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to make you worry."

"Worry?" Amara lets out a low chuckle. "No, no. I've just been keeping myself..." Her tattoos flare, their low blue light casting an ethereal glow on Amara's skin. "...occupied."

A familiar buzz tickles the back of Moze's head as she eases up to the edge of the bed, watching as one of Amara's ethereal arms glows to life above her and traces its finger over Amara's tattooed hip. She should stop her. Ask if they can talk. But if she were that strong, she wouldn't have come back tonight.

Her mouth goes dry, and each breath heaves in her upper chest. She strips off her shirt and lets herself fall forward into bed. Warm hands lay firm on her waist, thumbs stroking her skin, while electric fingers rake through her hair, tingling her scalp.

She slides her hands over Amara's body, exploring the familiar lines of her abs, the firm curves of her ass. Powerful arms wrap around her, eager fingers quickening her breaths. She sucks at Amara's collarbone and rolls onto her back, pulling Amara on top of herself. She drags her fingernails down the length of Amara's back, hissing the loathsome truth in her ear, so desperate and afraid of letting go of her: "I love you."

Amara throws her head back, and Moze drinks in the sight of her: skin glimmering with sweat, shoulders rising and falling erratically with each breath. Moze settles into a rhythm with the rock of Amara's hips, and the flaring of her tattoos. The cold blue light bathing Amara's body deepens into an eridium shade of violet, then burns deeper into red. Moze's skin tingles under Amara's touch, pairs of spectral hands plunging into her hair, squeezing her waist, rubbing her legs.

And then comes her favorite part: when Amara's voice trembles as she starts to beg.

She flips Amara onto her back, staring down at the curves of her neck as Amara throws her head back into the pillow. Moze leans down to suck on her pulse point. A warm burst of energy washes over Moze's lips. Spectral fingers encircle Moze's wrist, and guide her hand between Amara's legs.

"Hey," Moze hisses in her ear. "You know the rules."

The ethereal hand tightens its grip on Moze's wrist, and Amara lets out a strangled groan. "You keep me up all night, and now you're going to tease me?"

The guilt gnaws at the back of Moze's head, but its teeth grow dull when Amara slides her hand onto her ass and squeezes. "You're not the only one who's been waiting for this."

A rich chuckle spills from Amara's lips. Moze leans down to nip at her neck, down to her collarbone. She slides her tongue back up her neck, working her fingers in time with the pulse of Amara's tattoos, the light beneath them building hotter into a brilliant orange. The teardrop tattoo over her heart glows brighter and brighter, and rhythmic waves of electric energy burst out, cascading in waves over Moze's skin, rippling over her scalp, her back, down to her fingers and toes. She leans down, capturing Amara in a kiss as the waves rush harder and harder over her, leaving a dull, until a fierce, liquid burst of energy bathes them both in azure light, pouring over every inch of Moze's skin and leaving a tingling buzz in its wake.

She collapses on top of Amara, laboring for breath, as chilly, spectral fingers trace lazy patterns over her back, her hands, her legs. She strokes Amara's shoulders, her thumb following the lines of her tattoos as they fade softer into violet.

As the tingling on her skin starts to fade, it gets harder to ignore her stomach, gnashing with guilt. It isn't fair to Amara to keep lying to her like this. It isn't fair to either of them. But then, who is she lying to, if she keeps coming back to Amara every night? Maybe everything seems so much easier with Ember because she knows that she won't wake up to those steel blue ECHO-eyes staring back at her. Because she's not real, like Amara is. She's an idealization. A fantasy that Moze can run from once she's satisfied her urges, once the little voices in her head become too loud to ignore.

She lies on her back beside Amara, pulling her head onto her chest, stroking the firm curves of Amara's shoulder. Part of her wishes Amara would catch on. That her suspicion would get the best of her, and she'd make the decision for both of them. But then maybe the thought of Moze being unfaithful never even occurred to her. How could a goddess not be enough?

Amara nuzzles her head into the crook of Moze's neck. "I love you, Mozie."

Moze shuts her eyes, trying to stem her stinging tears. With any luck, Amara will just think the burst of her powers was too intense. "I love you too, Amara."

The words burn in her throat, even though she knows, with every atom of her being, that she means it.

If she loves her, why is she still tempted?

If she loves her, why can't she tell her the truth?