elemental (m.r)

twelve

Balls were so fucking pretentious. With walls draped in rich tones of emerald and ruby, darkened lighting and waiters fluttering from each crevice to hand out champagne from crystal flutes, the entirety of events like so were utterly ostentatious. Now, add that this was a ball purely designed for the wealthiest wizards, who all just so happened to be of pure-blooded status - this was as tasteless as it could get.

Mattheo and Annie both had to attend, naturally, being the only two in their retrospective families that could. Attendance meant solidarity; to not do so was seen as an act of war. These wizarding families were all based on politics; it ran deep to the point many could argue they were venomous, and they attacked all at once, solidified. The two stood in the greenhouse, bickering with one another over attendance. It seemed ironic when one grasped that they were both trying to protect one another and failed miserably.

"It's not safe for you; what do you not understand?" Mattheo found himself grunting behind her, leaning against a small table that was placed there with an arm running through unruly hair. The smell of pinewood and musk were rampant throughout the room, despite so many different scents from different flowers.

"Oh, and it's any safer for you?" She scoffed, watering her plants with an outstretched hand.

"I can handle myself." He gritted.

"I do not understand why you're under the impression I can't handle myself too."

"Do you get off on making my life difficult, Annie?" He frowned deeply, his legs outstretched as his arms crossed over one another.

She eyed his legs whilst moving to the side, stepping over them with ease. "In many ways, but I'm convinced you enjoy being just as difficult."

They shared a look, his darker than usual and his jaw clenched. It was always so clenched. The corner of her lips tilted upwards slightly, for it was sadistic to the highest degree, but she enjoyed watching him so rifled up, especially over her.

"It's dangerous." He reiterated voice draped in annoyance. "Do you crave danger? Is this some masochistic tendency that you have that I'm not aware of?"

"And if I did, would you start incorporating it into our late-night rendezvous?" She teased, smirk only growing wider as she looked over her shoulder at him.

He was growing more and more agitated, much to her enjoyment. "You are a demon, through and through." He gritted out, sitting up from his half sat position.

"It's your birthday, Mattheo." She murmured, dropping her hands from their watering. "You can't occupy your thoughts with what-ifs; if anything, it's more dangerous for you." She huffed.

"Yes, it is, and yet you insist on disobeying my every word." He grunted hand outstretched to grab her by the waist. "And here I thought birthday's meant I get anything I want."

Her eyebrow raised at his words, stumbling back into his chest so that her back was placed tightly against him. She could feel every inch of him; every crevice packed tightly against her own.

"I'm going, Mattheo." She murmured, lips parting at the feel of wandering hands over her torso. "The theme is masquerade this year; no one will recognise us."

He shifted her so that she was looking at him, his jaw hardening further, accentuating the sharpness of his bone structure. His eyes narrowed, and his once coffee toned orbs had turned into cocoa much darker than usual, anger evident in every corner of his face.

"Then you must stay beside me." He offered, clearly struggling with the idea of allowing her into the lion's den.

"As lovely as that offer is, I think I'll handle myself in my way." She grinned once more, leaning upwards to press a small kiss to his jaw, one in which she could have sworn made him clench it even further.