Serpentine [T.M. Riddle]

Kixakgtlilh mintankgaxekg

!Gorgeous cover art done by ThatOneBrownGirl_ :D

cw: mention of retching. teenage hormones.

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Kixakgatlilh mintankgaxekg,

kakilhmilh kxpulakni tiyat,

kakilhmilh minakú.

Paks kixakgatlikgolh mintalhtsi,

kilixakgatlikgolh xmustalekg miakganín,

kilixakgatlikgolh xtatlíkan laktsu spun.

Kixakgatlilh mintankgaxekg,

kixakgatlilh xatipalhuwa mintachiwín,

kixakgatlilh kxtutu minchaxpán.

Kilixakgatlilh xataknun tachiwín,

kilixakgatlilh xlijutsutsu mintawán,

kilixakgatlilh mintamputsní.

Kixakgatlilh mintankgaxekg

kilixakgatlikgolh xtatlinkan ninín,

kilixakgatlilh xatalakgxtokgo xanat.

Kakilhmilh tu tapumakganit kgalhni,

kakilhmilh kulus chu limajinin,

kakilhmilh minakú.

Kixakgtlilh mintankgaxekg by Manuel Espinosa Sainos

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"Do you want some lemonade?"

It's the middle of June, and he hasn't yet breached the topic of...caring for Ximena yet. To anyone. Not that it would be anyone's business, but he can no longer spin a tale of hypotheticals and pretend feelings to others because, well, it's not hypothetical anymore. Not pretend. He cannot open his mouth and speak to her because, well, what if she heard him? Heard him and laughed. Scoffed. Scorned him. Her attention is a rare and addicting substance.

He glances at the pitcher, "I never understood why people had to affix sweetness to lemons, it ruins a perfectly good treat by making it sour. And then they overcompensate for that sourness by pouring more sugar into it. If you wanted it sweet in the first place, why bother adding sour? Not to mention there's a shortage of lemons, and people are wasting it on sweets. Ridiculous to me how some people like it, it's why I never liked sitting in Dumbledore's office with his lemon drops and obsession with treacle–"

She puts her finger on his lips.

He freezes. Transfixed. Wanting to be repulsed, and knowing he could never be. Her attention is more than solely on him, a part of her is...is...on him. She's touching him. Not his hands or his shoulder.

It's taking all of his concentration not to tremble. He doesn't even open his mouth for fear of his voice cracking (or worse, wheezing).

Ximena doesn't seem to notice. "You talk too much. I need to concentrate on my reading, so you owe me an hour of silence. Do you understand? Nod if you understand."

To his great shame, he finds himself nodding automatically. Eagerly. As if something in her voice (her command) naturally switched on his sense of obedience. Disgusting. He wants to open his mouth (her finger is on his lips!) to protest because she is not his mother or keeper and no one tells him what to do. But he doesn't. The mere thought of opening his mouth at this second is too much. It's all too much. Overwhelming. Overstimulating.

If he opened his mouth he could taste her magic–

He bites his lip so hard, he thinks he'll bleed.