Work Text:
He takes him in the middle of a party, one half of a slow-stepping couple on the dance floor.
The mortal has his lips parted, jaw relaxed, eyes lidded in thought. It's clear that his attention wasn't actually on his partner, which makes the Engraver feel better about the sharp longing that abruptly lodges itself under his ribs. Surely... surely, just a moment of weakness wouldn't hurt.
The mortal's skin is warm. The Engraver fits his hand into the curl of his fingers, placing the other feather-light on the mortal's waist as he slides into the arc of his arm. Like this he can see the fine wrinkles at the corners of the mortal's eyes and mouth, the creases of skin around his neck and jaw. But at this second, this crystalized interval, the Engraver does not want to be Time. He closes his eyes and imagines that he is the mortal's partner instead, breathing the same air, gliding over polished wood in sync with a dozen other couples.
The mortal does not breathe; he does not move. The Engraver opens his eyes with a sigh.
Back to work, then.
