Nighttime was magic.

She always knew that, even when she was little. She always felt different at night, more wild, less restrained, like something had been pressing down on her and then removed as soon as the sun set down. She became restless, nervous, hyper-sensitive to noise and light and temperature and smells. Flowers would stain the air and colors would taste like chocolate in her mouth, and the cooling rush was better and stronger than any orgasm.

It was her secret, her treasure. She could truly be at night, but only when she was alone. If others were there, she felt hounded, trapped, unable to release. The bindings that she never felt in light were tightened to the point of bursting, she chafed under their unintentional interference. She never spoke of it but always yearned for them to leave, so she could turn out the lights and sit in front of the window and feel the breeze on her skin, see the moonlight painting her colors, cool blue and grey.

Music, her usual escape during daylight, became even more powerful at night with the surge of magic. She felt better, stronger, and could lose herself in the sound and never be afraid. She would dance to it, her body moving like water and silk as she felt the air twine and snake around her like a lover's touch, sensual and sexual and demanding while comforting and loving and soft.

She could never explain to her lovers why she loved the night, more than she loved them. She could never ask them to leave her, to let her be while she moved and loved the night. It was one of those things that made her wish she was strong enough to be without a lover, without a man to shackle her, because none of them loved the night like she did. They called her a dreamer, a romantic, a idiot, and would crush her bond with the night as they held her in their arms each night, refusing her the solitude she craved to speak to it, to reach her magic like an addict reaches for their fix.

Sex was always better during the night as well, but only when the windows were open and the breeze coming in, the moonlight painting their bodies silver and dark gold. She always chose darker lovers, a sense of perversion causing her to seek men with tanned skin, men who smelled of leather and spice and tasted like velvet soaked in wine. They never lasted, these men, because they never understood her demands of wind and moon and night, and each time their words cut her heart and bruised her soul, but none of them could be her nighttime, none of them could reach.

So that was why she was here now, in a city of night and magic, seeking a man who could match her love for the night and embrace it. A man who could be her dream lover, liquid and air and earth, his touch causing fire and ice in her veins, who would take that gentle love of night and let it bloom in his hands instead of crushing it like a flower wilting in the sun. All of her other lovers had done that, taken her during the night and grinding her love under them until it dripped juices onto stone as she writhed against her bonds, her spiritual cries and sobs unheard and unseen from the shadows of her heart.

She knew he was here, she could feel his eyes on her, as she moved through the streets. She followed a intangible scent that was barely perceptible, even to her night-enhanced senses, a delicious taste that clouded her mind.

It was his.

He was leading and following her, taunting, teasing her, sending wind to swish through her hair and her clothes, causing her to shiver and grow wet between her thighs as she imagined him.

He would be tall, and darker than any of her other lovers, strong but lithe, corded muscle instead of pudgy fat or overdeveloped muscle or the just-barely-there strength that her last few lovers had under their skin. And he would have golden hair, she just knew it. Light hair to contrast his skin and his eyes, for they would have to be dark too, dark and powerful and roiling like the storms that would hide the moon from her eyes. His voice would be rain and mist on rocks, lush grass under her feet as she spun in a moonlit field.

She panted and groaned, twisting her body as she felt his presence drawn closer, shivering under his gaze-

The scent ended in an open field of grass and unchecked growth, ivy growing over garbage and flower-weeds poking their faces to the sky and the stars.

She would wait for him here.

She followed a path, visible to her eyes because of the magic, that wonderful magic rolling and tightening in her gut. It was what she always remembered in her night times, even when she was a child. She belonged to the night and the magic and it to her, but more so her to it. She was a lover of the dark and the soft magic it gave her, a pulsing licking feeling thing.

She lay in the grass and weeds, feeling the dew soak into her skin and her clothes, the cotton dress rubbing against her skin like burlap and satin, like sackcloth against skin. She writhed in the green scents, gasping, eyes closing as it drew nearer-

And then his hands were under her dress, sliding up her legs and spreading her thighs apart, pulling her panties to the side-

And his breath was on her core as she moaned and panted, arching and twisting and mewling for him, pleading-

Her voice failed her as she felt his tongue and his lips and his teeth move against her, her throat freezing and her breath stalling as he began to know her as only one before had dared, the one who had lasted the longest but hadn't lasted very long at all. She screamed in her head as his fingers knew her deeper than his mouth, torturing and teasing her as she fisted her hands in the green and brown bed below them.

She couldn't lift her head to see him, couldn't open her eyes to glimpse his face, but she knew he was handsome, knew he was beautiful and magic like the night. She had found him, and she wouldn't let him go after this-

Her eyes snapped open but unseeing as she felt him over her, her focus on the moon that moved over them as well, watching, blessing, touching with its light. The stars sparkled like glitter on velvet and the wind sang through the trees, cooling and touching her and soothing her anxiety away, whispering in her ear to trust her lover-

He tore her dress apart, leaving her breasts bared and her skin blue in the light, and she moaned in approval as he savagely took her, his hands smoothing over her skin and breath rasping in her ear. She spread her legs and held onto the earth above her head, groaning, gasping, pleading with him as he moved deep within her, each stroke causing her to sob as she was known deeper than any had ever known her before. He was the one she dreamed of, the one she lusted for, needed to survive-

She screamed, turned her head and screamed into the ground and the grass as her legs were lifted and her magic lover groaned, taking her savagely, viciously, without a thought, rocks digging into her back as he rode her into the dirt, into their bed of grass and flowers and dew-

The magic was coiling in her stomach, purring like a great cat as she reached closer and closer to that edge, to the delicious apex of the magic, her longing for the night close to completion. She burned hotter than the sun and colder than ice, the wind cooling her and caressing her like other lovers, other hands seeking their fulfillment from her skin. Her lover's gasps and grunts and moans blended with her own as she pleaded with him, begged without words for his vitality, his life-

A star burned inside her chest and behind her eyes, colors blinding and tasting and suffocating her as she reached for the night, her mouth in a soundless scream, her limbs tight and vibrating with the force of the explosion under her skin. She could only feel him as he grunted in her ear, his breath across her neck and face before another burst, hotter than fire and colder than snow burned into her, spiraling from her womb to her head and beyond. Her fingers dug into the ground and she arched, torn clothing hanging like silk drapes from her skin-

And she awoke on the ground, her clothes ruined, her body sore but deliciously soft and alone in a flattened field of green grass and crushed flowers. She smiled as she stretched, feeling the wind kiss her skin, whispering in her ears how beautiful she was, how lovely the moon made her look, clothed in blue and grey and silver light and nothing else-

A wetness between her legs, their mixed essences smeared between her thighs, made her smile even broader. She stood, wobbly like a newborn foal, her legs shaking from the force of her taking, and smiled, her hand on her no-longer empty womb, muscles sore and tender from their lovemaking, but wonderfully stretched and snug under her skin.

She had loved the night for all her life, and finally it had loved her back, sending her a lover made of magic and soft touches and violent breath, a perfect match to her own body and mind. He was like her, searching, seeking, waiting only for the night to come and take her again, because like her he was made for the night, made for the magic.

A length of blue fabric lay on the ground next to her, jagged, worn, stained, but it smelled of the night, of dew and wind and moonlight and stars, and she knew it was from him, to cover her body until the next time they met.

She wrapped herself in the fabric, stretching and caressing the feel of it into her skin-

Because he wasn't a man, she realized as she began her walk back, following another scent that teased her senses.

He was so much more.

He was magic.

He was night itself.

He was hers.