The Look

You are looking at me and I realize that I have seen that look before.
I've seen the slide of your gaze hit the chests of every would-be lover and I've seen the heat coming off your eyes when directed at a former flame.

I wonder if you know the full extent of your facial shift, of hard lines growing soft and malleable, of lips turning upward ever so slowly. I wonder if you feel the iciness melt and simmer into a dark blue, liquefied and deep and full of lust. I wonder if you notice the slight rise to one of your jet-black eyebrows, if you know how perfectly it arcs up and then holds anyone watching in place.

You must know it. You probably used it like a weapon in the years that I didn't know you. You would wield this dangerous element and armies would fall. You must understand it. You've used it as a prize in the years that I have known you. Drawing in all the suitors, you blink and they surrender.

You must know what that look can do. You must know how it produces a sharp intake of air, released unwillingly from constricting lungs, and then your quarry feels faint. Your intended victim feels like dropping to their knees, as if sucker-punched. The focus of all your attention, that defenseless soul who catches your dedicated eye, finally succumbs to the overwhelming pull of your desire.

And I shudder under that look. My hands form fists and nails dig into my palm.
I am not an army. I am not a god. I am not a savior. I am not a problem to solve.
But you are looking at me like I am all you've ever wanted...

... And I know that when it comes to this look, Xena, you don't even know the half of what it can do.