you should know, that i'm a ticking time bomb
and you're getting close
“I’ll teach you to box.” He breathes against her. And he would — so that way if someone came her way and she had no magic or anything else at her disposal, at least she might be able to pack a punch. Though there’s a whisper in the back of his mind that suggests more training, getting her upper body strength in a position to be molded to pack that fire. But it dies as soon as her hunger shines through.
His lips find hers and hers find his, a greedy dance as he opens his for her. And she melts deep within his touch, hands that roam and grasp and reach for her. But while she wants it to be rough and greedy, he leans more toward the soft depart it should be. And so he gives in, for a few moments to let his hands drop from her hair, to her legs that she drags his hands up along the skin beneath her skirts that have ridden up with the position — breaking the kiss to give softer kisses to her neck, his favorite place to be.
The metal of his belt is cold as he pulls her closer to it, but his hands are already moving for the dress that’s haphazardly worn, for the straps that keep it up in its untied state. His hands are a warm anchor, brushing against her pale unmarried skin while his bears enough for the both of them. And he pushes back against her, to give her that push and pull of the tides that are faintly heard crashing outside through the window where the dying sun illuminates.
His lips find hers and hers find his, a greedy dance as he opens his for her. And she melts deep within his touch, hands that roam and grasp and reach for her. But while she wants it to be rough and greedy, he leans more toward the soft depart it should be. And so he gives in, for a few moments to let his hands drop from her hair, to her legs that she drags his hands up along the skin beneath her skirts that have ridden up with the position — breaking the kiss to give softer kisses to her neck, his favorite place to be.
The metal of his belt is cold as he pulls her closer to it, but his hands are already moving for the dress that’s haphazardly worn, for the straps that keep it up in its untied state. His hands are a warm anchor, brushing against her pale unmarried skin while his bears enough for the both of them. And he pushes back against her, to give her that push and pull of the tides that are faintly heard crashing outside through the window where the dying sun illuminates.
so better watch your step, because i'm about to blow
and where the pieces land i guess we'll never know
SuNJATA
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
