the blood you bleed is just the blood you owe

Maea

And I hope that you don't suffer
But take the pain

Desperate times call for desperate measures, as they say. It's not a conscious strategy, this removal of all hesitation, this push beyond her usual limits and comforts. But perhaps it's instinctual. He was leaving, and she didn't want him to, and though she wouldn't ask him to stay in so many words, her body still conveyed the sentiment.

Stay.

His hands were demanding on her hips, fingers clamping down into her flesh, moving her as she rocked, lips locked, feeding him her pleasure like so much sweet wine. Her fingers tightened in his hair, squeezed and raked nails along his scalp, down to his neck, and she stroked the feathers on his shoulders, threading her fingers through them.

Don't go.

Maea felt the pressure mount in her, felt his breath change and knew he was close too. He changed the pace then, slowed, and she breathed in deeply. Relished this burning, this beautiful agony, how they moved together, like waves on a shore. Like the ocean and the moon, push and pull, swaying, parting, rejoining...

Her kiss deepened, lips so very tender, warm and sweet and loving. Full of the hope he had left in her, that this goodbye wouldn't be forever.

Please come back.

Hope if everybody runs
You choose to stay