Koa
There's an art to life's distractions
It's over the same way it began: with an unquenchable wave of magnetic attraction, the pair of them pulled together in spite of any reason or rhyme. His climax is all that much better for its near synchronicity, every atom of his being humming with a vibration attuned to hers. The past, the future, it all falls away; all that exists is the press of their bodies, the whispered ode that howls through him, deafening and unspoken: Flora, Flora, Flora.
In the aftermath they stay together, conjoined by exhaustion and sticky sweat. One of his arms tucks under his head; the other wraps around her shoulders, holding her thoughtlessly against his chest. Koa's eyelids flutter, heavy, as calloused fingers trace idle patterns upon her slender shoulder. She stirs against him and his grip tightens briefly in response, his body not yet willing to release this moment, to let reality in.
"So..." His voice is rough, playful, smiling, rich with satisfaction and a little bit smug. "Do you think Frey will accept your offering?" Lifting his head slightly, he raises an eyebrow to her. "Or should we plan an encore?"
In the aftermath they stay together, conjoined by exhaustion and sticky sweat. One of his arms tucks under his head; the other wraps around her shoulders, holding her thoughtlessly against his chest. Koa's eyelids flutter, heavy, as calloused fingers trace idle patterns upon her slender shoulder. She stirs against him and his grip tightens briefly in response, his body not yet willing to release this moment, to let reality in.
"So..." His voice is rough, playful, smiling, rich with satisfaction and a little bit smug. "Do you think Frey will accept your offering?" Lifting his head slightly, he raises an eyebrow to her. "Or should we plan an encore?"
To somehow escape the burning weight, the art of scraping through
