Hotaru
Roses are red and I wish I could see them bloom
But all I see are orange hues
He is the sun she revolves around, and there is something poetic to be said about her dedication to Frey and his partial godhood, or how he has always been more sunlight than seawater in her eyes - the nourishment necessary for a plant like her to grow and thrive. Even if everyone in this bar was real, Hotaru would only have eyes for him. But all I see are orange hues
But there is a time and space for sentiment, and right now it takes a backseat to the electricity of the thrum of his throat beneath her lips and the hypnotic roll of his hips beneath hers. His hands leave goosebumps in their wake, the sensitivity higher than normal and much more distracting - so it's startling when he lifts her and deposits her on the table, rucking up her skirt and sliding between her knees with an easy grace that makes her breath seize in her lungs.
Any remnants of air - or hope of responding to his unfairly smooth banter - are further stolen when a forked tongue strokes and curls against her still-sensitive clit, jolting a strangled whine from her chest as her knees instinctively try to close around his shoulders to flex and hold. "Ah! Fuck, Sunny!" It's a muted whine, more instinct than intentional phrasing as one hand plants itself on the table behind her and the other dives for his hair, blindly searching for curls or horns to cling desperately to. Not to guide him with - not yet - but to clench and communicate the sharp, immediate electricity of lust he has stoked in her veins with one small movement.
Now you’re stuck in my head and I wish I could sing the blues
But all I hear are orange tunes, and all I do is think of you
But all I hear are orange tunes, and all I do is think of you
