// and i hear your ship is comin' in, your tears a sea for me to swim in
and i hear a storm is comin' in, my dear, is it all we've ever been? //
and i hear a storm is comin' in, my dear, is it all we've ever been? //
“I can find beaches when I want them.” Sunjata retorts a touch petulantly – because while the idea of her giving up snow in their homeland so that he could be free from it was charming, it wasn’t realistic. And he had chosen this space specifically because it harbored both of the elements they loved. The beaches weren’t as nice as Torchline, of course, but he still was able to go for a dip if the mood struck.
Instead, he twists them and flops down on her as he hears her strangled whuff that sparks a deep rumbling chuckle from him, paired by the very same through the attuned bond as he nestles in against her, sharing her warmth for the time while her hands dance along his spine and over tattoos and any lingering feathers as he starts to retract the partial shift.
Her wiggling is met with a groan of complaint, even as the sensation through the bond suggests anything else, and after a stubborn amount of seconds does the Flood actually start to move – reluctantly - his head popping up to peer at her a touch conspiratorily. “As if we don’t already turn heads, liefde.” He hums with a soft laugh, but acquiesces to her, slipping off the bed and finding a pair of shorts to slip on before he stretches out – letting all the muscles in his stomach and back flex and pull away the sleep still lingering in them. His fingers find his hair, fingercombing it into some semblance of a style (sleep tousled) before he’s turning to her to offer his hand, to help her up and soothe more of that craving of her touch before he turns to head toward their kitchen, popping on a kettle for hot water while he gets the coffee ready. “I think we have a pastry leftover from the Boondocks. Wanna share it for breakfast?” He calls out to her from down the hall.
Instead, he twists them and flops down on her as he hears her strangled whuff that sparks a deep rumbling chuckle from him, paired by the very same through the attuned bond as he nestles in against her, sharing her warmth for the time while her hands dance along his spine and over tattoos and any lingering feathers as he starts to retract the partial shift.
Her wiggling is met with a groan of complaint, even as the sensation through the bond suggests anything else, and after a stubborn amount of seconds does the Flood actually start to move – reluctantly - his head popping up to peer at her a touch conspiratorily. “As if we don’t already turn heads, liefde.” He hums with a soft laugh, but acquiesces to her, slipping off the bed and finding a pair of shorts to slip on before he stretches out – letting all the muscles in his stomach and back flex and pull away the sleep still lingering in them. His fingers find his hair, fingercombing it into some semblance of a style (sleep tousled) before he’s turning to her to offer his hand, to help her up and soothe more of that craving of her touch before he turns to head toward their kitchen, popping on a kettle for hot water while he gets the coffee ready. “I think we have a pastry leftover from the Boondocks. Wanna share it for breakfast?” He calls out to her from down the hall.
anchor up to me, love. anchor up to me, love. anchor up to me, love
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.
