DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Deimos would take the silence on those parts to be a little victorious celebration, mentally tallying it amidst the other jokes and tricks – pondering if he’d be able to add another to its judicious scales. He watched her with a keen arch to his brow, settled back upon his pillow with a darkened gaze keen with mischief and every other emotion he could ascribe in her presence, trying to forge onward without the wallowing melancholy. Without the overbearing tendencies. Without the impulse to conduct and commit to every waking maneuver all at once. They didn’t have to in the peace and serenity – and it fought over those sensibilities steeled within his mind.
Save for a few other potentials; of which he’d rallied behind and waited to see if she’d dabble, pick, and choose. The feel of her fingers lingering at his side was a nice touch, but he’d want more if they were getting anywhere, and the tease lingered there, as his gaze narrowed, neither dangerous nor hollowed, but piercing slate all its own. “Would you like a demonstration? Could help you decide.” They could just as easily have both, but he had other semblances for the argument. His smile quirked into an amused grin, before strong muscles and enduring fortitude ensured he rose off the pillow, following her movements, her presence. Mouth instantly seeking hers, purposefully slow, drawn, hands gently along her cheeks, her neck, guiding her to him.
Save for a few other potentials; of which he’d rallied behind and waited to see if she’d dabble, pick, and choose. The feel of her fingers lingering at his side was a nice touch, but he’d want more if they were getting anywhere, and the tease lingered there, as his gaze narrowed, neither dangerous nor hollowed, but piercing slate all its own. “Would you like a demonstration? Could help you decide.” They could just as easily have both, but he had other semblances for the argument. His smile quirked into an amused grin, before strong muscles and enduring fortitude ensured he rose off the pillow, following her movements, her presence. Mouth instantly seeking hers, purposefully slow, drawn, hands gently along her cheeks, her neck, guiding her to him.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
