Honey wherever you go, I know
The way her grip falls from him feels like perhaps she's finally decided it's time to make the final blow. Now that it's here, looming, he's suddenly afraid to have it. Can't they just keep stretching out this shattered moment? He'd rather stay caught in the planes between possibility and destruction, where nothing's safe, but nothing's done either—the fall instead of the ground.
His name feels like the trigger pull, and his eyes shut against it. He'll already feel it, he doesn't need to watch it too.
A chill comes in quick as her body unwraps from him, the length of his side that had her heat now exposed to the coastal air. It's brief though, because then he feels her fit around him anew, the confusion of it pulling his gaze back to the world, to her. Her hands find his face with a soft and careful tenderness that threatens to pull more of him apart, because he's braced for the hollowing finality of it, not this gentle farewell that means to ghost itself into every good memory of her touch he has, like he'll never forget the feel of this one.
Anxious for breath, the pull of it paused to let the pain in his chest settle around her thighs, he doesn't have space to gather it again before her lips are on his. A hundred thoughts drift past, most tarnished with fear or despair, feeling like this is her personal touch as she twists the last bit of life from him, a black widow dressed in gold. One rises to the surface of the river though, a selfish, self-destructive one that shimmers with a hope too fragile to exist on its own. It only takes shape under her touch, trying to scoop up the shards of all this and reassemble it into a picture worth looking at.
He inhales a ragged sound through his nose, the death of a sob, as his lips part cautiously beneath hers. The way he returns it lacks all the energy of what she gives him. It's slow, trembling with worry, but it's returned nonetheless. No, she murmurs, a chord that he feels strum through them both. In the minimal space between them he searches for clarity from her, but there's just the curtain of her hair and the grip of her hands, firmer now, pressing the cracks back together through sheer strength. "I know, I—"
What he says dissolves under her mouth, just cotton candy words. As has always been best between them, touch reassures him in a way her voice fails to, because the fact there's another kiss, the fact it feels like one built to last instead of one trying not to leave, that answers everything. Maybe that's just the brilliant light of his hope rising up at the heat of her, blinding sense, but he'd prefer to stagger around without sight if it means more of this.
His hands slide up her thighs, fingers curling around the edges of her hips, anchoring her against him like either he or she might drift into the sea otherwise, and that would be fine as long as they're together for the riptide. The kiss melts him. Harder edges soften, press back with an aching want that pleads for this to not be the last.
His name feels like the trigger pull, and his eyes shut against it. He'll already feel it, he doesn't need to watch it too.
A chill comes in quick as her body unwraps from him, the length of his side that had her heat now exposed to the coastal air. It's brief though, because then he feels her fit around him anew, the confusion of it pulling his gaze back to the world, to her. Her hands find his face with a soft and careful tenderness that threatens to pull more of him apart, because he's braced for the hollowing finality of it, not this gentle farewell that means to ghost itself into every good memory of her touch he has, like he'll never forget the feel of this one.
Anxious for breath, the pull of it paused to let the pain in his chest settle around her thighs, he doesn't have space to gather it again before her lips are on his. A hundred thoughts drift past, most tarnished with fear or despair, feeling like this is her personal touch as she twists the last bit of life from him, a black widow dressed in gold. One rises to the surface of the river though, a selfish, self-destructive one that shimmers with a hope too fragile to exist on its own. It only takes shape under her touch, trying to scoop up the shards of all this and reassemble it into a picture worth looking at.
He inhales a ragged sound through his nose, the death of a sob, as his lips part cautiously beneath hers. The way he returns it lacks all the energy of what she gives him. It's slow, trembling with worry, but it's returned nonetheless. No, she murmurs, a chord that he feels strum through them both. In the minimal space between them he searches for clarity from her, but there's just the curtain of her hair and the grip of her hands, firmer now, pressing the cracks back together through sheer strength. "I know, I—"
What he says dissolves under her mouth, just cotton candy words. As has always been best between them, touch reassures him in a way her voice fails to, because the fact there's another kiss, the fact it feels like one built to last instead of one trying not to leave, that answers everything. Maybe that's just the brilliant light of his hope rising up at the heat of her, blinding sense, but he'd prefer to stagger around without sight if it means more of this.
His hands slide up her thighs, fingers curling around the edges of her hips, anchoring her against him like either he or she might drift into the sea otherwise, and that would be fine as long as they're together for the riptide. The kiss melts him. Harder edges soften, press back with an aching want that pleads for this to not be the last.
Kaisel
I'd give up half of forever, just to be with you
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
