DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
Deimos was no miracle worker; but he was patient, thorough, meticulous, and giving. His intentions in bed had always been to ensure Evie received far more. So he waited, patient as ever, until she broke over too; rose-edged and lined, biting into his flesh. The surge of her teeth scarcely bothered him – inspiring amusement while she came down from semblances and arousal, his name a far more prominent echo.
He might have snorted, but instead tucked her against him, listening, feeling, as all the aftershocks left her hovering in motion and place. “You okay?” came on a rumble thereafter, only peeling away to gaze down at her, thoroughly sated and amused all at once, a singular arch to his brow. “And you can still have breakfast too.” At which he wrinkled his nose, mind coming back to the forefront of everything else they’ve been intending to do before becoming wholly, and rightfully so, distracted.
He might have snorted, but instead tucked her against him, listening, feeling, as all the aftershocks left her hovering in motion and place. “You okay?” came on a rumble thereafter, only peeling away to gaze down at her, thoroughly sated and amused all at once, a singular arch to his brow. “And you can still have breakfast too.” At which he wrinkled his nose, mind coming back to the forefront of everything else they’ve been intending to do before becoming wholly, and rightfully so, distracted.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
