Flora
She’s never been held like this, bracketed and filled and fucked with such devastating purpose that every inch of her feels shaped by him. His hand locked around her shoulder and his cock buried deep, hips pounding into her with relentless force, it’s more than her body can keep up with, and yet she keeps rising to meet him, pressing back, greedy for every savage thrust. The sound of her name breaking on his tongue only spurs her on, a shaky moan rising from where her mouth is pressed against the curve of his arm, swallowed by the arm that pins her in place and the thick, obscene slap of skin on skin.
"Kai—gods, Kai—" It’s all she can get out, whimpering and high, her words dissolving as pleasure lashes up her spine. Each time he drives into her she feels the stretch of him deep and devastating, his cock hitting some spot inside her that makes her body curl in helpless surrender. She clutches at the sheets, at the pillow, at the tangle of linens under her, anything she can find as his rhythm grows frenzied. Her hips lift to take more of him, to offer more resistance, more give, more everything, and then—
He pulses inside her, and the jolt of it, the way he stiffens and moans her name like it’s holy, sends a wild shiver through her. She gasps, mouth falling open, her own name on his lips wrecking her all over again as she trembles beneath him, overwhelmed by the heat and weight and depth of him still buried inside.
For a long, breathless moment she can’t move. Her body just stays soft beneath his, pliant and flushed and unwilling to let go, her heartbeat thundering in sync with his. One hand slides from the sheets to his arm, fingers curling there, not to pull him closer—he’s already impossibly close—but just to keep him there. Held against her like a promise, like something carved deep into her skin.
Eventually, her breath evens just enough to laugh—soft and breathless, more disbelief than humour. She twists her head, lips brushing against the nearest bit of him she can reach, arm or shoulder or bicep, whatever’s still anchoring her to the bed. "Gods," she murmurs into his skin, too winded for anything clever, voice low and hoarse with pleasure. "Why the fuck weren’t we doing this all along?"
It’s rhetorical, of course. The storm of everything that came before, the quiet ache of all their almosts, the emotional landmines of the day still humming just outside this moment. But gods—to be touched like this, to be taken and held and worshipped like this—it makes every missed opportunity feel absurd. Ridiculous. And right now, with her skin slick against his and her limbs tangled up in him, she doesn’t want to move. Another shower can wait. The sheets can stay ruined. All she wants is to stay where she is, feeling him inside of her, his heart thundering against her spine, the world narrowed down to the press of his body and the faint, dizzying bloom of her smile.
"Kai—gods, Kai—" It’s all she can get out, whimpering and high, her words dissolving as pleasure lashes up her spine. Each time he drives into her she feels the stretch of him deep and devastating, his cock hitting some spot inside her that makes her body curl in helpless surrender. She clutches at the sheets, at the pillow, at the tangle of linens under her, anything she can find as his rhythm grows frenzied. Her hips lift to take more of him, to offer more resistance, more give, more everything, and then—
He pulses inside her, and the jolt of it, the way he stiffens and moans her name like it’s holy, sends a wild shiver through her. She gasps, mouth falling open, her own name on his lips wrecking her all over again as she trembles beneath him, overwhelmed by the heat and weight and depth of him still buried inside.
For a long, breathless moment she can’t move. Her body just stays soft beneath his, pliant and flushed and unwilling to let go, her heartbeat thundering in sync with his. One hand slides from the sheets to his arm, fingers curling there, not to pull him closer—he’s already impossibly close—but just to keep him there. Held against her like a promise, like something carved deep into her skin.
Eventually, her breath evens just enough to laugh—soft and breathless, more disbelief than humour. She twists her head, lips brushing against the nearest bit of him she can reach, arm or shoulder or bicep, whatever’s still anchoring her to the bed. "Gods," she murmurs into his skin, too winded for anything clever, voice low and hoarse with pleasure. "Why the fuck weren’t we doing this all along?"
It’s rhetorical, of course. The storm of everything that came before, the quiet ache of all their almosts, the emotional landmines of the day still humming just outside this moment. But gods—to be touched like this, to be taken and held and worshipped like this—it makes every missed opportunity feel absurd. Ridiculous. And right now, with her skin slick against his and her limbs tangled up in him, she doesn’t want to move. Another shower can wait. The sheets can stay ruined. All she wants is to stay where she is, feeling him inside of her, his heart thundering against her spine, the world narrowed down to the press of his body and the faint, dizzying bloom of her smile.
I hope you're sweating the bigger stuff,
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
finding some peace in an honest love
Hope you stop when you've had enough & throw the towel in
Code stolen from Queen Sky
