Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait
Water streaks down the press of their faces, bunching up at the tip of their noses, the corners of their freed lips, dripping off lashes already heavy-lidded with want. His mouth hangs open for breath against the ply of it, rivulets reshaping around the tilt of their foreheads. He blinks through the curtain of the mist, unwilling to lose sight of her for longer than necessary, especially when she's like this—breathless with their love, utterly radiant in nothing but steam and bliss.
A wild grin spreads in response to the hymn of her desire, muddy hands rising to either side of her face so he can grab hold of that wicked mouth with his once more. Brief this time, but the feel of her lips is no less of a relief, and the depth of the groan that sighs free when he slowly parts from her is an echo of her voice. "More than soft beds?" he wonders with an amused tilt of his head as his forehead rolls back against hers, thumb stroking melting war paint against her blushline, as though his affection is about to battle every comfort of the world to find the victor. "What about that super cozy blanket on the back of your couch, the plush one?" He's greedy to hear her deny them all. "Feather boas?" Here his 'brows lift, tickling against the curve of her in disbelief.
He doesn't immediately respond to the drop of her hands, though his nerves spark at every new touch she grants him, alive to the heat of her like a wick just waiting to burn. The splay of her fingers in the wash of warm water is a welcome feeling, intimate in a way he doesn't expect, especially when her gaze levels on him with a newfound meaning aglow inside it. Fuck, she's irresistible when she's possessed with that determination, her thoughts forged behind the borders of her ocean eyes like the will of weather itself. Swept away by the pull of that look, his body yields to the press of her palms, pace slow but steady as he stays in her sea and trusts that she's not about to send him toppling over a ledge.
There is something behind him though. The knock of it on his next step causes one of his hands to drift back behind him, fingers searching for understanding. Slowly he melts into the bench, the shape of it becoming clear with the bump of its edge pushing in on both his legs. Anticipation flares in the small features that build his expression, the image of her standing over him one of his salvation. There's nothing holy about the thoughts that visit him now, especially not with the backlit steam drifting over her head, heat a visible glisten where water beads up on clay and skin, painting her in a sinful dream he'd choose to never wake from. "A much better shower," he appraises with a mumur that's thickened with his need for her.
She doesn't find the seat along the bridge of his thighs like he expected, doesn't settle hip to hip. Instead, she trails down with her hand, teasing in the deliberate slowness of exploration. Each slide of the touch sends a shiver into the core of his arousal like a slow pulse that's building, the grip against his cock sending the strongest drum of it. It escapes as a torn moan, head tilting back faintly as his fingers curl against the shelf, searching for some sort of purchase.
A wild grin spreads in response to the hymn of her desire, muddy hands rising to either side of her face so he can grab hold of that wicked mouth with his once more. Brief this time, but the feel of her lips is no less of a relief, and the depth of the groan that sighs free when he slowly parts from her is an echo of her voice. "More than soft beds?" he wonders with an amused tilt of his head as his forehead rolls back against hers, thumb stroking melting war paint against her blushline, as though his affection is about to battle every comfort of the world to find the victor. "What about that super cozy blanket on the back of your couch, the plush one?" He's greedy to hear her deny them all. "Feather boas?" Here his 'brows lift, tickling against the curve of her in disbelief.
He doesn't immediately respond to the drop of her hands, though his nerves spark at every new touch she grants him, alive to the heat of her like a wick just waiting to burn. The splay of her fingers in the wash of warm water is a welcome feeling, intimate in a way he doesn't expect, especially when her gaze levels on him with a newfound meaning aglow inside it. Fuck, she's irresistible when she's possessed with that determination, her thoughts forged behind the borders of her ocean eyes like the will of weather itself. Swept away by the pull of that look, his body yields to the press of her palms, pace slow but steady as he stays in her sea and trusts that she's not about to send him toppling over a ledge.
There is something behind him though. The knock of it on his next step causes one of his hands to drift back behind him, fingers searching for understanding. Slowly he melts into the bench, the shape of it becoming clear with the bump of its edge pushing in on both his legs. Anticipation flares in the small features that build his expression, the image of her standing over him one of his salvation. There's nothing holy about the thoughts that visit him now, especially not with the backlit steam drifting over her head, heat a visible glisten where water beads up on clay and skin, painting her in a sinful dream he'd choose to never wake from. "A much better shower," he appraises with a mumur that's thickened with his need for her.
She doesn't find the seat along the bridge of his thighs like he expected, doesn't settle hip to hip. Instead, she trails down with her hand, teasing in the deliberate slowness of exploration. Each slide of the touch sends a shiver into the core of his arousal like a slow pulse that's building, the grip against his cock sending the strongest drum of it. It escapes as a torn moan, head tilting back faintly as his fingers curl against the shelf, searching for some sort of purchase.
Kaisel
Got no reason not to celebrate
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
