Let's make tonight the weekend, I don't wanna wait
He isn't long to last after he speaks, not with the way she's so attentive to every response, chasing them down like each moan owes her lunch money. It's a persistent sort of tenderness, not that there's anything tender about the devilish curl of her tongue flicking around at the right intervals, or the choking depths to which she seizes him again and again—those are exactly as fervent and obscene as he needs. It's her insistence that she drag every shaking moment free in full, all too generous even in this.
Between it all, there's the hums and jolts of her pleasure rising alongside his. Each flutter of her chest where it spirals up, the throb of her satisfaction echoing against him, it layers his euphoria into something fuller. His stare has long since slipped into a sultry haze, glossed over with a deep appreciation for her—the sight of her, the feel of her, the love of her. It all staggers through him with such a bewildering force of bliss he can scarcely manage the simple feat of breathing around it. The way he wants her, it's permanent, chasing that forever they attempted on the sugartide, but instead of holding it to one night, he wants it for the entirety of this lifetime with her.
His view is increasingly shuttered away by his lashes as pleasure grips him so intensely he seizes into it, finally breaking with one such convulsion as she tugs him into release. His hips buck up mildly, his other hand finding her head as he holds her there, heat breaking against her tongue in waves that leave him little more than a shipwrecked man washed ashore at the end. He can feel the quivering of her own tension unwinding with relief, riding it through around him until they're both spent.
He's slumped more than before, and much as he'd like to melt entirely off the bench and puddle onto the floor, his final form after her affections, his attention snaps with better clarity back to her. She's already rising, his hands falling away from her head but lingering to pull and guide her to him, fitting in against her sides and curling in an embrace over her back as she settles in his lap with a languid spill. A shiver of residual ecstacy tumbles through him every so often, especially where their skin meets each other. "You're amazing," he hums, the sound soft and rough with deep contentment before his lips meet hers. It's less a kiss than the consumption of something impossible to truly describe, love hardly seeming to do it justice.
His fingers roam up and down her back, skipping over the rises of her scars without notice. "Did you know?" he wonders softly, his head tilted against hers, the world nothing more than this shower and her. "That I love you?" The streak of a smile after it speaks to the boyish giddiness that's unavoidable in her company, where everything becomes happy and right.
Between it all, there's the hums and jolts of her pleasure rising alongside his. Each flutter of her chest where it spirals up, the throb of her satisfaction echoing against him, it layers his euphoria into something fuller. His stare has long since slipped into a sultry haze, glossed over with a deep appreciation for her—the sight of her, the feel of her, the love of her. It all staggers through him with such a bewildering force of bliss he can scarcely manage the simple feat of breathing around it. The way he wants her, it's permanent, chasing that forever they attempted on the sugartide, but instead of holding it to one night, he wants it for the entirety of this lifetime with her.
His view is increasingly shuttered away by his lashes as pleasure grips him so intensely he seizes into it, finally breaking with one such convulsion as she tugs him into release. His hips buck up mildly, his other hand finding her head as he holds her there, heat breaking against her tongue in waves that leave him little more than a shipwrecked man washed ashore at the end. He can feel the quivering of her own tension unwinding with relief, riding it through around him until they're both spent.
He's slumped more than before, and much as he'd like to melt entirely off the bench and puddle onto the floor, his final form after her affections, his attention snaps with better clarity back to her. She's already rising, his hands falling away from her head but lingering to pull and guide her to him, fitting in against her sides and curling in an embrace over her back as she settles in his lap with a languid spill. A shiver of residual ecstacy tumbles through him every so often, especially where their skin meets each other. "You're amazing," he hums, the sound soft and rough with deep contentment before his lips meet hers. It's less a kiss than the consumption of something impossible to truly describe, love hardly seeming to do it justice.
His fingers roam up and down her back, skipping over the rises of her scars without notice. "Did you know?" he wonders softly, his head tilted against hers, the world nothing more than this shower and her. "That I love you?" The streak of a smile after it speaks to the boyish giddiness that's unavoidable in her company, where everything becomes happy and right.
Kaisel
Got no reason not to celebrate
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
