bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The wall meets her back and instead of yielding to it she arches forward, pressing into him with a restless insistence that refuses even that small space, her hands tightening in his hair as if to anchor him there while her mouth answers his with equal hunger. One long leg winds high around his hip, drawing him closer still, and the press of him against her—hard, unmistakable even through the barrier of his pants—pulls a low, dark note from her throat, something pleased and sharp-edged all at once. "I’m going to have you," she breathes against his mouth, the words not soft, not coaxing, but certain.
It is nothing like the things he’s been told before, none of the breathless wanting or invitation for him to take the lead; there is no yielding in her, no suggestion that this belongs to him to decide or that she intends to play a passive role.
Her hands leave his hair slowly, deliberately, dragging down the line of him before settling at his waist, fingers quick and sure as they find his belt. She shifts again, pushing slightly away from the wall only to make space for it, to give herself room to take what she’s already decided is hers.
It is nothing like the things he’s been told before, none of the breathless wanting or invitation for him to take the lead; there is no yielding in her, no suggestion that this belongs to him to decide or that she intends to play a passive role.
Her hands leave his hair slowly, deliberately, dragging down the line of him before settling at his waist, fingers quick and sure as they find his belt. She shifts again, pushing slightly away from the wall only to make space for it, to give herself room to take what she’s already decided is hers.
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
