Let me paint a picture for you, I'm feeling like Bob Ross
"No," the sound of his voice drags out slow and reluctant, like surf retreating from shore during high tide. "You're good at that." That being plummeting straight into the heart of euphoria and pulling him along for the ride. His head lifts from where it had half-collapsed against her thigh. Copper eyes find her through the lingering haze of her pleasure that's still rippling through the bond, warmth licking up his nerves with each pass.
The sight feeds his want so thoroughly, he has to press his teeth into the side of her leg and grapple with his breath. Strewn out beneath the torn ruin of sequins like some beautiful disaster of his making, she is magnificent. The curls that crown her in complete disarray have never looked better. Her skin, glowing hot and heaving with shallow, shaking inhales after being thoroughly adored is the finest thing she's ever worn.
Sequins flash with the light as the remains of her dress are discarded. Although there's nothing truly new on display, the line of her having been drawn out of the flayed fabric earlier, his gaze can't help but darken with the fresh awareness that she is fully available to him now. “There's not a thing in this world that could keep me from you right now,” he manages, voice roughened nearly beyond recognition with the invitation to satisfy so close at hand. He pushes himself upright despite the visible tremor that runs through his legs. It’s stubbornness that gets him moving as much as desire, soldier-instinct refusing to surrender to something as simple as temporarily nonfunctional limbs. Though gods, it’s close for a moment, like sealegs adapting back to land.
He catches her reaching hand halfway, using it to pull himself the rest of the way up the bed toward her, crawling like he's coming ashore after willingly drowning, although the tide's bound to drag him back out. His boxers last only until he reaches the edge of her knees. Already strained beyond tolerance, the fabric has become less clothing and more insult. He hooks a thumb into the waistband with an impatient sound under his breath and yanks them down hard enough to kick them loose behind him somewhere onto the floor.
The relief of it drags a low groan from him as he finally frees himself, hot cock dragging slow against her thigh while he closes the remaining distance between them. Covering her fully with his body, there's an immediate relief, as if he's finally found the place it was trying to get back to all along. One arm braces beside her head while the other slides beneath her waist to drag her flush against him, leaving barely enough space for the rise and fall of breath. Through the bond she can feel exactly how wrecked he still is by her, every pulse of want wound tight and burning inside him, sharpened further by the memory of what he’d just felt through her.
Much better. The thought shudders out, entirely ransacked by the warm embrace of her beneath him. His eyes are half-lidded and dark as they lift back to hers, lingering just a moment on the color in her cheeks before he leans down to press a kiss to her lips that lacks any caution or delicacy.
The sight feeds his want so thoroughly, he has to press his teeth into the side of her leg and grapple with his breath. Strewn out beneath the torn ruin of sequins like some beautiful disaster of his making, she is magnificent. The curls that crown her in complete disarray have never looked better. Her skin, glowing hot and heaving with shallow, shaking inhales after being thoroughly adored is the finest thing she's ever worn.
Sequins flash with the light as the remains of her dress are discarded. Although there's nothing truly new on display, the line of her having been drawn out of the flayed fabric earlier, his gaze can't help but darken with the fresh awareness that she is fully available to him now. “There's not a thing in this world that could keep me from you right now,” he manages, voice roughened nearly beyond recognition with the invitation to satisfy so close at hand. He pushes himself upright despite the visible tremor that runs through his legs. It’s stubbornness that gets him moving as much as desire, soldier-instinct refusing to surrender to something as simple as temporarily nonfunctional limbs. Though gods, it’s close for a moment, like sealegs adapting back to land.
He catches her reaching hand halfway, using it to pull himself the rest of the way up the bed toward her, crawling like he's coming ashore after willingly drowning, although the tide's bound to drag him back out. His boxers last only until he reaches the edge of her knees. Already strained beyond tolerance, the fabric has become less clothing and more insult. He hooks a thumb into the waistband with an impatient sound under his breath and yanks them down hard enough to kick them loose behind him somewhere onto the floor.
The relief of it drags a low groan from him as he finally frees himself, hot cock dragging slow against her thigh while he closes the remaining distance between them. Covering her fully with his body, there's an immediate relief, as if he's finally found the place it was trying to get back to all along. One arm braces beside her head while the other slides beneath her waist to drag her flush against him, leaving barely enough space for the rise and fall of breath. Through the bond she can feel exactly how wrecked he still is by her, every pulse of want wound tight and burning inside him, sharpened further by the memory of what he’d just felt through her.
Much better. The thought shudders out, entirely ransacked by the warm embrace of her beneath him. His eyes are half-lidded and dark as they lift back to hers, lingering just a moment on the color in her cheeks before he leans down to press a kiss to her lips that lacks any caution or delicacy.
Kaisel
They don't gotta ask 'cause they know I'm him
Wearing a watery blue, faded and stretched-out sparkling hair tie on his left wrist
