Let me paint a picture for you, I'm feeling like Bob Ross
The sound she makes tears straight through him. Not just because he hears it, but because he feels the way it blooms through her at the same time, hot and staggering and impossibly consuming through the bond. Her want flaring high, the deep-seated relief, the desperate greed, they all wrap around his own versions of them until there’s no clean line left between giving and taking.
His forehead drops briefly against hers, a wrecked laugh—euphoria instead of humor—escaping him in between the ragged breath he fights for. The touch where her fingers tighten against the scarring on his shoulder and down his back sends something deeper through him than arousal alone. It's something sharp with memory and devotion, already known, but breaking against the surface of his awareness like a fin in the surf before retreating, little more than a reminder of depth. It's the simple fact that she holds every piece of him, even the ruined ones, and that he'd give up even more if he had to in order to keep it that way.
With a new and entirely different depth at hand, the lightning she's put into him now cuts through anything more than the immediate storm of sensation. There you are, the thought reaches out to her, lazy and infinitely pleased. The delayed gratification of feeling her rolls over him with a slowness so at odds with the frantic pulse and hunger hammering through him. He lets himself sink fully into the shape of her beneath him, around him, against him. Every shift of her body pulls another consuming wash of heat through the bond. Every breath she looses is answered immediately by the tightening ache inside his own chest and stomach, the shudder of appreciation winding up his spine and clipping his teeth together as he rolls against her with a steady, climbing pace. His necklace sways back and forth, a streak of cold metal between the blaze of their bodies.
One hand slips up to cradle the side of her face, thumb curling against the edge of her mouth where the soft, urging sounds escape. His other hand keeps her anchored close against him, head bowing across her shoulder to the thread of her fingers. Through the bond, there is no hiding what slips from him then. Not just the wild want of her, but that same impossible certainty that has been with him since the beginning, resolved to love her because there is nothing else in him that exists for her besides that.
"C'mere," his voice tumbles out into her hair, possessive and unrelenting in its expectation of obedience. He pulls back only long enough to reposition her the way he wants, impatient hands guiding and gathering until she’s exactly where he means to keep her, hips tilted higher against his, legs tossed over his shoulders, and pulling a pillow beneath her lower back with rough efficiency. The new angle nearly wrecks him outright, deeper and fuller than just before, and he's already close to being undone after barely surviving her release.
A broken groan tears from him as he folds back over her, forehead dropping briefly against her shoulder while he fights to keep from losing himself too quickly to the overwhelming heat of her. One hand keeps her firmly rooted to take every snap of his hips, pressure placed just near her clit with the shape of his palm. His other reaches back out for her, fitting around her throat with far more care than the possessive shape of it initially suggests. He figures, if it's her birthday, she should have everything she wants. With the link between them now, he's got more trust in walking that edge, and genuinely, he's curious. Less new to it, more attuned to it, he waits just the breath to confirm with her before he'll fold his fingers in on the flutter of her pulse.
His forehead drops briefly against hers, a wrecked laugh—euphoria instead of humor—escaping him in between the ragged breath he fights for. The touch where her fingers tighten against the scarring on his shoulder and down his back sends something deeper through him than arousal alone. It's something sharp with memory and devotion, already known, but breaking against the surface of his awareness like a fin in the surf before retreating, little more than a reminder of depth. It's the simple fact that she holds every piece of him, even the ruined ones, and that he'd give up even more if he had to in order to keep it that way.
With a new and entirely different depth at hand, the lightning she's put into him now cuts through anything more than the immediate storm of sensation. There you are, the thought reaches out to her, lazy and infinitely pleased. The delayed gratification of feeling her rolls over him with a slowness so at odds with the frantic pulse and hunger hammering through him. He lets himself sink fully into the shape of her beneath him, around him, against him. Every shift of her body pulls another consuming wash of heat through the bond. Every breath she looses is answered immediately by the tightening ache inside his own chest and stomach, the shudder of appreciation winding up his spine and clipping his teeth together as he rolls against her with a steady, climbing pace. His necklace sways back and forth, a streak of cold metal between the blaze of their bodies.
One hand slips up to cradle the side of her face, thumb curling against the edge of her mouth where the soft, urging sounds escape. His other hand keeps her anchored close against him, head bowing across her shoulder to the thread of her fingers. Through the bond, there is no hiding what slips from him then. Not just the wild want of her, but that same impossible certainty that has been with him since the beginning, resolved to love her because there is nothing else in him that exists for her besides that.
"C'mere," his voice tumbles out into her hair, possessive and unrelenting in its expectation of obedience. He pulls back only long enough to reposition her the way he wants, impatient hands guiding and gathering until she’s exactly where he means to keep her, hips tilted higher against his, legs tossed over his shoulders, and pulling a pillow beneath her lower back with rough efficiency. The new angle nearly wrecks him outright, deeper and fuller than just before, and he's already close to being undone after barely surviving her release.
A broken groan tears from him as he folds back over her, forehead dropping briefly against her shoulder while he fights to keep from losing himself too quickly to the overwhelming heat of her. One hand keeps her firmly rooted to take every snap of his hips, pressure placed just near her clit with the shape of his palm. His other reaches back out for her, fitting around her throat with far more care than the possessive shape of it initially suggests. He figures, if it's her birthday, she should have everything she wants. With the link between them now, he's got more trust in walking that edge, and genuinely, he's curious. Less new to it, more attuned to it, he waits just the breath to confirm with her before he'll fold his fingers in on the flutter of her pulse.
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
