DEIMOS
Fur first upon his fingers, then a chilling nose in the juncture of his nape and shoulders, and he only shuddered at its contact for a moment, snorting, hands finding leopard ears and scratching against them. It was a calm effervescence, a sleepy set of measures, no calculations required, no machinations needed, in the hazy slate of removing exhaustion and fatigue. His eyes blinked, slow and steady, staring up at the ceiling for a few moments, before his form leaned into hers, gaze staring, bemused, at content chuffs and feline conjectures blinking at him. One brow arched, but the warrior didn’t ask anything – why she’d slept later too, why she wasn’t already at the bakery, why they weren’t maneuvering in opposite directions, intent on keeping the world together, as it cracked and fissured, for another day. She shifted back, human all over again, a blatant tease and taunt as one leg swung over his hip, and he obliged by not moving at all at first, in her grasp, possessed and seized, taken in by the sun and the stars. Instead, he obliged it, turning more to glance upon her with sudden, stoked ambitions, one hand softly making its way down her lithe limb, purposefully dulcet, light, and not nearly enough. Lips upon his jaw might’ve made him purr, were he feline, and instead a rumble meandered its way down his chest, eyes half-closed, still in the blur, the daze, the smoke, the vapors, the sighs; taking in her murmurs with a gruff exhale.
In fact, he did have a number of things to do. There were defenses to shield them against Long Night to make, staffs to study, and some form of weaponry he was meant to manifest to potentially fight monsters (or be a wasted enterprise when they weren’t capable of fending off anything). At another interval he was meant to recruit those who hadn’t been willing to volunteer their dominion and prowess in the first place. The responsibilities mounted and weighed and here he was, orchestrating none of them – tempted by the siren.
A Cheshire grin folded its way over his mouth, then lingered, persisted, carried on, when his lips dropped to her shoulder, enticing, pulling down fabric with his teeth, then anointing bereft skin with slow, insistent caresses, molten and duplicitous, exacting and deliberate. “Maybe,” he breathed and billowed across pale flesh, words sinking, simmering, stoking, tickling, hooded gaze conspiring far more than General duties. “I thought you would be baking by now.” Or extending her knowledge of this earth, rehashing plans with gods and deities, encompassing saving the world – far greater exploits than he’d ever manage, far more important than the rest of them.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
