DEIMOS
They played bewitching games, signatures and stanzas of their relationship, amusements and diversions filled with only light refrains of mockery; contorted and coiled well before any establishment of devotion and ardor had been recognized or known, a taunt, entertainment, a slipping of armor, blades tossed aside, divertissements coiled in their unrelenting glances. It was when he relaxed, bolstered mischief instead of agony, made homage and tribute to pieces and portions of his soul only kindled and stoked by her; permitted to act like ridiculous fools when the world shook and grimaced, when the earth seethed and tormented. Perhaps they shouldn’t have laughed and paid irreverence to the distinction of winter’s edges, minded their tasks, administered straight to their responsibilities, but in the flares and simmering strands of temptation, he really didn’t care. Let them be missed for a morning, tucked and secluded, consecrated and blessed in their own intervals. If it were a disastrous route, he really couldn’t give a damn either, incapable of conjuring anything on his mind now except her: illustrious and reverent, a sinful concoction in gilded, beatific rapture. His mouth sought to capture the juncture of exposed flesh, a sweeping laugh billowing from his lips as he lingered further down, then inclined upward, wanton ministrations along the soft skin of her nape. It was followed by his short gasp, a riotous inhale and an arresting smile on the edges, as her voice and tongue wound its way along his ear. His frame flickered with a shudder of pleasure, stoking the flames in unholy reverberations as his shirt barely lingered on her, possession in the darker predilections of his gaze, promising to swallow, devour, and consume –
Then she rolled away, a portion of their dodges and subterfuge, taking and giving and trapping and ensnaring; he shook his head, proffered a small snort, then his stare shifted wholly onto her, clearly tantalized, enticed, allured. Slowly, drawing out the plains of fruition, because that was in the Sword’s schemes too, he slunk over her, arms braced on either side of her head, absorbing the mischief, corresponding with his own. “You are free to leave,” not captured, not caged, with the brightest of snickers and smirks, boyish and youthful in his devilish decibels. It was another means and measure towards their ardor: taunting as well wishes, teasing as devotion, nonsense and impishness in place of endearments. Reflections of attachments, of yearning were designated in how far they could unravel the other, how deep their desires brewed, devotion and infatuation in the mocking accords; or how often they risked themselves for the other, how sword and shield went hand-in-hand into the darkness.
But there were no shadows now, not in the bright sun preening its way across the bed; ignoring it entirely, the warrior’s mouth descended, aspiring to entangle it upon hers, the only celestial body he intended to revere.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
