(SE) when the nighttime comes, say yes

SUNJATA

i'm drowning in all these voices in the sea
and meeting all my vices in the ring

While Maea was completely inexperienced, Sunjata had no shortage of it. Always having been pined after or used his words to seduce. But often times they had been experienced too and knew the game. Maea doesn’t and it gives him pause, uncertain how far she’ll let this go before she can’t continue it, before she chooses to keep things soft, slow, delicate, if she ever does. He’s a bit more of the opposite, always been a strong, nippy lover — to mark and prove a point. A reflecting echo of ‘You’re mine’, though as of late it had only been for a time.

But he just doesn’t know, and so he breaks the kiss, panting lightly to try and catch his breath, to stare up at her and try to glean any sort of answer. He can’t, he finds, but all he finds is a reassurance that she’s not frightened of this — that it’s new and different and she’s set him aflame, and it’s enough that the confusion and uncertainty reflected in his eyes begin to shift so much that the silver smolders as if set alive.

And she does begin to explore, to test, and when her hands find his hair and skull once more, he tilts his horned head back to her and lets her kiss his stubbled cheek, eyes shutting in his slight exhale, a kiss pressed to her own cheek, near her ear, near all the places he wants to kiss and tease and pay attention to. His one hand continues its idle stroke along her neck, and his other squeezes gently at her thin side, keeping her close and near as his voice rasps beneath the flood of emotions. “You can’t hurt me, do whatever you want to.” He tells her, a breathless husky whisper to her ear. He’d do whatever she wanted, let her touch and explore as much as she wanted, here along the shore, on his knees, while the ring sits in the sand beside the griffin still dutifully watching the pile of clothes.

so step inside, i ain't afraid to bleed
there ain't a casket strong enough for me