you can tell how dangerous a person is by the way they hold their anger inside themselves quietly
Despite his remarkable stillness, statuesque and poised, the measure of his pulse quickened, snagging beneath flesh and bone. His breaths committed the same, and though he’d always been a paragon of patience, something wild and unrelenting threatened, loomed. As quickly as he’d picked up the clothing, thinking they were relocating elsewhere, they were immediately forgotten, the boundaries of silence, the otherwise stillness, leapt against his ears.
Another shudder, involuntary or inherent, loomed under his skin from her ministrations, however light, and the muscles in his jaw feathered, eyes hooded as they glanced, lanced, downward, over crimson hair and pale skin and flickers of embers and fire unfurling upon canvas. Expectations were a bare, minimal thing, mind conjuring too many things all at once, until the barrage of senses were all he could linger and snatch and snag. The rise of her frame, mouth moving along his jaw, quirking a smile along the corners of his own, the whispering command thereafter enough to solidify alterations and changes; not unlike the springs, but for more.
He leaned down, arms eventually unfolding, hands basing themselves along the curves of her nape and shoulders, the semblance of cheekiness sauntering from his rumble to maintain some notion of normalcy. “Is that your prize?” Easily forged just the same – he would’ve ensued greed or simplicity. His lips hovered over hers for an instant longer; a tease, before aligning and molding, light, airy, and then withdrawing, the inquiry layered thereafter because maybe he did want some clarity, labels, sense. “What are we doing?”
Another shudder, involuntary or inherent, loomed under his skin from her ministrations, however light, and the muscles in his jaw feathered, eyes hooded as they glanced, lanced, downward, over crimson hair and pale skin and flickers of embers and fire unfurling upon canvas. Expectations were a bare, minimal thing, mind conjuring too many things all at once, until the barrage of senses were all he could linger and snatch and snag. The rise of her frame, mouth moving along his jaw, quirking a smile along the corners of his own, the whispering command thereafter enough to solidify alterations and changes; not unlike the springs, but for more.
He leaned down, arms eventually unfolding, hands basing themselves along the curves of her nape and shoulders, the semblance of cheekiness sauntering from his rumble to maintain some notion of normalcy. “Is that your prize?” Easily forged just the same – he would’ve ensued greed or simplicity. His lips hovered over hers for an instant longer; a tease, before aligning and molding, light, airy, and then withdrawing, the inquiry layered thereafter because maybe he did want some clarity, labels, sense. “What are we doing?”
DEIMOS
