[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

Deimos Thirst and want and need clamored; he was not immune to the blushes, to the interplays of visions and reverie. It was a yearning rapture, sizzling on his skin as she simply looked his way, absorbed by sable and onyx. They were not the pinnacles of voids and abysses, the cracks and crevasses of nothingness, but everything instead, twilight and dusky hallows, where the stars never receded, where the sun rose and set, where boldness came to live, enervated and ardent, stoked on fumes and sighs. He regarded her in those instances, openly stared with an imploring grin, eager to be wrapped and serenaded in her presence, again and again and again, the broken, beaten monstrosity ignited and set aflame by the wonder of her charms and audacity. He would’ve been happy to set his chin in his palm and gaze, hear the laughter, the bells, the chimes, he didn’t deserve; but took anyway, forever a mercenary, a rapacious soldier. The beast arched a brow as a flush crept along her neck, as she kept her glance on him, and only him, and though he couldn’t hang the moon, the stars, the sun, or the sky, he’d gladly attempt it for her (or bring it all down). He had half a notion to find another movement or motion that could make her blush further, rose complexion stirring his voracious, mighty soul, but vengeance had ulterior motives. His calloused hands, his fingers, entangled themselves in her acceptance, in her confidence, in her credence, lifted them to his lips at her whisper (always, and he’d gladly seize an eternity in her wake), on her inhale, ensuring his breath stroked and caressed along the salt of her skin. He pulled just enough for her to rise upon the rock and straight into his chest, where his heart reverberated and echoed its sultry rhapsody; opus and oeuvre of the naughty, intrepid, a blend and blur of too many cosmos and colors, belonging to the behemoths and bestial, the barbaric and cruel. But not here, not now. This moment, in particular, would be entrenched amidst the mischief-makers, the agent provocateurs, the shades of imps, fiends, and heathens. Deimos’ gaze was entirely hooded as his head bent towards her, as one hand endeavored to stroke along her chin, lifting her cranium up and up so he could take her completely in, lowering his lips, his mouth, across her brow, her cheeks, ghosts and whispers, soft, dulcet, lighter than air. “You feel a little warm.” It might’ve been her first and only warning, an indication of juvenile tendencies brooding beneath the intonations, an innocent act, a foolish pretense, before his grasp molded further, intending to grab hold of her hips, lift her fully to him, against him. In another moment, he might’ve held back and been satisfied with her body along his, intertwined and interlocked; retaliation hummed and reprised, however, not to be outdone. Then he walked, slowly, towards the edge of the rock, where the water’s rippling current babbled and cajoled, where trickery and deceit curled and foamed. Once he reached the fringe, where his toes (shoes well and wholly lost back on the shore), harbored over the water, where it was safe, a quick glance ensuring there weren’t any sharp rocks at the bottom, heralding harm rather than amusement, he let her go. Retribution was sweet and justified, a quick bark of laughter before he followed her in, diving into the depths, fully immersed and encased in the water’s chilling calamity. Chuckle still thriving, rumbling from his chest as he pushed his hair back from his eyes, the Reaper glanced over to her, maneuvered in quick, swift strokes to meet her. “I prefer this.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime