[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

Deimos It beckoned and stirred, sweeping bounties of pleasure and passion, the greedy, avaricious gasps, the untamed intensity, ravished and ravaged. He absorbed the high keens and moans, inhaled his in the center of his chest, where a heart clamored behind a savage ribcage, hands and mouth moving along with her, cresting on her release. His name was a hiss and a demand, a command, an interval where he smirked and snickered, laughed and chuckled, puncturing gaze witnessing her come undone – unfettered, unleashed, clawing and toying with his skin, muscles bunched and undulated, body bowing, arching, then crashing. Her echoes, her din, her throng was incoherent but readily understood, comprehended by the conductor, pleased that she was pleasured, satisfied that she’d been sated. It was fire and radiance, vigor and brilliance, a hastening of rapture, both wicked and divine, and the covetous air slung to his flesh, to the salt beading along his figure, to the ardor and lust and love building in his refrain – waiting for the echoes, for the reverberations to catch on his flames and incise them both, again, again, again. His eyes lingered on her flesh and form, admired and exalted, caught in those enamored, enameled pieces and portions, a sensation of pride settling somewhere near his collarbone, but then his groin too: mine a temptation, a trace, a vestige in the back of his mind, hollowed out and carved there from arcane, primordial ichor. He was only too aware that she was of her own flesh and blood, and he could have her, and she could have him, and they were not one another’s possessions, but the glaciers and rubble, but the moon and the stars, but the darker traces of hell and the brightest glimpse of the heavens. He was blackguard and she was a beacon, and together they’d become resolute cosmos and celestial awakenings; he could be the Stygian hues, the shadowed blends, and she could be the gilded sun beams and star bursts, conjuring the landscape with their rapacious pledges and covetous expanse. The Reaper acquiesced, but not quickly – a warrior’s delight in unfolding the errant, unholy enticements again, minatory in his stalking, in his preying, in his vowing. A lazy grin prompted itself over his lips now, until they traced back over, lingering along the soft, dulcet skin of her thighs and then sketched her navel once more, tenderly, lightly, drawing his tongue over curves and edges, his eyes never leaving hers. It was a piercing, challenging juncture, the same audacity clinging to his form since the day they’d met – a boldness, a provocation, an incitement, never muted, never understated, sizzling and smoldering here and now, waiting for her to beg, to plead. Instead, she nudged at his bare ass, and he laughed again, smoke and embers, coiled and contorted, rising up and up and up, sliding his figure over hers (muscles and flesh and bone), but without the swift frenzy of an anxious, quick lover; biding his time, extending attention and fixation. He brushed over her navel, back to her breasts, tongue drawn and sketched over each nipple, a husky, molten growl caught along his throat, before reaching for her collarbone, her nape, the shell of an ear; thought about whispering nefarious, unholy vows, but left them on her skin instead. Then, finally, he hovered just above her features, arms straightened, powerful, potent limbs gathering him in a prominent position, an indulgent smirk clinging to his features; waiting to devour, to indulge, to consume all over again. “So tell me,” his brow arched and the mischief roamed along his gaze, behind the lust, behind the affection, behind the rising storm and the tempestuous designs; beguiled, allured, fascinated by her heaving chest, her shudders, her lips. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime