[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

Deimos It was a sinuous, winding, wound scheme, effective in its scintillating fervor, in its delicious orchestration – catching the smoke and embers with his tongue, on his breath, reaching, reaching, reaching, beyond their scalding, boiling, breaking point. Need and appreciation were adrift and at sea, rolling over in his piercing, blue depths, shifting to her onyx gaze, lost in the feverish delights, her butterfly gasps, her spent plumes. Again, his brain invited, coaxed, and enticed, blood boiling in the passionate, amore madness. Her fingers traced over his jaw, the beard, the stubble, and he leaned into the touch automatically, a Cheshire cat biding its time, closing his eyes, mouth maneuvering to place slow, molten strokes and caresses on each lingering digit, teeth made to snatch and snap on skin in a teasing, impish decree as they persisted over his lips. He was enthralled by the decadence in her gaze, in the clawing apertures, in the talons threatening to embark, her palms dancing on his shoulder, breasts brushing over his chest – Then he was flat on his back, spun, pushed, and shoved into the blanket, over the perimeter of sand and stone, eyes widening while his lungs choked and gasped. The set of his gaze only beheld bewilderment and surprise, instantly fighting over the loss of control – his precision, his calamity, his composure – mind struggling to adapt to her snares, to her traps. It was not a welcome feeling, netted and caught, lost to someone else’s ruses and duplicities, and for a moment, he forgot it was Amalia above him, his body contorting, coiling, like a vicious, stalking predator, waiting to raise their hackles, their fangs. The sudden vulnerability seized and paralyzed him, suffocating, stretching him out to a weary, agitated void, a rigid vessel, torso heaving, skull spinning. His first instinct was to always resist – never accept – forgoing how much taking he’d done and how much giving she was willing to embody. He was shackled and chained, seditious and insurgent, until his eyes took in the scene again, until his frame, his figure, remembered the feel of her against his flesh and bone, and she teased, she tormented, she eased and scalded just above eventual connections and beatific bonds. This was one more figment and fragment of their game, and he should’ve known she wouldn’t have stayed or been swayed for long; so he started to recall how to breathe, how to inhale, exhale, sharpened and keen. He bucked against her, hips rising in a feral, wanton, savage refrain, a sudden grin, easing back into comfort, reverie, and revelry, contortions no longer tethered together (safe, something whispered, seethed, and rattled; safe in her dominion, in her stars and galaxies, in her haven and sanctuary). Her hands locked his cranium in place, face meeting his, raising his chin in a defiant set of vehemence, a roar, a grumble, a howl brimming its way through his throat. Her growl was answered with his hiss and sigh, a phantom, ghostly foundation of words simpering and sliding over her skin. “Hmmm,” he drew out a drawl as his hands wandered their way along her hips, a lazy unleashing, curling their way downward, following the same path his tongue had traced earlier. The beast’s gaze was cowled, cloak and daggered persistence, pondering on her means and measures, on how no one had ever truly asked him his fundamental desires: more than glory and triumph, more than might and power, more than just simple greed and avarice. But before he gave her a resounding answer, he leaned forward, ascending, muscles bunching and undulating beneath her with the effort, meeting her halfway, off the ground, intending to make her slide directly into his lap. One hand left her core to maintain and support his position, arm outstretched, the other accommodating, remaining, while he rendered defiance in sultry, seductive form. He still didn’t know how to answer her, what clarifications he was meant to make: everything thundered and boomed around him, a constant echo and reverberation, reflections upon a looking glass, spiraling from the water, from the brook, from the river, coercing his senses into naught but needs and passions. He wanted to have her, all of her, every inch, every piece, every puzzle, every impulsive, inept action, every emboldened bout of fury, every shy seam, every singsong musing. He wanted her mouth on his skin and bringing him to flame, out of the ice, out of the glaciers, out of the rubble and doom. He wanted to be inside her, set an inferno across the landscape with her mewls and gasps and moans, wanted to be a part of her ferocity, her tenacity, her audacity, wanted to bring her to heaven, to hell, to oblivion. So he could only think of one word, “You,” incandescent, bending and blinding, as she tugged on his ear and he shuddered, shivered, quivered under her – the game the same, the results insistent and imploring. He’d let her do as she pleased. Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime