[seasonal event] to find a soul somewhere

Deimos He was not a mountain, not made of stone, not contorted or framed in glacial walls or rime; too molten, too unfurled, too caught up in the fire and flames. Encouragement only pulsed and persisted in the framing of her hands, in the nonsensical refrains curling down his spine and through his ear; no thoughts, no complexities, only pure, wild abandon in its inherent, innate form, stealing over the unearthed pleasure and gasps, swallowing them whole, continuing his devouring tactics, plucking at strings and tunes and stanzas to make her sing. He could hear her heart in its own savage ramparts, thunder in his emblems, in his rhythms, while he reached for the stars, above the storm clouds and the tempestuous ethers. Just them, just them, just them, entangled and enshrouded, bestowing their own measures and consecrations: he anointed her with his enticement, with his allure, with his power and prowess, the strength rippled and corded through his muscles, through each and every undulation, and then his affection, the holds, his teeth, his tongue, his mouth, savoring every inch of her figure as if she were ambrosia and he were the greedy, avaricious wolf, come to hunt, come to prey, come to feast. He blessed her with his silent, reverent shards of love, where he’d melted and thawed, where the blackened, nefarious chambers had returned to life, where he ran kisses, sublime and infernal, down the length of her neck, where he unwound her from the inside out and pressed his faith, his credence, into their reckless, unrelenting movements; a blackguard, a shadow, but hers. She grasped upon his hair and he came back to meet her, hands tethered to her hips, keeping her steady, holding her aloft and down again, currents and calculations despite the heady lust barely keeping him afloat; his name dragged across her lips again caused him to look up – the piercing, puncturing set of his eyes telling her everything his lips, his mouth, his tongue could not. They were eternal flames and avaricious stars, a cosmos of ice and savagery, but in her wake, sanctioned, permitted, to be so much more. He caught her sable gaze the crush of amber and need alive, awakened in them, rolled his hips more, settled on a more brazen, audacious pace, a means to push her onward, to the end, to sparks and incandescent reaches. He watched, felt, her crash, a coiled intonation and vibration humming diligently against his skin, along his flesh, drowning in her undulations, finally allowing himself to give in, to surrender, to breathe. The Reaper unwound on a zealous, fervent regard, pervading precision igniting behind his eyelids, closing them so he could see the cosmos in the dark; a release on a wave, on smoke and plumes and fumes, mouth moving to hers, fierce and ferocious, avaricious, wanton, as her lips swallowed his croons, his roars, his howls. Then he was boneless, caught in her wake, salt-laden brow pressing into her shoulder, where it stayed, breath fanning across her naked skin. She burrowed and buried into him too, and he couldn’t help but smile, hidden in the depths of her, a possessive grin matching the enveloping over his frame, both quivering, quavering, shaking from their pleasures, from their resonations. His chest heaved, sated, satisfied, content – nearly indulgent to ask her how she was feeling; when the affection and devotion pooled against the clamors of his heart. He turned his lips further into her fold, relaxed, sculpted a reverie from the granules of his throat. “Yours.” Another dulcet vow, soft and imploring, but restless against her flesh, insistent, drumming, a beat, an assurance on an exhale, brimming and overflowing with the unsaid measures threatening to spill across his tongue. “Always yours.” Out of sight and out of mind Make everything alright So let the sky and sea collide Just not in our lifetime