DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Their shields were different varieties, different shapes, different emblems, different hues, but constructed for the same reasons: to hide, to protect, to shelter themselves from the hundreds of storms already besieged upon them. How many times had they been left vulnerable, broken, beaten, and damned? How many times had they given portions of themselves to the ether, to the world, and had it whipped away like dust? How many moons did she have to suffer beneath, quietly festering, wasting away, in the columns, worries, and anxieties stretched across her soul? How many suns did he wither below, growling and roaring his defiance until there was no one left to hear? Perhaps it worked best that they tore apart their guards with one another, because the other understood, comprehended, the layers bruised and misshapen, the hues blended and unfolded into the murk, the vulnerability stark, vivid, and blinding. They both bent and broke, they both took and stole, they both fought against demons and infidels: departing paths that circled back around again and again, until blue and black seemed to converge, and the ghosts, the wraiths, the phantoms, dissipated, disappeared, for those infernal moments.Stripped down, skin to skin, was a careful balance of exposure and intimacy, a stalwart trust laden between incitement, arousal, and conviction. Strength and devotion simmered between unspoken things, until her voice proclaimed it, before her breath billowed, piercing through his hide – his muscles shuddered well beyond her touch, I’m yours revolving and ricocheting through his senses, barely, and a voracious claim followed. His mouth drew its ravenous details, its hungry inscriptions, across her lips, echoing it back to her I am yours, I am yours on a dedicated, ardent anthem, hands sliding somewhere along her curves, then up and up and up, sweeping across the outline of her breasts, her shoulders, and then cradling her head. His fingers were gentle and featherlight while the rest of him was not, mouth imploring until his lungs begged for air.
Not for long; there were a few scattered instances where he could hear her growl and it sent a wanton pleasure up the ridge of his spine, while her hands drifted down over his hips, muscles undulating, encouraging, more and more and more they emboldened and persuaded, an arch, a timbre, to his own greedy snarl, a deepening rumble in his chest. Within a moment the last remaining garment was gone, down on the floor with the rest, tugged down on her ministrations, and he was completely revealed again, every line, every inch, every brutalized portion of flesh and bone. He didn’t mind at all, because it was her, and she’d already seen the scars, the potency, the prowess, the hurt, maimed indentations, and had come to claim and take and snatch at him anyway.
Her greed and impatience might have made him laugh; a ruffian smile managed to make its way through his lips as his mouth drifted elsewhere, behind her ear, down her nape, lingering along her collar bone on its favored journey. The Reaper’s hands were entreating and beseeching, removed from her gilded tresses and lingering along her hips, before lifting her completely off the floor, high enough so her feet would lightly dangle over the tub. For a moment, she would float and flicker along the air, his strength a persistent thing, and then he gently placed her within the water, feet first, standing upright, and following thereafter; barely submerged, heated liquid conspiring along his calves.
Unite and spread the heart apart
