DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
At his core, Deimos had always been the epitome of control. It was honed into his existence, into his fibers, into his being, as much a part of him as breathing, a stone, an anvil, iron forged with composure, with command, with dominance. But he didn’t have it here, not now, not in these hallowed halls, moments of pure, unholy pleasure, and a part of him wanted to fight it, wanted to immediately crush it under his wake and forgo the entire cause. But the other contortions to his essence were infernal, were scintillated, were tempted, were enticed, were glorified in the feel of her on him, ensnared, caught, allowing her victory because it was her. He permitted vulnerability because she wouldn’t break him apart. He proffered intimacy because she wouldn’t fragment him into pieces. She’d already put him back together again: filled in gaping fractures and ruptures, tied fraying strands into knotted, cherished, devoted lines and tethers. The beast didn’t know what else he could do for her, not while driven to complete and utter distraction, not while his mind flickered back to only the most divine fulfillment.He managed to open his eyes at some point, on a gasp, on a sharp, inhaled breath when her teeth ghosted over flesh, when her promises and convictions were kept, her hands binding him there, ensuring there was no escape, no liberation, no deliverance except the one by her mouth, by her ministrations. The beast glanced down on the slightest chuckle, taking in her heated gaze and vowing a return. His lust, his desperation, his wanton desires were a coiled, rapacious thing, setting him on fire, on edge, until his release was there, clawing her name again down the edges of his throat, unfurling him on the hymns of indulgence and inclinations, heat, a molten inferno as he ghosted along the fringes, chest heaving, legs yearning to crumble.
In a way, he does, buckling down, down, down, knees submerged and along the bottom of the tub, the water only heightening the hot, iniquitous designs on his skin, until his eyes met onyx, until their faces were aligned, until he placed his forehead on hers. The spaces in between carried only that strange sort of bliss he thought he’d never find again, breath unwinding, intermingling, not knowing what to say, how to feel, other than worship and reverie that had never come from deities or gods. “Thank you,” he managed to compose and comprise, but it wasn’t enough, and it landed on a bout of laughter, not at her, but at himself, so tediously uncertain in times when he shouldn’t have been. His mouth lingered and pressed against her forehead, before traipsing down her neck again, a whisper caressing the shell of her ear, “Let me?” before he ventured on that prior pledge. His lips traced a long, salacious dedication to her nape, while his fingers reached and traced over her curves, featherlight at first, dulcet, soft, barely a hint of his motions, and then descending into the water. Here they were more maddening, curling and coiling down her hips, and then to the inside of her thighs, tracing, sketching, waiting for further permission.
Unite and spread the heart apart
