DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
It was a sensation of foreign ecstasy for both of them – because while he was experienced in some regards, in portions of breaking and falling apart he was sorely not; he’d loved and been loved, but death clouded and undermined. Amalia was a sanctuary, picking up pieces and placing them back together, better, stronger, where he was nearly whole instead of the desolate king of the mountains, forgotten in his desolation. Between their equal demand of one another, of stitching those seams, of warmth and decadence, of hallowed halls instead of hollowed hills, uncertain of where to go or what to do but willing to sojourn together was enough. It would always be enough. He was caught again in her hands and didn’t try to escape, didn’t yearn to evade, didn’t want to wither away and succumb to the earth, hers, soft fingers aligning, providing, guiding, opening his eyes only to see her triumphant bloom. He laughed on the plumes and the heat, awarding her with his stalwart regard, pressing closer and closer as she tilted into him, as she accepted him, as she did more than just tolerate his existence. The Reaper didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t worthy. It was an anthem to his pledges, but he’d savor every moment with her, every glorified gaze, every whimper, every sigh, every tender morsel of affection – devotion and dedication in the lines of his twisted heart, beating over the nefariousness, the savagery, the bestial, barbaric shades. He didn’t know what to do with so much light, so used to being immersed in the darkness, to crawling in the Stygian folds, to awaiting a noose wrapped around his neck.But it was only her now – submerging portions of her frame into the infernal water, not like it mattered, not when the heat was already there, coiled and unleashed from their bones, from their flesh. His mouth took its time, tongue pressing, stroking, the skin at her nape, down and down, ghostly intonations and dulcet inclinations, breath whispering upon her collarbone, lingering on her sternum. One of his hands returned to the back of her head, gentle, and then his lips followed, lifting her back towards him, only him, greedy and avaricious in his hungry, devouring, smoldering kisses, ever closer as her leg snaked around his frame. Would I neglect you? his mouth spoke without words, the silence bombarded by the miniscule waves of water, an unrelenting no scintillating in his desires. Pleasure for pleasure; he would return the favor, leave her begging, leave her wanting, leave her craving, passion and ardor embroiling deep in his soul, unleashed on shudders and moans, intending to swallow each one of hers whole. Somewhere in the midst, he smiled, he grinned, he laughed.
His other hand traced her thighs, slowly, outside, then inside, a tease, a ruse, a taunt, a game she’d recognize, before detailing his way to her core – he’d once done found the same pathways with his tongue, had memorized the route, what made her gasp, what made her moan. First a light, airy brush, as if he’d never been there at all, before returning, one finger caressing, playing strings, chords of yearning, desire, and lust.
Unite and spread the heart apart
