DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
Passionate reflections and resounding pleas, equalities and measures in pleasure; the Reaper fully intent on ensuring she’s had her satisfaction, her release. He could be selfish, mercenary, and greedy, but not in this, taking only to give back in return. It was how they functioned, how they burned, how they smoldered and scintillated against one another, back and forth, reward for reward, justice in the lustful renewal, in the ardent haze of unholy worship. His kisses were promises, pledges, and vows, avaricious and simmering, a fume, molten smoke on a heated sigh, on an indulgent decree. The fiend swallowed down her whimpers, her whispers, on the crescendo of his might, of his will, of his carnal affection, devouring them whole, consuming the dazed hymns, the aches, the yearns, the longing, hankering turns. He absorbed her begging, her pleading, with a snicker, with a smirk, with some smug, superior pride, that he could initiate and goad such reactions, that he could prompt upheaval in more than just the world – but in her, in him, echoes of cravings and inclinations rushing them headlong into grasping, into gasping, into contorting their frames back into primordial, beckoning strands. It swooned and sighed, clawed and grasped, tugged and cajoled, conjuring inveigling qualities, seductive endeavors, granting, granting, granting, seizing, pushing, a game of embraces and allure, beguiling the senses, both insisting the other have their fill.His name was on her tongue and he did the same, intonating syllables and phrases across his lips, his mouth, his teeth, too many other intricacies and intimacies buried and burrowed in their hold, in their flesh, in their skin, groaning on her simper, breath a pant, a decree, on sin and sin and sin. His kisses continued, acquisitive and overwhelming, melding and melting, tongue sliding past soft lips and thresholds, adding his mewls, his groans, his simpers. They were wild and savage, and he didn’t care, didn’t give a damn, wanting the chords of her ecstasy to ring off of the walls; finger still caressing down, down, down, inclining and ascending, descending and imploring, wanting her songs to be moans, wanting her mewls to be liberation and release, wanting, wanting, wanting in their patterns. Sometimes it was a flutter, like hummingbird wings, and sometimes he gave her exactly what she hankered for - more, another digit rounding her core, delicate and tender, each one playing off the other. He sketched and outlined as if she were his latest oeuvre, his muse, a masterpiece in the making, artist and conductor, intending to tighten the strings for her brilliant hallelujah.
Unite and spread the heart apart
