DEIMOS
Heave the silver hollow sliver
He shrugged at her insinuation; hardly worth arguing when the truth of the matter still simmered and shuddered against his skin. He watched her strive and struggle to grab hold of the cloths without rising, he was likely inhibiting the path entirely, but he made no motion to maneuver out of the way; content in their space, in their desire, in their bliss. The beast didn’t even look to survey her progress, occupying his time by his mouth still sculpting a path down her nape, amused by her reactions, incensed by temptation. At the mention of the pie though (other than a notion of let the damn thing burn), his stomach might have growled, far louder in the space of the tub, echoing against its boundaries. A differentiation of avarice and greed, ravenous qualities and quandaries: hungry for sustenance, rather than release. He snorted, pulling back only to catch her laughter, and then she arched and arced anyway, hands slowly sliding up his neck, gathering at the back of tangled mane again, the smug, superior smirk rising slowly along his licks, much like a Cheshire cat, bemused by circumstances and expectations, by ardor and affection. The Reaper arched his brow at her suggestion – but had since grown comfortable in their intimacy, in the little touches and nuances that brought them together in more than just carnal interludes and passions.
Mischief still stoked at his fibers though. “You just want to admire my scars.” It was silly and benign; more than likely she didn’t crave to see the lines sketched into his form again, or the skull tattoo emblazoned at the base of his neck, hidden beneath tufts of curls. But he snickered and laughed anyway, obliging her with a turn, away from her, ripples in the lukewarm water, spine straightened as he reached for the other cloth and smaller bar of soap. Deimos took his time dipping both into the fathoms, intending to repeat the refrains and do the same for her.
Unite and spread the heart apart
