DEIMOS
He couldn’t carve eternity, not this man, with his scars and potential for ruin, but he has never let the world stop him. Death had rung around his ears and choked his ichor, but only for a time, only for a stead, his determination too great, his convictions too strong, his emboldened, bestial weight too much for the underworld to capture and ensnare for too long. He’d give and grant and offer everlasting Elysium for her though, a promise left unsaid but drowned and erotic in their movements, in their heated expanse, wanton adoration and feral fervor, no need for words when everything was stated in the shudders of desires, in the trembling arcs of croons and murmurs. The Sword captured, ensnared, and inveigled, simply settled into the arches of temptation and the embraces; a willing siege, a conspirator in claiming. His eyes flickered into hers and there were galaxies and stars in the open, midnight abyss, despite the press of the sun, despite the hallowed fixtures of the winter world from beyond windows – he saw and heard and tasted only her, her, her. He listened to his name uttered as a sibilance, as a storm, as an unearthly thing, sparked and sizzled and smoldered within, suddenly his most favorite thing – not the Reaper with his wraith scythe and his savage upheaval, not the Sword with his stalwart pride, not the General with responsibilities suddenly placed along his brawn and might. A whisper, a seething intimacy, a growl on ethereal lips, teeth, and tongue, like something adored, like something treasured, instead of hated, instead of reviled. The monolith shuddered into the traces of its infinite qualities, leaning into a hand on his spine, his frame taut, eager, fervent, undulating under potent, blazing ministrations, everything an opus, everything a canvas. At her press, his hips rolled in return, mouth aching to trace, aching to implore, aching to do something to sculpt and whittle his ardency –
But then she traveled too, and the only thing he could even begin to conduct was tilting his head, permitting, allowing, bestowing, a coiling, curling, fanning moan shaking from his lips as hers began their own sojourn, lacing and lancing along his jaw, on his ear, on his nape. Eventually, savoring, humming, billowing below her efforts, he bent too, a stretch of devotion and passion, tongue settling in the same refrains and patterns, equal incandescence; sometimes a trace, a tease, sometimes an opus, the full force and brink of his vows and oaths. Her name was a serpentine, sinuous design along the shell of her ear, on the curve of her jaw, on the juncture of collar bones and shoulders, heated and molten, carnal and free.
You aren't afraid of throwing yourself
in the path of danger
but you're terrified of letting anyone in
