your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

She rolls with him and tucks herself in close to him, one arm reaching up between them to place his hand along her cheek and stroke at the back of her neck as she nuzzles into his neck. He can feel her words leave her lips against his skin and he leans into the touch gently. “I’m not picky.” He hums thoughtfully, his other arm coming to wrap around her lower back and hold her close, fingers trailing over the pale feathers he finds there. “I grew up in a cold mansion without any touches of life, to living in a bunker below much like the Advocates, and then other people’s homes.” He hasn’t really thought about it much to be honest. But now, now he considers it.

“I think I just want a place that feels like home, with trinkets of life in it. Colors and paintings on the walls… Perhaps by the ocean…” He hums quietly, head tilting lightly to press against her face gently.

He savors the feeling of her hands running over his feathers, the navy plumes that flex beneath the touch. Her question is an interesting one and he’s quiet for a moment while he contemplates it. “Maybe.” A quiet musing, having not tested it. “I gave a feather to a Fae but I was in my full shift then.” But before he can continue on the thought process, he finds her head lifting toward him to steal another kiss and he gives into it fully.

further away from this mistake
i'm no savior, i'm no saint