your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

She’d found the button to press, unknown to him, and she kept playing with it in ways that he was helpless to try and tell her that they should get some sleep – he couldn’t sleep like this, not with the flame churning in his gut, the smolder to his eyes, the devouring need to take and take and take. He can feel her quiver beneath him and he exhales a hot breath along her neck, drifting his kisses lower to her collarbones, to the top of her chest.

He hears her murmur into his hair, and he shakes his head to signify no, because if it’s already started it’s too late now – and if he didn’t end up going through with it he’d ache for what would feel like forever, he’s sure. And so he drifts his kisses lower, dragging them to her breasts. She grasps onto the wing with one hand and the other drifts down his side to his hip and he feels her arch into him. So he shifts his hips a small amount, pressing the hardened length against her. He smirks against her skin, lifting his head enough to look at her with that same devilish devouring look to his steel flames.

“I want you to keep exploring.” He breathes to her, breathless and yet some hint demanding all the same.

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