your hands are scarred from murder

SUNJATA

the flood

with every breath and every intake
tip toe further away

For him? He couldn’t get enough of her. It was a part of that drive of his that made it difficult for him to stay away, to feel the need of giving love and receiving it in the best way he knew how – and he’d burn with it for however long it took, never once singed by the flames of it. He keeps his gaze on her, seeing the lavender shift its hue as he hovers his kisses by her beast. Her one hand continues its lazy circling, keeping the hitch of his breath as he dives in and kisses and nips at the swell and curve of her breast.

The other side of the wing doesn’t receive much of a response, far less sensitive than the inside of it, and it at least gives him a small amount of time to focus on her, feeling the way she presses herself against him. But he doesn’t give into her yet, despite how much he wants to. Instead, his head remains hovering over her chest, eyes locked on her face as he aims to drag his tongue along the swell in a circle before flicking over her nipple, his other hand mimicking the action on her other.

His breath rakes against her skin with all the very same hitching occasionally as she reaches a spot along the wing where his teasing and playfulness get hungrier, and he focuses on indulging in her entirely.

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