DEIMOS
Somewhere in the midst of their passions, he managed to turn the water on – sliding one palm from her only to maneuver the handle; the rushing roar a dull, muted thing compared to the pervading heartbeats echoing, drumming, in his ears. Echoes and sketches of before; sharing their devotions, scattering their hearts, stripped down – but now it was more than ever, pierced and punctured, sculpted and molded into newer, better things. Her urgency and impatience wasn’t surprising – he met the rush, the zeal, with equal fervor, an entanglement of a thousand, unbidden, unholy, unleashed sentiments, growling declarations and dedications, immersed appeal for her, for her, for her.
While her fingers trailed downward, his kept her close, pulled against him, as if she’d disappear, as if he’d lose her, as if the fear of the unknown still traced, still smoked, still clawed into his lungs, into his chest. Savoring, relishing, devouring, consuming what they had in small, minute moments, a warm peel of laughter maneuvered past his lips, meant to trace over her mouth, as her insistence grew all the more apparent. It echoed and boomed again when her nails became talons, when his eyes opened to see horns, shifts of hue in her hair, only a brow arched. Losing control? A gentle tease, and then his lips were soft, slow, enduring on hers, intending to torment, making no maneuver to remove the rest of his garb.
Echoes of mischief compelled too, and the mountain of a man was suddenly every inch an impish, devilish provocateur – tucked in his arms, in his hands, while the water flowing from the bath curled, coiled, contorted at his invoking insistence. Perhaps it was punishment. Perhaps it was payback. Torture for torture; though his wasn’t meant to express hurt, more of a wicked, infernal gesture. When he thought it was high enough above her head, he meant to release it – intending for a splash down the back of her neck.
While her fingers trailed downward, his kept her close, pulled against him, as if she’d disappear, as if he’d lose her, as if the fear of the unknown still traced, still smoked, still clawed into his lungs, into his chest. Savoring, relishing, devouring, consuming what they had in small, minute moments, a warm peel of laughter maneuvered past his lips, meant to trace over her mouth, as her insistence grew all the more apparent. It echoed and boomed again when her nails became talons, when his eyes opened to see horns, shifts of hue in her hair, only a brow arched. Losing control? A gentle tease, and then his lips were soft, slow, enduring on hers, intending to torment, making no maneuver to remove the rest of his garb.
Echoes of mischief compelled too, and the mountain of a man was suddenly every inch an impish, devilish provocateur – tucked in his arms, in his hands, while the water flowing from the bath curled, coiled, contorted at his invoking insistence. Perhaps it was punishment. Perhaps it was payback. Torture for torture; though his wasn’t meant to express hurt, more of a wicked, infernal gesture. When he thought it was high enough above her head, he meant to release it – intending for a splash down the back of her neck.
i'm in the mood to dissolve in the sky
