SUNJATA
the flood
snow glistens on the ledge, whiskey on the bed
shake it out and light a cigarette
shake it out and light a cigarette
He shudders with a million thoughts colliding into his mind, pulling away with a playful nip at her lip when she catches his jaw in her hand — smoldering steel meeting fiery amber. And he hears the words that leave her lips, some part of him indulging in the idea of it. That he has the option to. Still doesn’t mean he wants to, not as he forces those thoughts out of his mind and focuses entirely on her. Weaver. Not Lusea, not Maea, not any of his other partners. Weaver.
She’s offering up her neck and he knows he shouldn’t, but he wants to dive in, to lay claim to those marks he so proudly sports himself. But he withholds himself, telling her in the means of the action itself that he doesn’t want to say no. His lips find her neck, soft kisses with the threat of those fangs behind them, momentarily at least before he’s humming against her skin and pulling away ever so slightly. He shifts her, scanning her face and a rogue smirk crosses his at her comment. “I’ll take the couch over the nest.” He purrs though it’s edged in a bit more of a heated growl than anticipated, especially when he scans her face to ensure she’s okay with this and she tangles her hand into his hair, pulling him back in.
And the thrill starts again, his lips finding her neck, shifting her a bit more to prop himself up above her to not crush her, one hand trailing up her side again but pausing at the base of the shirt she wears, slipping under to drag along soft scarred skin. His kisses grow a bit more intense, a playful nip here and there, traveling down to her shoulder to give a gentle kiss to the tattoo that peeks over. He indulges in her a few long moments, before he pulls away again, hands moving to try and slide the shirt up and off.
He should be backing off, not giving in. But perhaps it’s what they both need — a release, a share of the burden of their loneliness that can’t be tempered otherwise. She might be fire at the end of it, but he’s certainly water. And he’s ready to get burned, to flood her back, to dive into the thick of it until nothing but smoke and mist remain in the wake.
She’s offering up her neck and he knows he shouldn’t, but he wants to dive in, to lay claim to those marks he so proudly sports himself. But he withholds himself, telling her in the means of the action itself that he doesn’t want to say no. His lips find her neck, soft kisses with the threat of those fangs behind them, momentarily at least before he’s humming against her skin and pulling away ever so slightly. He shifts her, scanning her face and a rogue smirk crosses his at her comment. “I’ll take the couch over the nest.” He purrs though it’s edged in a bit more of a heated growl than anticipated, especially when he scans her face to ensure she’s okay with this and she tangles her hand into his hair, pulling him back in.
And the thrill starts again, his lips finding her neck, shifting her a bit more to prop himself up above her to not crush her, one hand trailing up her side again but pausing at the base of the shirt she wears, slipping under to drag along soft scarred skin. His kisses grow a bit more intense, a playful nip here and there, traveling down to her shoulder to give a gentle kiss to the tattoo that peeks over. He indulges in her a few long moments, before he pulls away again, hands moving to try and slide the shirt up and off.
He should be backing off, not giving in. But perhaps it’s what they both need — a release, a share of the burden of their loneliness that can’t be tempered otherwise. She might be fire at the end of it, but he’s certainly water. And he’s ready to get burned, to flood her back, to dive into the thick of it until nothing but smoke and mist remain in the wake.
miss me when you, you wish you weren't right
shake me all out if i'm wrong, for you, for you
shake me all out if i'm wrong, for you, for you
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
