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
The scars along her body might mostly be from friendly fire, but his are not. They’re both survivors, her bearing the scars of learning and training, him bearing the ones of people out to get him, to put him down — evidenced by the scars acquired not here, like the stab wound Lusea stitched up above his hip, like the gunshot wound to his thigh that hasn’t be unearthed yet, like the scar that adorns his neck from where he should have died and yet… didn’t.
It’s almost poetic, in the sense that they’re here, that things have accelerated in such a way that neither of them thought it would. Perhaps it was the light touches, perhaps it was the teasing tones thrown between them, perhaps it was the fact that loneliness won out and neither of them wanted to sleep in a cold bed (or couch) alone. He doesn’t care what spurred it, not with her in his arms, already beginning to burn in a way that Sunjata knows intimately well.
But she purrs her approvals to the bites, right before Sunjata’s moving — shifting to better help her remove the shirt and bra she wears, moving to tug her atop him, lips meeting and clashing in a fiery dance. She settles on top of him, though he keeps his torso against hers as his tongue sweeps along her lower lip and she shudders. He can feel the way she gives him a grin back, full of teeth and were she attuned he could only imagine the sharpness of them in response to his own. They’re one in the same, after all.
Her hips roll against him, against the anticipation that’s evident with the movement, and a hum of a vibrating groan slips from his throat, even more so when she pairs it with a sharper bite — sure that the lip would be swollen but truly having it no other way. So his hands lower, along her sides, partially shifted to blunt claws to not draw blood, dragging along her skin until he reaches her hips and pulls her down against him again — a shuddering pant of a breath leaving him. But he’s still trapped beneath the fabric of pants, tight and uncomfortable just as she’s hidden away too, so he breaks the kiss with a parting fanged bite to her own lip, sharper and taunting, before smoldering steel tries to meet fiery amber once more.
So he shifts them againbecause he probably should have thought about this better but he’s drunk, trying to raise her to slide whatever else she wears off, trying to orient her along the couch similarly to before when she’d been under him, only this time he doesn’t stay at her lips. No, he plans to travel down, slowly, playfully, hoping to indulge in her and show her exactly why the forked tongue was enjoyable. Though he doesn’t start to drift until he’s placed a sharper bite to her neck, below her ear, that likely would leave a mark as he goes to start his descent — a hand trailing up in light ghostlike touches along the inside of her thigh.
It’s almost poetic, in the sense that they’re here, that things have accelerated in such a way that neither of them thought it would. Perhaps it was the light touches, perhaps it was the teasing tones thrown between them, perhaps it was the fact that loneliness won out and neither of them wanted to sleep in a cold bed (or couch) alone. He doesn’t care what spurred it, not with her in his arms, already beginning to burn in a way that Sunjata knows intimately well.
But she purrs her approvals to the bites, right before Sunjata’s moving — shifting to better help her remove the shirt and bra she wears, moving to tug her atop him, lips meeting and clashing in a fiery dance. She settles on top of him, though he keeps his torso against hers as his tongue sweeps along her lower lip and she shudders. He can feel the way she gives him a grin back, full of teeth and were she attuned he could only imagine the sharpness of them in response to his own. They’re one in the same, after all.
Her hips roll against him, against the anticipation that’s evident with the movement, and a hum of a vibrating groan slips from his throat, even more so when she pairs it with a sharper bite — sure that the lip would be swollen but truly having it no other way. So his hands lower, along her sides, partially shifted to blunt claws to not draw blood, dragging along her skin until he reaches her hips and pulls her down against him again — a shuddering pant of a breath leaving him. But he’s still trapped beneath the fabric of pants, tight and uncomfortable just as she’s hidden away too, so he breaks the kiss with a parting fanged bite to her own lip, sharper and taunting, before smoldering steel tries to meet fiery amber once more.
So he shifts them again
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.
