WEAVER
she was beautiful
in the way a forest fire was beautiful
in the way a forest fire was beautiful
She’d certainly had tamer nights in bed, without the threat of claws and fangs, teeth and nails. There’s been nights for lovers, for boys she’d kept around a little longer than the others. There’d never been a proper lover though, never a boy with a future in mind. She couldn’t dream of futures, not then, and barely now. Then she worried too much about keeping food on the table, about how Korbin might react to her bringing someone so seriously into their lives. Then she’d worried that the future would be cut short. The first worry is gone, the second has changed, but the third? There is always the third.
So instead she craves the threat of blood and violence, the pain, the danger. It makes her feel alive to hurt in that physical way, to bleed. She craves being set free. She craves connection too, even if its connection in the primal, sorrow filled way she finds it with Sunjata.
She discards her pants and her underwear, leaving only the knife that is sheathed at her ankle. It seems unnecessary to remove that, almost wrong to remove it. The steel belongs there, like a promise, like the part of her that it is. At his touch, she spreads her legs willingly, allowing him the space to make his way down the trail of her chest, her stomach, to reach his destination. No, that sounds too final. It is the destination, but it is only the start of the journey.
His breath is hot, tantalizing, teasing, and her heartbeat thrums lower in her body. Her legs slip over his shoulders, her hands running up his arms, dragging her nails against his skin. She calls to the wind, tugging at a small breeze to shiver against the back of his neck, just to tease back. The forked tongue slips out and this time her shudder is pure delight, desire, and she digs her nails into his skin a little more, insistent. The tongue again, obliging, and the moan that escapes her is soft but feral, deep and raw, the sound of wild animal finally loosed from its tether.
So instead she craves the threat of blood and violence, the pain, the danger. It makes her feel alive to hurt in that physical way, to bleed. She craves being set free. She craves connection too, even if its connection in the primal, sorrow filled way she finds it with Sunjata.
She discards her pants and her underwear, leaving only the knife that is sheathed at her ankle. It seems unnecessary to remove that, almost wrong to remove it. The steel belongs there, like a promise, like the part of her that it is. At his touch, she spreads her legs willingly, allowing him the space to make his way down the trail of her chest, her stomach, to reach his destination. No, that sounds too final. It is the destination, but it is only the start of the journey.
His breath is hot, tantalizing, teasing, and her heartbeat thrums lower in her body. Her legs slip over his shoulders, her hands running up his arms, dragging her nails against his skin. She calls to the wind, tugging at a small breeze to shiver against the back of his neck, just to tease back. The forked tongue slips out and this time her shudder is pure delight, desire, and she digs her nails into his skin a little more, insistent. The tongue again, obliging, and the moan that escapes her is soft but feral, deep and raw, the sound of wild animal finally loosed from its tether.
something to be admired from a distance
