WEAVER
she was beautiful
in the way a forest fire was beautiful
in the way a forest fire was beautiful
There was always the benefit of repeat partners, of learning what they like as well as what you like. They’d lack that benefit now, but they were so similar that maybe it didn’t matter. They sought the same thing tonight; they sought enjoyment, release, pleasure, danger, pain. They sought to drown in each other as they drowned earlier in smoke and alcohol, in stories of past woes that would never completely leave them. The confidence of their actions, their surety in themselves, would lessen the awkwardness of the first dance because neither of them knew how to be awkward. Not anymore. They have learned to be so much more than that.
His claws dig into her sides, leaving pink trails, little pinpricks of blood in the places where he digs a little harder. It is all a tease. Her nails, the wind. His claws, that forked tongue. Teasing is half the fun, the anticipation building, that primal want turning into a need until it can no longer be denied. Like starving for days only to take that first bite of meat, but so, so much better. She slips slightly closer to him, encouraging.
There’s something particularly rewarding, particularly fun, about giving back. She is a selfish person, and certainly a willing taker in bed, but she likes to give too. The truth is it’s no fun if the other person isn’t enjoying it just as much. She wants them to want as much as she does, wants them to crave as she does. Though she cannot help that she has the distinct advantage of being female in this particular scenario.
And indulge her he does. He pulls her closer, and she obliges, sliding toward him and that tongue. Still weird, but oh...oh in such a good way. Her eyes close, her back and neck arching slightly as he explores. One hand stays on his arm, running nails along his muscles, the other coming back to brace against the armrest of the couch. He breaks away, kissing at her thigh, and she relaxes slightly with a soft moan at the bite before he returns to exploring and oh. Oh. The pleasure is like a wave, cresting higher and higher, her breath hitching in her throat. "Don’t stop,” she says, voice smoky and raw, a prayer and promise.
His claws dig into her sides, leaving pink trails, little pinpricks of blood in the places where he digs a little harder. It is all a tease. Her nails, the wind. His claws, that forked tongue. Teasing is half the fun, the anticipation building, that primal want turning into a need until it can no longer be denied. Like starving for days only to take that first bite of meat, but so, so much better. She slips slightly closer to him, encouraging.
There’s something particularly rewarding, particularly fun, about giving back. She is a selfish person, and certainly a willing taker in bed, but she likes to give too. The truth is it’s no fun if the other person isn’t enjoying it just as much. She wants them to want as much as she does, wants them to crave as she does. Though she cannot help that she has the distinct advantage of being female in this particular scenario.
And indulge her he does. He pulls her closer, and she obliges, sliding toward him and that tongue. Still weird, but oh...oh in such a good way. Her eyes close, her back and neck arching slightly as he explores. One hand stays on his arm, running nails along his muscles, the other coming back to brace against the armrest of the couch. He breaks away, kissing at her thigh, and she relaxes slightly with a soft moan at the bite before he returns to exploring and oh. Oh. The pleasure is like a wave, cresting higher and higher, her breath hitching in her throat. "Don’t stop,” she says, voice smoky and raw, a prayer and promise.
something to be admired from a distance
