Weaver
So precious is this life, this gift,
this temporary blindness.
this temporary blindness.
”Yea, not so bad,” she says with a wink, and now her voice is playful and teasing. That’s the best he’s getting at the moment, though from her, it’s a pretty high compliment. Besides, she’s in his arms, isn’t she? And not just because they got drunk and did something stupid.
She shrivers at the featherlike touch on her body, enjoying the sensation. ”I am pleasant company? I’m not sure anyone has actually called me pleasant,” she says with a chuckle. It’s probably true. That’s not a word generally used in her direction. Impossible, ridiculous, beautiful...these are words she hears. Pleasant? Not so much. It’s not that she didn’t make friends, but rather, you had to be tough to handle being her friend.
”Oh, no, I think you talking to him more might make it worse. He doesn’t like being pushed.” And the way she says it makes it clear they have had that discussion already, and probably a bit how she feels about it. Though she’d give him space and time, as he needs, within some reason because he didn’t need to be suck a dick about it.
He finds space between her legs, the weight of him welcome against her. His lips trail down her neck toward the tattoo, and she tips her head slightly, allowing better access. Her own hands trail down his back, finding their way beneath his shirt. Her fingers trace the outline of his hips, sliding to his back, her nails tracing lightly along his spine.
She shrivers at the featherlike touch on her body, enjoying the sensation. ”I am pleasant company? I’m not sure anyone has actually called me pleasant,” she says with a chuckle. It’s probably true. That’s not a word generally used in her direction. Impossible, ridiculous, beautiful...these are words she hears. Pleasant? Not so much. It’s not that she didn’t make friends, but rather, you had to be tough to handle being her friend.
”Oh, no, I think you talking to him more might make it worse. He doesn’t like being pushed.” And the way she says it makes it clear they have had that discussion already, and probably a bit how she feels about it. Though she’d give him space and time, as he needs, within some reason because he didn’t need to be suck a dick about it.
He finds space between her legs, the weight of him welcome against her. His lips trail down her neck toward the tattoo, and she tips her head slightly, allowing better access. Her own hands trail down his back, finding their way beneath his shirt. Her fingers trace the outline of his hips, sliding to his back, her nails tracing lightly along his spine.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark,
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
