A warm meal and a quiet night

CHULANE like a river flows surely to the sea It is their first time together, their first dance, their first true kiss, their first fuck - and somewhere in the back of his mind he prays it is not the last. As they each discover the other's preferences and habits, shapes and feels, they fall into a rhythm, a motion that is familiar to them both and yet new to them both, for this was it, their inaugural dance. Momentum builds and from somewhere within his chest deep rumbling sounds of pleasure echo, as he presses himself into her again and again, each time hotter, wetter and immensely more pleasurable than the last. Her hands light fires along his skin as they grip onto him, driving him nearer, deeper, closer, and he complies willingly, enthusiastically. But his time is coming, he can deny it no longer as she shudders beneath him, the sensation of her satisfaction the final key his cock needs to release its load. On the final thrust it fills the protection encasing it, causing him to shudder and shiver atop her, his voice groaning in muffled pleasure as his cheek is pressed against her neck. The only motion left now is their deep gasping breaths and the shivers of pleasure that dance and tingle all over him, and her, he sees with deep satisfaction as he props himself up on an elbow, to lesson his weight pressing down on her fit, but slight form - but he didn't extract himself from her, not yet. Instead, he gave a playful wiggle of his hips atop hers, as he leaned down for another kiss, breathless though he was, finding that he could hold it if only to taste her again. Then, as he came up for a gasping breath, he pushed an arm gently beneath her and rolled onto his side, bringing her with him, legs entwined - his cock finally extracting itself from her, to rest flaccid against their thighs (he deftly removed and discarded the now-used protection, tossing it across the room in the vague direction of the bin they can deal with that in the morning). Humming softly as he looked her over with a sleepy, dreamy, utterly smitten grin, he trailed his hand all along her side, from her thighs to her hips, up her waistline and shoulders, and back down again. It was an idle stroke, something he could do all night, if the need for sleep and exhaustion would fuck off and let him. "How was dessert?" he murmured softly, not necessarily expecting or needing a reply, as he relished in this moment with her. some things are meant to be