They stand on clouds, on stars, on the rings of planets. They float through the cosmos with Sunjata's wings shielded them from prying eyes that might seek them out yet and Safrin's dress streaks wind blown behind her like a comet trail. Her hands are small, and yet her reach is unencumbered by the physical differences between them. Her palms roam across his back, her fingertips expertly mapping every scar, every mark, every wound healed over and all the ones yet to come.
As his hips press forward she laughs against his mouth, the stars echoing the sound like a forest of tiny bells. The feeling of his fingers trailing up her thigh brings a smile to her lips that he's sure to feel—and then see—as she arcs against him more that he might peer into her eyes. "Show me more of what I've made you." She whispers, reaching for one of his hands, she, of course, staying tethered easily against him between his wings, where she raises his index finger and slips it between her lips. Her teeth worry at the skin as she lowers her mouth to the knuckle before bringing it back up. The image might be suggestive, but it isn't just that.
From beneath her lips, she's withdrawn one of his claws, and with a smile, she presses her tongue against the point of it, before lowing his hand back against her. The white fabric of her dress clashes masterfully with the black of his claw, as she coils herself forward to place her mouth against his ear. "I don't care about the dress." She purrs against the shell of his ear.
As his hips press forward she laughs against his mouth, the stars echoing the sound like a forest of tiny bells. The feeling of his fingers trailing up her thigh brings a smile to her lips that he's sure to feel—and then see—as she arcs against him more that he might peer into her eyes. "Show me more of what I've made you." She whispers, reaching for one of his hands, she, of course, staying tethered easily against him between his wings, where she raises his index finger and slips it between her lips. Her teeth worry at the skin as she lowers her mouth to the knuckle before bringing it back up. The image might be suggestive, but it isn't just that.
From beneath her lips, she's withdrawn one of his claws, and with a smile, she presses her tongue against the point of it, before lowing his hand back against her. The white fabric of her dress clashes masterfully with the black of his claw, as she coils herself forward to place her mouth against his ear. "I don't care about the dress." She purrs against the shell of his ear.
SAFRIN
