LOCKE
Reality sets back in and he remembers how to exist, fingers trailing gently along her skin as if there's not blood beading down her neck and shoulder. He's never been one for words but hopefully she understands what he was trying to convey with all of this. This deep dark possession, the need to consume, the need to own her and give himself in return. He nuzzles into her, whispering soft words of love as he holds her.
Except reality is really setting in and he feels sore and he's exhausted and sticky? Was it always this sticky here? He presses one last kiss into her skin before leaning back to look at her. "Still alive?" He knows he's hurt her, physical, emotionally, but time heals all wounds. Or at least makes scars of them. But she's still here, all warm and heavy in his lap.
Speaking of, his leg might be numb, twisted as it is under him. He grabs handfuls of Maeve, lifting her up as he slides out from under her. "Should uh.. Finish the flowers?" His voice is still gravely and his demeanor drips lust instead of florist intentions. "Then maybe we can go.. Back to your's? Mine? Somewhere?"
Except reality is really setting in and he feels sore and he's exhausted and sticky? Was it always this sticky here? He presses one last kiss into her skin before leaning back to look at her. "Still alive?" He knows he's hurt her, physical, emotionally, but time heals all wounds. Or at least makes scars of them. But she's still here, all warm and heavy in his lap.
Speaking of, his leg might be numb, twisted as it is under him. He grabs handfuls of Maeve, lifting her up as he slides out from under her. "Should uh.. Finish the flowers?" His voice is still gravely and his demeanor drips lust instead of florist intentions. "Then maybe we can go.. Back to your's? Mine? Somewhere?"
Help me make the most of freedom
And of pleasure
And of pleasure
