[se] beyond imagining

Deimos

Were his mind contorting directly elsewhere, and not fragmented into teasing or carnal desires, he probably would’ve pressed further into the logic and theory. As the former was the case, there was a distinct chuckle muffled somewhere in between mouths and chests, a modicum of acceptance, broaching the notions no further. Dinner could wait.

They molded to one another, and if there was any greedy or avaricious countenance left in his soul he aspired to it freely now; drawn and sketched and contorted beneath the wake of her presence. Strokes and stokes of fire, swallowing and tasting and taking, teeth and tongue following, some brink of a laugh pooling across her lips when he took scarce moments to breathe. A moan might’ve echoed, but it wouldn’t have gotten far past her mouth, the moment her fingers began to slide along his abdomen; muscles shuddering and undulating in tandem. Expectant, enthralled, incised, eager, willing, wanting.

But there were barriers and someone had to peel them away; machinations hazy but dutiful in their approach. His hand left the fabric of her shirt and opted to travel along her waist, stretching the band of her pants, a hint for them to slip away, off of flesh and skin and curves.

it's not the waking, it's the rising
It's the fire it ignites