Deimos
Purposeful sedition hadn’t granted him more than a wrinkled nose or exasperation, but he snagged those moments too, reaching pinnacles with his teeth, drawing out semblances until he heard a breath quake. Nor had he been expecting her direct admiration, and as the words caught, as her mouth aligned with his chest, Deimos could only blush amidst the shadows and the firelight. Self-deprecation threatened upon his tongue instantly, but he put his worth, and mouth, to better use a second later, contorting the rumble of his voice to echo along her skin, to scald against her neck, eyes following, scaling their own piercing inclinations. “And yet, you are still better,” than paintings or beauty, or any apt descriptions he could pinpoint. Altogether, from strength and dominion, from ridiculousness and mischief, coiled together in bolder flames.
He teased further though, to render the longing, the craving, the indulgence of their haze; fingers ghosting, tracing, until they reached the very center of her. Then they slowed to a deliberate crawl, following familiar maps and routes, slowly, leisurely, as if to ensure every ounce of pleasure radiated and preened.
His other hand hadn’t forgotten her requests at hems, bands, and pants, pulling them downwards while she hovered above; incessantly distracting as her lips maneuvered upon his nape. His own inhalations became sharper, a low grumble, a puncturing hiss, brawn undulating once more under the breadth of her touch. At some point, through quick reflexes, the rest of his clothing was removed, body stripped down to nothing more than muscles, mass, and scars.
He teased further though, to render the longing, the craving, the indulgence of their haze; fingers ghosting, tracing, until they reached the very center of her. Then they slowed to a deliberate crawl, following familiar maps and routes, slowly, leisurely, as if to ensure every ounce of pleasure radiated and preened.
His other hand hadn’t forgotten her requests at hems, bands, and pants, pulling them downwards while she hovered above; incessantly distracting as her lips maneuvered upon his nape. His own inhalations became sharper, a low grumble, a puncturing hiss, brawn undulating once more under the breadth of her touch. At some point, through quick reflexes, the rest of his clothing was removed, body stripped down to nothing more than muscles, mass, and scars.
it's not the waking, it's the rising
It's the fire it ignites
It's the fire it ignites
