Deimos
They could have their greed; for touch and for love and for everything else nestled in between. For how long they’d fought for others and lost themselves along the way, for how many storms they’d weathered, for how many times they’d broken and stitched their souls back together. Her sentiments still made him wonder and fight, expect something to fall and split, but each time it was easier to accept that not everyone, not everything, left him abandoned. Tough lessons to wade within, and stronger still to learn, to believe, to instill faith and adherence in another. But the Evergreen illuminated the notions every day.
Even if he merely wanted to tease, she had no sentiments to be strung along this time. He responded in muscle undulations and a sudden, insistent hiss, a feral laugh that flickered and engulfed somewhere deep in his chest, mouth meeting along the outer shell of her ear, teeth tugging and nipping. “Fine,” registered something like amused acceptance, even if the words left his cheeks reddened again; but he could blame it on the firelight, on the carnal raptures.
His hands moved away from her core briefly, maneuvering her fingers away from his form if only for a second; simply to create the sheathe and barrier. Even if they’d discussed future parameters, neither of them were quite to those readied thresholds, and he wouldn’t risk all preparations by way of impulse (no matter how tempting). From there, fingers stoked and encouraged, roaming along her thighs once more, an open invitation.
Even if he merely wanted to tease, she had no sentiments to be strung along this time. He responded in muscle undulations and a sudden, insistent hiss, a feral laugh that flickered and engulfed somewhere deep in his chest, mouth meeting along the outer shell of her ear, teeth tugging and nipping. “Fine,” registered something like amused acceptance, even if the words left his cheeks reddened again; but he could blame it on the firelight, on the carnal raptures.
His hands moved away from her core briefly, maneuvering her fingers away from his form if only for a second; simply to create the sheathe and barrier. Even if they’d discussed future parameters, neither of them were quite to those readied thresholds, and he wouldn’t risk all preparations by way of impulse (no matter how tempting). From there, fingers stoked and encouraged, roaming along her thighs once more, an open invitation.
it's not the waking, it's the rising
It's the fire it ignites
It's the fire it ignites
