Deimos
Needs and wants were coiled and contorted together, a melded and molded convergence of their desires brought to flames – he’d meet her wherever she required, the pace enticing and deliberate, drawn from embers and kindled quickly. Much like an inferno, a conflagration, heightened by stoking whims; his mouth chasing the pulse beneath her skin, hands flickering along her hips time and time again, following after her set rhythm, or adjusting it accordingly.
His name was an echo against his ears, and in so he rumbled hers along her skin, upon the shell of her ear, on the lines of her jaw, on the breaths between groans and whispers, hisses and feral intricacies. Eventually he might’ve found ways to form other words and phrases, but in true facets of the Sword’s character, they were short, clipped. “You first,” a tease and an instigation, a temptation for her to fall over the edge and not look back.
His name was an echo against his ears, and in so he rumbled hers along her skin, upon the shell of her ear, on the lines of her jaw, on the breaths between groans and whispers, hisses and feral intricacies. Eventually he might’ve found ways to form other words and phrases, but in true facets of the Sword’s character, they were short, clipped. “You first,” a tease and an instigation, a temptation for her to fall over the edge and not look back.
it's not the waking, it's the rising
It's the fire it ignites
It's the fire it ignites
