[RQ] this kind of freedom

DEIMOS

Deimos had long since learned that there were tipping points with Evie – how far he could push, tangle, knot, and tease – before she truly came undone. Her impatience always brought him some measure of amusement, of ruminations buried before and relished again; to be wanted and loved and craved, but eventually she would take no more of just his hands and promises and breaths. She was one eager, fervent, ardent, ready to rush into a storm at a moment’s notice, seeking the rush, and he followed, a figure of the surrounding elements.

He was generously rewarded with her keen, a hallowed rumble of his own adding to the sounds and sibilance; a hiss pushing through teeth as his mouth settled on her ear. A scrape of her own name might have left his throat, difficult to tell in everything thereafter, transpiring through movements and lust, her hips grinding into his and blending into his potent, powerful motions. The wall behind her was a ceasing point for her frame, and he drove her there, with strong thrusts and virile conviction. Undulations, shudders, moans worked through the vehement and earnest pleas; taking over their reckless, emboldened chords, breathless and shameless and unfurled. Pleasure for pleasure, love for love, and longing, ardor, piercing in between.

who we were before bones, before dirt, before even light
we have always been deep, restless souls