SUNJATA
the flood
'cause we might as well be blind,
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
if seeing is believing, this parable's misleading
Shivers run along his spine as do the goosebumps alongside them dotting his tattooed and scarred skin, exhaling a soft and gentle sound as her soft lips press against his calloused fingertips and she grinds against the desire and need burning through him. Her own gasp sparks a flush of red to blossom on his cheeks and neck, his hand is soon released as she presses against him to lay her kisses all along the raised scar tissue that bisects the panes of his skin.
His hand takes its own detour, smoothing along her neck and shoulder, down along her spine in smooth strokes, toward her hip where he cups it gently — at least before she moves and sits back again and he exhales a sharp breath of relief as she unbuttons his pants. He’s aching and already hard, his gaze swollen by pupils that shift toward a more sit appearance, to better see her in the lowlight of the room where the moonlight reflects off the curves of her body like she’s an Angel of the night.
Lifting his free hand now, he strokes gentle lines up her stomach to the swell of her breasts, circling one and then the other before his fingertips explore and ghost along her perked nipples. His gaze flickers up, back to her face, watching her from a face half hidden in shadow and half a murky green hue from the blue moonlight flowing through the amber of her horn.
His hand takes its own detour, smoothing along her neck and shoulder, down along her spine in smooth strokes, toward her hip where he cups it gently — at least before she moves and sits back again and he exhales a sharp breath of relief as she unbuttons his pants. He’s aching and already hard, his gaze swollen by pupils that shift toward a more sit appearance, to better see her in the lowlight of the room where the moonlight reflects off the curves of her body like she’s an Angel of the night.
Lifting his free hand now, he strokes gentle lines up her stomach to the swell of her breasts, circling one and then the other before his fingertips explore and ghost along her perked nipples. His gaze flickers up, back to her face, watching her from a face half hidden in shadow and half a murky green hue from the blue moonlight flowing through the amber of her horn.
you've got your shotgun loaded with excuses
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
— that you'll fire in vain —
but those 12 rounds just won't do
Feel free to use magic/force on Sunjata, without killing him <3
Sunjata speaks with an Australian accent and has a passive magic that makes him produce a subtle scent that matches exactly to whatever those around him most desire him to smell like.
