tell the wolves I'm home
He’d always been an instinctual, inherent, primordial being; contorting within facets of inclinations and intuitions. Either as man or beast, the response would still be the same – drawn as ever to the corporeal expanses and the earthly, physical shades of their devotion and love and ardor. More than once his breath caught and hitched, and his hands would rise, intending to follow suit, drag with light touches or infernal caresses, uncertain if he should be irritated at the current clause, ignore it entirely and grant in return, or simply allow himself to take. To be pleasured, to be loved, without any stipulation.
A vulnerability – to permit and grant her this rare opportunity, and all the rampant uncertainty that came with it. Willingly giving himself over, extensions of faith and trust and deeper, keener notes, brimmed and pulsed along the surface, and he might’ve said something else had he not been wholly distracted by the touch of her fleeting fingers or mouth; justifying her response with an eyeroll and snort of his own. Reaching, emboldened and audacious as ever, to follow and trap with his lips, for teeth to drag –
And then her hands were unwinding things and he couldn’t help but laugh as his shirt was pushed up as if it were nothing more than skirts; peeled away from skin and over muscles until it bunched ridiculously. But she catered to the whims along skin and muscle while he pulled the rest of it off, flung somewhere else, abdomen and ribs unfurling another semblance of shudders as he fought tooth and nail to stay in one place. Her movements along sinew and flesh and bone inspired multiple hisses, wants, and needs, the rankling of his hands along sheets, fast approaching the drawn line of his patience and fortitude. A few other moments drew him to wondering if she intended to make him beg, which then led to further pondering if he was simply going to do the same to her when he snagged at the right instant.
He eventually might have sank further into the luring, enticing maelstrom of pleasure scratching the surface, of waiting and looming, had her hands not withdrawn, and then wound up elsewhere. There was an incoherent grunt when she eventually reached his pants, and when she only went further with her mouth on his hip, a low growl persisted in the back of his throat. “Tease,” he managed to grind out, guttural and clawing, as if promising reciprocity whenever he could snag it. But the Sword obliged at this juncture, unbuttoning his pants and waiting to unravel in equal measure.
A vulnerability – to permit and grant her this rare opportunity, and all the rampant uncertainty that came with it. Willingly giving himself over, extensions of faith and trust and deeper, keener notes, brimmed and pulsed along the surface, and he might’ve said something else had he not been wholly distracted by the touch of her fleeting fingers or mouth; justifying her response with an eyeroll and snort of his own. Reaching, emboldened and audacious as ever, to follow and trap with his lips, for teeth to drag –
And then her hands were unwinding things and he couldn’t help but laugh as his shirt was pushed up as if it were nothing more than skirts; peeled away from skin and over muscles until it bunched ridiculously. But she catered to the whims along skin and muscle while he pulled the rest of it off, flung somewhere else, abdomen and ribs unfurling another semblance of shudders as he fought tooth and nail to stay in one place. Her movements along sinew and flesh and bone inspired multiple hisses, wants, and needs, the rankling of his hands along sheets, fast approaching the drawn line of his patience and fortitude. A few other moments drew him to wondering if she intended to make him beg, which then led to further pondering if he was simply going to do the same to her when he snagged at the right instant.
He eventually might have sank further into the luring, enticing maelstrom of pleasure scratching the surface, of waiting and looming, had her hands not withdrawn, and then wound up elsewhere. There was an incoherent grunt when she eventually reached his pants, and when she only went further with her mouth on his hip, a low growl persisted in the back of his throat. “Tease,” he managed to grind out, guttural and clawing, as if promising reciprocity whenever he could snag it. But the Sword obliged at this juncture, unbuttoning his pants and waiting to unravel in equal measure.
the ressurected sword
