tell the wolves I'm home
He didn’t bother stifling the deep and warm round of laughter following her own; the bliss and reverie and subsequent ridiculousness combining into raw amusement; shaking his head at the smug notes and tones. Deimos fully intended to change them into sultry decibels and avaricious sighs, lustful moans and heady wakes; all in good time.
His brow arched and eyes followed the trail of her movements with such an air of hooded longing behind the piercing sentiments of his gaze that it wasn’t worth hiding; he might’ve said something clever, but it was lost in the heady reaction, the jut of hip bones, the arc and rise of her spine. His unsaid promise had been momentarily forgotten in the midst of visions and flesh, before shaking his head, succumbing to another chuckle as her shirt rucked and revealed, mouth lowering to skim over her ear, a smirk tucked within as breaths pulsed over skin. “Am I allowed?”
Regardless if he was or not, his fingers slid, following paths he’d long since learned but yearned to travel over and over again. The slightest, ghostly touch along curves, the peeling away of layers, the snapping away of bras and waistbands, gone and gone and nothing in between. From there, his mouth began to make and mark its own bearings, winding along so lips touched and scorched along soft pulse points upon her neck, digits gliding and tracing amidst the top of her thighs. An inquiry persisted, an offering made, another rumble of shadows and whispers tucked into her nape. “What do you want?”
His brow arched and eyes followed the trail of her movements with such an air of hooded longing behind the piercing sentiments of his gaze that it wasn’t worth hiding; he might’ve said something clever, but it was lost in the heady reaction, the jut of hip bones, the arc and rise of her spine. His unsaid promise had been momentarily forgotten in the midst of visions and flesh, before shaking his head, succumbing to another chuckle as her shirt rucked and revealed, mouth lowering to skim over her ear, a smirk tucked within as breaths pulsed over skin. “Am I allowed?”
Regardless if he was or not, his fingers slid, following paths he’d long since learned but yearned to travel over and over again. The slightest, ghostly touch along curves, the peeling away of layers, the snapping away of bras and waistbands, gone and gone and nothing in between. From there, his mouth began to make and mark its own bearings, winding along so lips touched and scorched along soft pulse points upon her neck, digits gliding and tracing amidst the top of her thighs. An inquiry persisted, an offering made, another rumble of shadows and whispers tucked into her nape. “What do you want?”
the ressurected sword
