tell the wolves I'm home
A favorable inclination for both; the infernal haze unbidden between minds of lust and love and yearning contorted and coiled in between – she descended and surrounded and he was engulfed, immersed. A hiss accompanied and escaped from his teeth, the feral smile tucked across his lips, some realm of laughter meaning to sojourn alongside too and simply becoming gravel and guttural. The unrelenting, instinctual drive would be to consume and take, persist and plunge until both shattered and unfurled; but where Evie had no patience, Deimos had all the time in the world.
To savor, to relish, to revel. He followed after her slow pace with a purposeful and deliberate rhythm of his own - a drawn opus where each touch might fragment and chase her a little more. Rise and fall and back again, fingers splayed along her hip as they rocked along with his, other hand pressing upon her spine; sensations everywhere, meant to coax and entice and unravel.
Despite the insistent distractions towards pleasure and need, her clutches found purchase along his shoulder, lips on his neck, whispers in his ear, laden beyond the pitches of desire. Initially, his response could only be some quiet, passionate moan, even as all those predilections and promises earned their semblances straight into his heart, lungs, and soul; swallowed down as he breathed over the crown of her head, as he bent forward to drag his mouth across her brow. “Love you.” Eyes closed, his intakes of air were shortened to groans and growls, voice barely remembered or recalled.
To savor, to relish, to revel. He followed after her slow pace with a purposeful and deliberate rhythm of his own - a drawn opus where each touch might fragment and chase her a little more. Rise and fall and back again, fingers splayed along her hip as they rocked along with his, other hand pressing upon her spine; sensations everywhere, meant to coax and entice and unravel.
Despite the insistent distractions towards pleasure and need, her clutches found purchase along his shoulder, lips on his neck, whispers in his ear, laden beyond the pitches of desire. Initially, his response could only be some quiet, passionate moan, even as all those predilections and promises earned their semblances straight into his heart, lungs, and soul; swallowed down as he breathed over the crown of her head, as he bent forward to drag his mouth across her brow. “Love you.” Eyes closed, his intakes of air were shortened to groans and growls, voice barely remembered or recalled.
the ressurected sword
