[ her lips curl around a breathless laugh, a scratchy exhale. it's a funny thing, she thinks distantly — how his attention seems inherently drawn, as if compelled, to the warmest parts of her. the most alive pieces of her, one could say, from the fluttering pulse in her neck, all the way down to the breath in her lungs, the rush of blood to her heartbeat as he descends.
she hasn't given much thought to all he must yearn for, by the curse of his very nature — not, at least, in any grave detail. but she thinks she understands it, now. how easy it is to miss the simplistic, easy things that make them all so very ... human. reaching out for a hand, and finding it reaching back. sunlight, after confinement in the shadows. the distant call of birds overheard. there's a dreamlike quality to it all, to be certain, enchanting — but he isn't wrong to say it. none of her dreams have lended themselves to sweetness, and those that had ...
those that had were wiped away to make room for a clean slate, in her mind, as though working with new materials might cause her to be rebuilt better. it makes her eager to seize what's available to her in reality, for one. for another, it makes her — mortifyingly sensitive to the generosity, much to her pride's chagrin. desensitization to a rougher touch, and starvation for a softer one, combine for one unfortunate bout of squirming. so much, she thinks, for claims of self-taught discipline when her entire spine seems to snap taut like a bow; when her lungs are expelling a ticklish sound, quick to devolve into a stuttered gasp.
every imprint of his mouth is a searing thing, for all that it starts cold, gradually becomes warmer as her flushed skin transfers heat. a little trail of red follows his path, as if her body itself has taken to remembering it, blushed with arousal. her legs snap around his hips, coiling, as easily as her hands tightly snag in his hair, in some desperate reflex to keep him near. (slowly, she tries to loosen them, to repay his tenderness; her fingers stroke through the curls afterward, in apology.) ]
Be mindful, [ she starts, a murmur syrupy and thick with want. ] if you're going to use teeth.
[ a fond joke, of course. no — only a half-joke, she thinks. there's something to be said for how easily he could tear into her heart from this vulnerable position, a danger that only serves to highlight how painstakingly caring he's being with her, something to be said for being doted upon by a creature capable of great violence if he chose it. just as there's something to be said for how comfortable she is, to issue the invitation to begin with. ]
stares into the sky ... i forgot to hit post comment on this for like three days
she hasn't given much thought to all he must yearn for, by the curse of his very nature — not, at least, in any grave detail. but she thinks she understands it, now. how easy it is to miss the simplistic, easy things that make them all so very ... human. reaching out for a hand, and finding it reaching back. sunlight, after confinement in the shadows. the distant call of birds overheard. there's a dreamlike quality to it all, to be certain, enchanting — but he isn't wrong to say it. none of her dreams have lended themselves to sweetness, and those that had ...
those that had were wiped away to make room for a clean slate, in her mind, as though working with new materials might cause her to be rebuilt better. it makes her eager to seize what's available to her in reality, for one. for another, it makes her — mortifyingly sensitive to the generosity, much to her pride's chagrin. desensitization to a rougher touch, and starvation for a softer one, combine for one unfortunate bout of squirming. so much, she thinks, for claims of self-taught discipline when her entire spine seems to snap taut like a bow; when her lungs are expelling a ticklish sound, quick to devolve into a stuttered gasp.
every imprint of his mouth is a searing thing, for all that it starts cold, gradually becomes warmer as her flushed skin transfers heat. a little trail of red follows his path, as if her body itself has taken to remembering it, blushed with arousal. her legs snap around his hips, coiling, as easily as her hands tightly snag in his hair, in some desperate reflex to keep him near. (slowly, she tries to loosen them, to repay his tenderness; her fingers stroke through the curls afterward, in apology.) ]
Be mindful, [ she starts, a murmur syrupy and thick with want. ] if you're going to use teeth.
[ a fond joke, of course. no — only a half-joke, she thinks. there's something to be said for how easily he could tear into her heart from this vulnerable position, a danger that only serves to highlight how painstakingly caring he's being with her, something to be said for being doted upon by a creature capable of great violence if he chose it. just as there's something to be said for how comfortable she is, to issue the invitation to begin with. ]