[ He surges up to meet her, fearlessly ravenous. Unwilling to back down, unwilling to give up. She twines around that fiercely, takes it for herself, inhaling the heady reality that neither of them are dead. Not now. They're both here, despite all the hopes and failures that have worn down their bodies and minds over time.
She keeps reaching beyond the boundaries of herself, into the firestorm that encroaches upon her own inner world. It illuminates all the ugly crevices of the vast darkened cavern where the reality of her nature lurks. Inhuman and sprawling, languid before the heat of him, willing and able to weather the storm of him in easy, ancient confidence. That firestorm could raze the entire surface of her strange alien landscape, there would always linger the dark hulking world deep, deep beneath the waters... A secret fetid strength always kept, despite the tornado of energy through her very center; mind alight with it.
Somewhere in the physical world, her hands get into everything, twined into hair, prying at the joint of his jaw to control his kiss, gripping tight around the architecture of his shoulder, scratching, pulling, pressing down to feel blood beat underneath. Her hands are also not just her hands, they're hers in the catch of her knee, the taut curve of her ass, the pulse under her chin, the narrow set of her ribs. Her hands are also not just their hands now, she's not confined to this moment, to the specificity of having her position dictated by the way he holds her. She imagines what she'd do if she had him on his back, what she'd do if she had him alone again to spar with.
The lines between the sensations real, imagined, and disembodied, are so muddied and her pulse is a million different colors. Captivating, but she has the feeling they can't keep this up indefinitely. There's always a limit before something strains, before something pops. She'd prefer to get fucked like she came here for before then. Her hands get into everything, stroking with a rough palm, staccato with the eager pant of her breathing. The shift and alignment of hips is always this briefly desperate moment to find where softness will make allowance, resistance at the wrong angle, and then a huff of relief to find the way two bodies settle.
Every flex of every body is now a central sensation, radiating in frothing shivering tides up spines, through teeth. ]
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Date: 2017-05-21 05:33 am (UTC)She keeps reaching beyond the boundaries of herself, into the firestorm that encroaches upon her own inner world. It illuminates all the ugly crevices of the vast darkened cavern where the reality of her nature lurks. Inhuman and sprawling, languid before the heat of him, willing and able to weather the storm of him in easy, ancient confidence. That firestorm could raze the entire surface of her strange alien landscape, there would always linger the dark hulking world deep, deep beneath the waters... A secret fetid strength always kept, despite the tornado of energy through her very center; mind alight with it.
Somewhere in the physical world, her hands get into everything, twined into hair, prying at the joint of his jaw to control his kiss, gripping tight around the architecture of his shoulder, scratching, pulling, pressing down to feel blood beat underneath. Her hands are also not just her hands, they're hers in the catch of her knee, the taut curve of her ass, the pulse under her chin, the narrow set of her ribs. Her hands are also not just their hands now, she's not confined to this moment, to the specificity of having her position dictated by the way he holds her. She imagines what she'd do if she had him on his back, what she'd do if she had him alone again to spar with.
The lines between the sensations real, imagined, and disembodied, are so muddied and her pulse is a million different colors. Captivating, but she has the feeling they can't keep this up indefinitely. There's always a limit before something strains, before something pops. She'd prefer to get fucked like she came here for before then. Her hands get into everything, stroking with a rough palm, staccato with the eager pant of her breathing. The shift and alignment of hips is always this briefly desperate moment to find where softness will make allowance, resistance at the wrong angle, and then a huff of relief to find the way two bodies settle.
Every flex of every body is now a central sensation, radiating in frothing shivering tides up spines, through teeth. ]