Running won't deal with the root of the issue. You need to find that out.
[Much like he needs to find this seed in Iggy, fingers finally finding the blossom - a pulse of energy not unlike Zephir that brings a soft moan to Sully's lips. Tapping into that essence makes him feel as if he's fucking Zephir too, clutching one hand to Iggy's hip to hold him down while his thrusts become erratic.]
Need to pull it out, root and stem.
[With a bloodied had in Iggy's guts, Sully closes his fingers around the seed - feeling the way its roots have weaved through Iggy from the inside, stretching out in an intricate web that was designed to breed life and yet was also potentially lethal to the host in question. Just like Death can be cruel or a welcome friend, life follows no particular path of right or wrong. They are the only two constants, existing in the grey in-between.
All those little webs wither, they die and retract, pulling away from Iggy's insides and disentangling themselves from all his organs. It all retreats into a single, brightly illuminated seed in his palm, which he has the most absurd desire to swallow, putting it to his lips after pulling it free. The relentless pounding of his thrusts into Iggy quickens, hits a crescendo - and when he comes, that wall holding Iggy back from release comes crashing down too.]
no subject
[Much like he needs to find this seed in Iggy, fingers finally finding the blossom - a pulse of energy not unlike Zephir that brings a soft moan to Sully's lips. Tapping into that essence makes him feel as if he's fucking Zephir too, clutching one hand to Iggy's hip to hold him down while his thrusts become erratic.]
Need to pull it out, root and stem.
[With a bloodied had in Iggy's guts, Sully closes his fingers around the seed - feeling the way its roots have weaved through Iggy from the inside, stretching out in an intricate web that was designed to breed life and yet was also potentially lethal to the host in question. Just like Death can be cruel or a welcome friend, life follows no particular path of right or wrong. They are the only two constants, existing in the grey in-between.
All those little webs wither, they die and retract, pulling away from Iggy's insides and disentangling themselves from all his organs. It all retreats into a single, brightly illuminated seed in his palm, which he has the most absurd desire to swallow, putting it to his lips after pulling it free. The relentless pounding of his thrusts into Iggy quickens, hits a crescendo - and when he comes, that wall holding Iggy back from release comes crashing down too.]