[ Shifting his hips slowly, one hand on the small of Lauralae's back to ease into her in long, languid rolls, Zephir moves their bodies together and holds her gaze while he waits for the petal to bloom, spread, duplicate, forming colorful arrangements that slowly make their way back up her system. They're longing to be spilled, to be free, Lauralae as the vessel for a gorgeous performance, Zephir the proud observer when he sees the first signs of his doing start to show between her lips. ]
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Remember that, love.