[ Over the years, she's seen more of him than anyone else ever has. Tempered, careful tenderness in the way he'd tended to her in her early youth, braiding her hair; surprise and anger, loosening the calculated, composed set of his features; and now, this wanting, unwound to a degree that goes beyond base necessity. Every part of him made hers, even the poison, even the rot.
He couldn't say whether he reacts or loses control as soon as she speaks. Even as his name leaves her lips, the sharp pain that had brought him to the ground is unfurling into a blinding haze of relief, his hands holding in her place on top of him as he comes, his head falling back to bare his neck β for her, whether he realizes it or not, his softest parts meant for her and her alone. His frame tenses and shudders, the whole of him arching up to fill her (as if he could claim a place inside of her that way, claw his way to the proof that they're carved from the same cursed stone) with a moan that cuts through his throat like a knife.
Bliss crashes over him in waves, heightened only by the anticipation of feeling her climax, of being fully claimed. He loses one second, maybe two, in that fall over the edge, each crest sending a shiver through him, another rock up into her, his cock pulsing in the tight heat of her cunt. Even the sharp press of her nails feels sweet, a point of focus as the rest of him threatens to float away. ]
My darling.
[ The word, uncharacteristic, spooled out of him, too soft and yet spoken as though it were the most natural thing in the world, dreamy at the thought of his seed inside of her, the faint echo of her voice β do it β and the thought that he would again and again and againβ ]
no subject
He couldn't say whether he reacts or loses control as soon as she speaks. Even as his name leaves her lips, the sharp pain that had brought him to the ground is unfurling into a blinding haze of relief, his hands holding in her place on top of him as he comes, his head falling back to bare his neck β for her, whether he realizes it or not, his softest parts meant for her and her alone. His frame tenses and shudders, the whole of him arching up to fill her (as if he could claim a place inside of her that way, claw his way to the proof that they're carved from the same cursed stone) with a moan that cuts through his throat like a knife.
Bliss crashes over him in waves, heightened only by the anticipation of feeling her climax, of being fully claimed. He loses one second, maybe two, in that fall over the edge, each crest sending a shiver through him, another rock up into her, his cock pulsing in the tight heat of her cunt. Even the sharp press of her nails feels sweet, a point of focus as the rest of him threatens to float away. ]
My darling.
[ The word, uncharacteristic, spooled out of him, too soft and yet spoken as though it were the most natural thing in the world, dreamy at the thought of his seed inside of her, the faint echo of her voice β do it β and the thought that he would again and again and againβ ]