[ At every step, he meets her: she waits, he obliges; she pushes him back, he falls without complaint, providing only just enough resistance to ensure that they're not both simply tumbling to the mattress. It's another kind of dance, a dilution of the merry skeletons she'd shown him, seeking not damnation or salvation but each other's company, the fact of it encompassing all of those greater terms of philosophy. Love is a kind of life's work, after all. ]
The two questions might have the same answer, [ he hums, arching upward to steal another kiss from her lips. ]
Turned rotten, ever-desirous and eager for another lesson in indulgence.
[ His hands β a little chilly from his morning ablutions β travel, one settling at her chin, his thumb passing just under the moue of her lips, the other leading his arm around her waist as arousal pricks at his senses. ]
Or not spoilt enough, requiring the same sweet hand to correct course.
[ The words dissolve into breath as his mouth finds her cheek, hew jaw, her neck. ]
no subject
The two questions might have the same answer, [ he hums, arching upward to steal another kiss from her lips. ]
Turned rotten, ever-desirous and eager for another lesson in indulgence.
[ His hands β a little chilly from his morning ablutions β travel, one settling at her chin, his thumb passing just under the moue of her lips, the other leading his arm around her waist as arousal pricks at his senses. ]
Or not spoilt enough, requiring the same sweet hand to correct course.
[ The words dissolve into breath as his mouth finds her cheek, hew jaw, her neck. ]
Which do you think it is, my dear?