( for those exquisite moments there is only the touch of her hands luring him in, the quiet yearning of her body, pushed and pulled against him by hers and his own — by his own hands at her back, around the span of her hips. he gets lost in the raw and excruciating intimacy of it; he gets lost in how he wants her and how she wants him, the depth of both in the dark and longing of his gaze.
it's not enough. it never is, and when she beckons him atop her, her legs parting around him, the depths in which he slides into her is sweet, blinding relief. he groans, breathless, the endearment of sweetheart a rumble in his throat. he does bury himself as deeply as he pleases; he could hardly assuage nor censor himself. he covers her with his body, the flush high on his cheeks as he rocks ceaselessly into her. and he whispers against her lips, his fingertips running from her hair down to her shoulder, up to her pulse —
and he whispers. he whispers everythings: about the beauty of her like this, about what she wants, what she likes, about how he wants her, about how she is everything filling the spaces of a thousand years — )
bleary eyed and beautiful but your blade is not dull; NSFW
it's not enough. it never is, and when she beckons him atop her, her legs parting around him, the depths in which he slides into her is sweet, blinding relief. he groans, breathless, the endearment of sweetheart a rumble in his throat. he does bury himself as deeply as he pleases; he could hardly assuage nor censor himself. he covers her with his body, the flush high on his cheeks as he rocks ceaselessly into her. and he whispers against her lips, his fingertips running from her hair down to her shoulder, up to her pulse —
and he whispers. he whispers everythings: about the beauty of her like this, about what she wants, what she likes, about how he wants her, about how she is everything filling the spaces of a thousand years — )