Date: 2014-07-19 02:41 am (UTC)
mortemscintilla: ∅ There ain't nothing in this world for free (Hei - Contemplative)
I know that.

[ He says it gently, the hurt in her words tickling across his nerves, small and quiet in a way that makes him ache. Circling her close, he sways a bit and then, almost tentatively, lets his face draw nearer, lips parting, tongue sweeping blurringly into her mouth. Crossing borders, opening territories. At first a soft exchange, a contemplation of tactics and possibility, the touch quickly becomes heated, personal, and then raw. His palm is a hard pressure against the dip of her spine, and the curves of her body seem like a grooved diagram for where his touches should flow. ]

[ Mouthing the crook of her jaw, he murmurs, ]


Any special requests?

[ It's a timeworn pattern between them by now. They get together, chitchat about nothing, start rubbing each other's issues away as best as they can. But that doesn't mean it has to be rough and fast and messy. With other couples, sex becomes routine because it's so comfortably tidy. With them, it's the opposite. But that doesn't mean tenderness and roughness shouldn't preclude one another. It is, he's discovering, a matter of flexing all the metaphorical muscles. ] 
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