[P] [M] Too hot? Hot damn, call the po-lice and the firemen

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She hummed the response, not once but twice as he asked, and he was undone by it as he always had been, and always would be. Honrin lost his breath there with his face bundled tight against her own. Love, to feel and know it, was a gift, and he was The Blessed to have it twice given.

The scent of tears was theirs alone, salty-sweet in his nares. Guinevere did not cry very much, nor without reason, she was not a woman disposed to burst to bawling at the drop of a hat, but she, they, had been wounded by what had happened. She gasped for him and it was one of his most favorite Guin-sounds, surprise and desire all wrapped up together, shot through with daring and dreams.

They were Queen and King here, in their solitude and private space. Away from everything else. Deference and domination coming in equal parts. He rolled his hips forth, seeking away in the half-dark and stalled to a stop when she began to speak too.

Gold gleamed in the shadows and his breaths were rendered harsh and heavy, sodden with emotions he dared not name. Next time, they had said, together, in the soft glow of tragedy.

“Yes… Yes, please.” He rumbled, voice deep and torn, begging in his turn for their heart’s desire. Whether pleading to herself or the Gods remained shrouded in mystery, maybe both in their way.

Please, give them to me.

Who was he to not answer her call?

Releasing one of her hands, he reached, groping blindly, for he could not tear his gaze away, not even for a moment, to grip hold of her leg and drape it about his waist, hoping that she’d get the idea and hold on tight with the other too.

His big body shuddered as she squirmed and held him tightly, lost within her grasp, Honrin set the arm back down, resting on his elbow so his hand was free to fist into her hair, the tangle of it wrapping about his fingers just so. If he tugged, ever so gently, she would feel it, and know that he was there, her own hand was free to wander where it may, to touch and tug at him too.

All of a motion, his head turned to claim her mouth for his own and the rest of him undulated slowly, powerfully, sacrificing speed and strength for the urge to be close to her, for the racing beat of her heart thundering in time with his own pressed close to his chest.

Swallowing down sound and silence alike, soaking up the softness of her eagerly, drowning happily within it. Waves upon her shore, the swell and retreat of him poised in greedy covetousness. If he was the Sun God, poised to illuminate the world then she was the blue sky he drifted through, the clouds and rain to wash him clean and bright and golden. A breath of spring, and light dreams of summer.

And when he fell, she would catch him at the horizon, in waning burnt light.

He pulled away only when the demands of breathing raised their notion and hung his head beside her own, rasping hoarsely against her neck.

“Guin-.. G- Guinevere..” He mumbled raggedly, for her, to her, in the way that the greater deity might be called to, reverent and humbled.

Every breath, every twitch of skin and muttering of voice, each motion forwards and back, the movement of hips and the tumble of them together, he would remember them all, frozen together within the bars of his mind, never to be forgotten.

His fingers tightened about hers, pressing the one hand he still held down, as if he might never let go, for all the rest of his dear life here with her. She wouldn’t, couldn’t leave him, not now, not ever, not at all.


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RE: [M] Too hot? Hot damn, call the po-lice and the firemen - by Honrin Wolfe-Denahlii - 5 November 2021, 09:19 PM

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