[M] she's standing on an overpass

Kaena Lykoi · 05-18-2011, 01:51 AM

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Word Count → 458

Mmm. I am kind of glad I waited on this post now because today's Word of the Day is perfect. 9_9 Also marked it mature at this point, even if nothing really happens in this post. >_>

He had come from her; his flesh was her own, his blood her own. He had never belonged to Astaroth; the man had done nothing more to Samael than contribute genetic material. Samael had gone all the way to Eterne and back -- he had come back for her, she thought. Had he known for fact that she had passed on, he might not have ever left. He might have simply shriveled and died; the connection between them felt very nearly umbilical, and severing it in death may very well have killed him. She did not know; she did not want to think of him dead. He should have been a hundred times over, and she should have, as well.

His arms wrapped securely about her neck, and his tongue was on her; her yellow-golden eye half-lidded, softly growling her pleasure. She had been untouched since that fall; she had not dared engage another. The hybrid was fearful of spreading her legs and finding herself sullied, all the maggots and reeking scent of death emanating from her. She was afraid he had ruined her; she was afraid she would have been broken, unable to find pleasure in even beautiful Samael. She would cross this line; it was at this point that she wanted to. No other man would do. She would commit this connubial act with him, and forever blur (or erase entirely) that boundary that had existed between them. It now seemed unnatural, twisted.

Such fears had been unfounded, at least where Samael was concerned. The old hybrid could not speak for all other men, but Samael -- she knew he would not hurt her. He would do nothing that she did not explicitly request with voice or fingers or tongue of her own. The grizzled woman put her left hand to the ground, the right looping low around his back, leaning backwards herself while tugging him gently down over her. She pressed against the small of his back until their bodies touched together. Both seemed to be nearly feverish, fire searing through their veins.

Her breath seemed to come quicker, and her hand traced down his spine, touching the muscled flesh there. There was no bulk of it within Samael, certainly, but there was a tough, sinewy sort of muscle in him nonetheless. It was none too dissimilar from her old flesh, though his was certainly filled with more vigor and spry youth now. Her fingers drew along the curve of his buttock, squeezing gently as her tongue reached for his muzzle, flickering softly at his lips. The gray coyote thought she would have begun to feel nervousness, fear, something by now if she was going to, but caution tethered her to a maddeningly slow pace regardless.

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