Things Long Forgotten
(( For a "firsts" prompt I was given, the point of which was to be obvious without being graphic, be it violent or erotic. This was the only one I could think of off the top of my head that I hadn't done for Alaia. It's not italicized like most memories because, she's not having it, technically. And oh, look, mood music.))
It is need and hunger. Lust and desire.
He has done this a thousand times.
But not with her.
They have never done this before.
She has never done this at all.
But she moves as if she were raised on this, draws him in with such abandon, her body gripping in warm desperation. Beckoning.
She claws at him, a drowning thing yet clinging to life.
Fingers press into flesh, bruising sweetness into her skin, claiming the snowy peaks and valleys of her body as she does the dark, rigid plains of his.
She scrapes the earth, his flesh, leaving reddened furrows in her wake.
Breaths hissed and sharp whimpers play the melody in his head. The slap of skin on skin beats a primal rhythm to fuel the fire they create.
Such heat they never knew.
It rolls over them in burning waves; flesh glistening in it's wake and inside they boil. A spring of lust; want and need, passion and fury bubbling within them.
She beckons him without words, her body calling to his primally; helpless as the moon to the tide he responds.
Such sweetness he draws from her. And she from him. She is his shelter, he is her strength. Together they cling and push and claw and heave, bodies searching, yearning, hungering for more.
His mouth crushes hers, meeting her lips in a fevered dance.
The stone scraping at her back binds her to him as they come together.
Over and over again they crash into one another, rough and desperate; beautiful in their brutality they seek oblivion.
And then her voice lifts in lilting song, coaxing and desperate as he swells.
One last push presses her into the stone as he heaves against her and growling buries in her neck as she gives out, still claiming her flesh with the marks of his gripping fingers.
Click to viewIt is need and hunger. Lust and desire.
He has done this a thousand times.
But not with her.
They have never done this before.
She has never done this at all.
But she moves as if she were raised on this, draws him in with such abandon, her body gripping in warm desperation. Beckoning.
She claws at him, a drowning thing yet clinging to life.
Fingers press into flesh, bruising sweetness into her skin, claiming the snowy peaks and valleys of her body as she does the dark, rigid plains of his.
She scrapes the earth, his flesh, leaving reddened furrows in her wake.
Breaths hissed and sharp whimpers play the melody in his head. The slap of skin on skin beats a primal rhythm to fuel the fire they create.
Such heat they never knew.
It rolls over them in burning waves; flesh glistening in it's wake and inside they boil. A spring of lust; want and need, passion and fury bubbling within them.
She beckons him without words, her body calling to his primally; helpless as the moon to the tide he responds.
Such sweetness he draws from her. And she from him. She is his shelter, he is her strength. Together they cling and push and claw and heave, bodies searching, yearning, hungering for more.
His mouth crushes hers, meeting her lips in a fevered dance.
The stone scraping at her back binds her to him as they come together.
Over and over again they crash into one another, rough and desperate; beautiful in their brutality they seek oblivion.
And then her voice lifts in lilting song, coaxing and desperate as he swells.
One last push presses her into the stone as he heaves against her and growling buries in her neck as she gives out, still claiming her flesh with the marks of his gripping fingers.