But it's not like she would. She never has done. Any sound would break the delicate balance of risk and anticipation, and she's not sure she would survive the shatter. But it's nice to fight the tensing of her own muscles as everything pulls taught, because there is not trust (but unshakeable faith and knowledge) in the hands that wander over her skin.
Caught and held breaths whisper in her chest as the betraying heart jackhammers.
"Shh", the voice, intimate and awful and everything she's not (she is) with breath and the smallest flicker of tongue warm against her ear. Her neck. Her skin, cold fire.
Hands run down her torso, flicking, feeling, not too soft (what's gentle?), never undressing because shared skin blurs hate and want too intimately. Instead, fingers creep beneath the soft cotton they should never reach, slipping against softness, against warmth.
(she's not bad)
(she's not)
(she is)
She pants as fingers slide inside, rough and curling upwards and pulling her faster and faster apart.
Sparks run over skin that could be hers, must be, even if they aren't. The lips leave bruises that claim her to this mess on her pulse, her clavical, the hollow of her throat. Teeth do not do soft.
She's molten inside, utterly boneless and sweat-slick and broken. Everything's rushing forward and backward and flushing electric inside and and out. Shaking, breath held and blinking out of space, she crumbles.
This is hot and also a character study and beautifully written and has parentheses used brilliantly, and you're such a darling and a beautiful awesome kick ass person for writing this for me ♥
"Don't. Say. A word."
But it's not like she would. She never has done. Any sound would break the delicate balance of risk and anticipation, and she's not sure she would survive the shatter. But it's nice to fight the tensing of her own muscles as everything pulls taught, because there is not trust (but unshakeable faith and knowledge) in the hands that wander over her skin.
Caught and held breaths whisper in her chest as the betraying heart jackhammers.
"Shh", the voice, intimate and awful and everything she's not (she is) with breath and the smallest flicker of tongue warm against her ear. Her neck. Her skin, cold fire.
Hands run down her torso, flicking, feeling, not too soft (what's gentle?), never undressing because shared skin blurs hate and want too intimately. Instead, fingers creep beneath the soft cotton they should never reach, slipping against softness, against warmth.
(she's not bad)
(she's not)
(she is)
She pants as fingers slide inside, rough and curling upwards and pulling her faster and faster apart.
Sparks run over skin that could be hers, must be, even if they aren't. The lips leave bruises that claim her to this mess on her pulse, her clavical, the hollow of her throat. Teeth do not do soft.
She's molten inside, utterly boneless and sweat-slick and broken. Everything's rushing forward and backward and flushing electric inside and and out. Shaking, breath held and blinking out of space, she crumbles.
(she's alive)
(she's alone)
(she's not)
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THANK YOU x767468
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YOU are darling and wonderful, I'm just here for sweaty sex
♥
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*throws confetti*
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thank you sweetie
annie love is demanding love
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