And then he quite easily broke away from her grasp, only to wrap his arms up around her in an undeniable embrace.... but he wasn't done yet. Oh no.
He threw himself (and Nyx) into the ocean, releasing her as soon as they were underwater, and then surfacing quickly and returning to the beach... Then he started running, and fast, and hard, down the shoreline.
Nyx didn't have time to squeal or shriek as she might have, or to enjoy having his arms around her, which was undeniably... nice. The true word for it couldn't exist yet, and given more time, she'd have thought of one, but then she was underwater, out of his arms, and shooting up to the surface
( ... )
He felt her gaining on him, and then her wings cast their shadow over him... He braced himself just in time, and then they both went down onto the sand in a heap of wet deity mirth.
Dramatically, he spread his arms out wide and dropped his head to the side, in a pose of exhausted surrender.
"I was a fool," he cried, "A fool to have ever believed I could get away with it!"
He'd have done anything to see her smile like that. At him.
Nyx nodded sagely, graciously accepting his concession, but not moving. No need for that just yet.
"It's all right," she reassured him. "But let's note it for the future."
Having enjoyed her victory, she collapsed forward, her face not very far from his own, her hands on his shoulders, her forearms on his chest. Her wings folded up and neatly disappeared, and now they were touching. And this was Good.
"You mustn't ever look at me badly again," her tone was quite serious. "I don't like it at all."
Tension made his body its temple and resided there. He wanted to look away, he wanted to keep his gaze elsewhere, but she had him in more ways than one. The sparks that he had felt (and ignored) when he touched her to push her out into the sea, when he held her to keep her underwater.... those sparks were blooming now, like those hitherto nameless flowers that blossomed only during the night.
And so, with his eyes locked firmly on hers -- for he could not draw away with her so near, so near he could inhale the scent that rose from her skin -- he managed to whisper:
"How would you like me to look at you?"
He wanted to... wanted to ... do something. He didn't know what.
Her body was pressed against his, making her pointedly aware of the disparity of size, shape, and density between them. His voice sent a tremor through her that went deeper and resonated more thoroughly than anything that had happened thus far. The touching and the whisper and his eyes, his glorious eyes, made her want to... be a part of him, as he was of her. Without her even being truly aware of it, one of her hands slipped up to his face, tracing his cheekbone, his jawline... his lips.
"This way..." she said very, very softly, very nearly in audibly, "this way is very good."
He pleased her senses. The look of him, the sound of him, the smell of him, the feel of him, all pleased her. Her hand slipped into his hair, and she couldn't help but wonder about the taste of him. Slowly, hesitantly, hoping he wouldn't mind very much, she lowered her lips to his.
He could have stopped her. He could have pushed her away or turned so that she slid off his body or just turned his head to the side or glared at her.
None of those things happened. Instead he waited. He waited for her mouth, and when it finally came, hesitant and light against his own, he found himself drawing an arm about her waist and smoothing his free palm over her wingtips, across her shoulder, down her arm. That hand greedily feasted on her cool, damp skin, touching, sensing, feeling...
But it was her lips that he loved most of all. Salt from the sea clung to the corners, which he kissed away... Yes, kiss... Kiss...
Oh, this was... yes. This was certainly just a perfect thing, a perfectly wonderful and glorious thing, was this, this... kiss. She didn't know where that word had come from, but this was it, and it was... astounding.
He tasted... salty at first, but also a little sweet, a little smoky, dark and like the best thing ever in the world. He was drawing her more tightly to him, and as one hand stroked through silky wet hair, the other went to the base of his neck, stroking the skin there. She shuddered as he touched her wing, and her shoulder, and her arm, and wanted more and more and more again; she wanted him to touch her everywhere.
But then, his hands were gone, and on her cheeks, and then they weren't kissing. Her eyes opened reluctantly and she took a moment to register his question.
"Why?" she repeated, a bit confused herself. "Why not?"
"Don't mind if I do!"
And then he quite easily broke away from her grasp, only to wrap his arms up around her in an undeniable embrace.... but he wasn't done yet. Oh no.
He threw himself (and Nyx) into the ocean, releasing her as soon as they were underwater, and then surfacing quickly and returning to the beach... Then he started running, and fast, and hard, down the shoreline.
Just let her catch him, HA!
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Dramatically, he spread his arms out wide and dropped his head to the side, in a pose of exhausted surrender.
"I was a fool," he cried, "A fool to have ever believed I could get away with it!"
He'd have done anything to see her smile like that. At him.
Reply
"It's all right," she reassured him. "But let's note it for the future."
Having enjoyed her victory, she collapsed forward, her face not very far from his own, her hands on his shoulders, her forearms on his chest. Her wings folded up and neatly disappeared, and now they were touching. And this was Good.
"You mustn't ever look at me badly again," her tone was quite serious. "I don't like it at all."
Reply
And so, with his eyes locked firmly on hers -- for he could not draw away with her so near, so near he could inhale the scent that rose from her skin -- he managed to whisper:
"How would you like me to look at you?"
He wanted to... wanted to ... do something. He didn't know what.
Reply
"This way..." she said very, very softly, very nearly in audibly, "this way is very good."
He pleased her senses. The look of him, the sound of him, the smell of him, the feel of him, all pleased her. Her hand slipped into his hair, and she couldn't help but wonder about the taste of him. Slowly, hesitantly, hoping he wouldn't mind very much, she lowered her lips to his.
Reply
None of those things happened. Instead he waited. He waited for her mouth, and when it finally came, hesitant and light against his own, he found himself drawing an arm about her waist and smoothing his free palm over her wingtips, across her shoulder, down her arm. That hand greedily feasted on her cool, damp skin, touching, sensing, feeling...
But it was her lips that he loved most of all. Salt from the sea clung to the corners, which he kissed away... Yes, kiss... Kiss...
He liked kiss. Very much ( ... )
Reply
He tasted... salty at first, but also a little sweet, a little smoky, dark and like the best thing ever in the world. He was drawing her more tightly to him, and as one hand stroked through silky wet hair, the other went to the base of his neck, stroking the skin there. She shuddered as he touched her wing, and her shoulder, and her arm, and wanted more and more and more again; she wanted him to touch her everywhere.
But then, his hands were gone, and on her cheeks, and then they weren't kissing. Her eyes opened reluctantly and she took a moment to register his question.
"Why?" she repeated, a bit confused herself. "Why not?"
Reply
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