She always catches herself when she realizes her tone had been too biting, when she sees the look on his face and reads the confused thoughts that run through his head. He is the only one that can make her feel even a thread of guilt, the only one that can make her wish that she could soften her razor sharp edges and be something sweeter, something more docile. She does manage to ease the tight lines of her face, however, as she reaches to brush her lips across his cheek. ”I just don’t want you to get sick.” Perhaps even more so than losing him to someone else, the idea of losing him to the plague was all the more unbearable. She never wanted him to be inflicted by illness or pain; she was already losing interest in the idea of being able to do it herself. Things never seemed to work out the way she planned.
Her star-studded body presses eagerly into his, letting her lips explore the arch of his neck and the slope of his broad shoulder. By now, she has memorized the way that he tastes and feels, but she hasn’t grown tired of it. He is intoxicating, the drug that she needs in order to feel high and alive, and she breathes him in as her nose buries into the tendrils of his mane. ”You’re more than enough for me, angel boy.” Her words ring with that sincerity that has become so rare – nothing fake, and no hidden agenda.
When his wing hugs her tighter, it makes her heart somersault in her chest. She tilts her head to receive the whispered trail of kisses along her throat, and that is when she first begins to notice the different tone his thoughts have taken. It stirs something in her, something foreign and new, especially when accompanied by the feel of his body fitted against her curves. ”Ophanim,” She murmurs his name, her lips finding his jaw, the flat of his cheek, and the delicate groove of his throat, ”You know that I’m yours, don’t you?” When her voice lowers in pitch, she almost doesn’t realize it, doesn’t notice the way it has become something that is both soft and throaty. ”And you…” her voice trails off, her teeth scraping the nape of his neck, her purr of a voice almost becoming something closer to a ravenous growl, ”...you are mine.”
And she would dare anyone to think otherwise.
@[Ophanim]
