02-27-2019, 04:14 AM
Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.
Always hers.
The blue-silver of my wife's mind against mine as we begin the freefall from reality to dreamscape is at once a calming weight and un uplifting energy, her own single soul a perfectly balanced concoction of equal and opposite energies. We tryst gently through the abyss as I allow her artful hand to deftly sketch in the details of our world; the finesse of her brush strokes always leaves me amazed, the specifics of her creativity never ceasing the leave me dumbfounded.
She takes me places I could never dream of; I, the one who can dream of everything.
On the other side, the heady weight of a loud, full carnival drapes across our shoulders with a kind welcome. Already our slim hands are clasped together, and while this does not surprise me, my eyes are filled with an awe even greater than that which admired the world she built for us when I look upon my celestial lover. Her hand finds my face in a bid for a kiss, and every molecule of my being leans in to accept. That initial meeting of our sugared lips leaves me breathless and threatening to erase her handiwork completely in exchange for a scene far more titillating, if not out right arduous and orgasmic; but my angelic wife pulls away just in time, the trailing gold of her locks falling just so around the sweet planes of her face.
You look great, as always.
My lashes fall suggestively to the figure before me as though to say look at yourself, hot stuff, but before I can get to the actual flirting part, Solace pulls away with a quizzical look and examines my own face, far darker in complexion compared to hers. But one thing's missing. Curious but utterly trusting, I do not hesitate to lean in to my wife's hand as it runs along the length of my face. A diagonal line, draw as softly as though I am the most expensive of canvases. I do not feel the scar as it disfigures me, but I know all the same that it appears by the way Solace's cherry lips quirk ever so subtly, and by the way those ceruleans eyes glimmer with just that much more pleasure - and need.
Perfect. Without pause I match my wife's coy smirk with a roguish grin of my own, shunting my chin forward to better catch the twilight of the carnival as it drifts magically around us. Before Solace can verbally indicate what has been her evident need for dance by way of her body language throughout this entire encounter, I skillfully angle my head from its elevated position and lift my hand to pull gently at the collar of Solace's off-the-shoulder chemise. My grin dissolves into a purr of admiration as I take in the site of the scars left there from a previous dream; snapping the band of her shirt with a quirk of my brow (or else being smacked playfully away, as the case may be) I now listen to her simpering request.
"Do you even need to ask!"
Whooping loudly in stark contrast to our sultry exchange just moments before, I clasp hands with Solace and run wildly through the dreamt up crowds. The reality of the scene is emphasized by our having to navigate through the myriad of people, with our shoulders occasionally brushing theirs, and our ears picking up the boisterous sound of their late-night conversations and tales. Booths and rides and hide-aways pass us by innumerably, but when we arrive to the dance floor, neither Solace nor I are winded; though we breathe heavily, we transition easily into dance-mode as the music starts playing.
It is country music, upbeat and overplayed; I smile to know that I have shown Solace my humble dream-beginnings with Kavi, that night so long ago when I dreamt of loving a prince who was not real. While his part in the quest may have been imagined, I know that my life with Kavi was not, and was instead a direct representation of our life here in Beqanna. Though I have since shed the quaintness of a farmgirl life, the secret passion for music such as this now pervades any sense of dignity or regality which remains me.
I am but a woman, dancing with the brightest star in the night sky; and god, does she look good in that off-the-shoulder chemise, a dark ochre to compliment the bright gold of her hair, matched perfectly with the loose-fitting, purposefully-torn light blue jeans below. I could watch her dance all night, and even more than that, I could dance with her until sunrise.
A couple songs later, the tempo of the music changes to that of a slow, simple love song; and though it is certainly out of place in what ought to be a night-long party, I don't quite care to keep up the illusion as I liquidly take Solace into my outstretched arms.
With my lips pressed to the damp, sweaty curls by her ear, we sway back and forth. Occasionally our well-bred sides show, with our all-encompassing steps clearing the dance floor with a surreal swiftness; but in the end, we are only swaying, clasped in one another's embrace without a care in the world. The stars spin above, and the earth spins below; but she and I are constant and unmoving, a law even beyond those of physics and reality.
As the final chords of the song play, I lean back to gently press my lips to hers. She tastes like the moon, and I cannot help but to slip my tongue between her lips to get an even clearer taste of her silverline core. Ending with a last gentle peck, I pull away with a dark, playful look.
"Let's go somewhere else - I think I have a pack of cigarettes hidden there." Coyly, I smile, knowing that my vague wording would be totally familiar by now for my darling wife; but, feeling the aftertaste of her lips like a burst of nicotine, I know that she will never find our love boring or predictable.
The blue-silver of my wife's mind against mine as we begin the freefall from reality to dreamscape is at once a calming weight and un uplifting energy, her own single soul a perfectly balanced concoction of equal and opposite energies. We tryst gently through the abyss as I allow her artful hand to deftly sketch in the details of our world; the finesse of her brush strokes always leaves me amazed, the specifics of her creativity never ceasing the leave me dumbfounded.
She takes me places I could never dream of; I, the one who can dream of everything.
On the other side, the heady weight of a loud, full carnival drapes across our shoulders with a kind welcome. Already our slim hands are clasped together, and while this does not surprise me, my eyes are filled with an awe even greater than that which admired the world she built for us when I look upon my celestial lover. Her hand finds my face in a bid for a kiss, and every molecule of my being leans in to accept. That initial meeting of our sugared lips leaves me breathless and threatening to erase her handiwork completely in exchange for a scene far more titillating, if not out right arduous and orgasmic; but my angelic wife pulls away just in time, the trailing gold of her locks falling just so around the sweet planes of her face.
You look great, as always.
My lashes fall suggestively to the figure before me as though to say look at yourself, hot stuff, but before I can get to the actual flirting part, Solace pulls away with a quizzical look and examines my own face, far darker in complexion compared to hers. But one thing's missing. Curious but utterly trusting, I do not hesitate to lean in to my wife's hand as it runs along the length of my face. A diagonal line, draw as softly as though I am the most expensive of canvases. I do not feel the scar as it disfigures me, but I know all the same that it appears by the way Solace's cherry lips quirk ever so subtly, and by the way those ceruleans eyes glimmer with just that much more pleasure - and need.
Perfect. Without pause I match my wife's coy smirk with a roguish grin of my own, shunting my chin forward to better catch the twilight of the carnival as it drifts magically around us. Before Solace can verbally indicate what has been her evident need for dance by way of her body language throughout this entire encounter, I skillfully angle my head from its elevated position and lift my hand to pull gently at the collar of Solace's off-the-shoulder chemise. My grin dissolves into a purr of admiration as I take in the site of the scars left there from a previous dream; snapping the band of her shirt with a quirk of my brow (or else being smacked playfully away, as the case may be) I now listen to her simpering request.
"Do you even need to ask!"
Whooping loudly in stark contrast to our sultry exchange just moments before, I clasp hands with Solace and run wildly through the dreamt up crowds. The reality of the scene is emphasized by our having to navigate through the myriad of people, with our shoulders occasionally brushing theirs, and our ears picking up the boisterous sound of their late-night conversations and tales. Booths and rides and hide-aways pass us by innumerably, but when we arrive to the dance floor, neither Solace nor I are winded; though we breathe heavily, we transition easily into dance-mode as the music starts playing.
It is country music, upbeat and overplayed; I smile to know that I have shown Solace my humble dream-beginnings with Kavi, that night so long ago when I dreamt of loving a prince who was not real. While his part in the quest may have been imagined, I know that my life with Kavi was not, and was instead a direct representation of our life here in Beqanna. Though I have since shed the quaintness of a farmgirl life, the secret passion for music such as this now pervades any sense of dignity or regality which remains me.
I am but a woman, dancing with the brightest star in the night sky; and god, does she look good in that off-the-shoulder chemise, a dark ochre to compliment the bright gold of her hair, matched perfectly with the loose-fitting, purposefully-torn light blue jeans below. I could watch her dance all night, and even more than that, I could dance with her until sunrise.
A couple songs later, the tempo of the music changes to that of a slow, simple love song; and though it is certainly out of place in what ought to be a night-long party, I don't quite care to keep up the illusion as I liquidly take Solace into my outstretched arms.
With my lips pressed to the damp, sweaty curls by her ear, we sway back and forth. Occasionally our well-bred sides show, with our all-encompassing steps clearing the dance floor with a surreal swiftness; but in the end, we are only swaying, clasped in one another's embrace without a care in the world. The stars spin above, and the earth spins below; but she and I are constant and unmoving, a law even beyond those of physics and reality.
As the final chords of the song play, I lean back to gently press my lips to hers. She tastes like the moon, and I cannot help but to slip my tongue between her lips to get an even clearer taste of her silverline core. Ending with a last gentle peck, I pull away with a dark, playful look.
"Let's go somewhere else - I think I have a pack of cigarettes hidden there." Coyly, I smile, knowing that my vague wording would be totally familiar by now for my darling wife; but, feeling the aftertaste of her lips like a burst of nicotine, I know that she will never find our love boring or predictable.
Kagerus
sweet nothing
@[Solace] <3
![[Image: kag]](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2e8039018ce4dff6112c167ec23e886a/tumblr_p72zjit7wC1s5a0qvo1_100.png)
dreamweaver