09-20-2018, 04:58 PM
somewhere between the sand and the stardust
A part of her almost refuses to believe in the reality of his touch. To truly allow herself to revel in the happiness of his acceptance, in the tenderness of his returned caress. She had thought him a ghost of the past. One she might face if ever she earned the strength. But here he is, as real and solid as the earth beneath her feet and the stifled wind upon her skin. And so she presses closer. Because if this turns out to only be the most vivid of dreams, she wants to recall every moment of his warmth, every single point of his touch.
Her eyes have drifted closed once more as her lips trace greedily along his skin, storing the exotic familiarity of his warmth and scent deep within the recesses of her memories. The faintest of smiles curls her blue lips when he responds with the gentlest of kisses to her line of her cheek. She lets him draw her in, opening her eyes to meet the heat of his gaze.
I had hoped you would come. It warms her to hear him say that, a kernel of hope unfurling inside her chest. She so rarely allows herself such hope, wicked temptation that it is. So often it only leaves one wanting. But then he is pulling away, and doubt settles into its comfortable home.
For an achingly long moment she can only stare at him. If she had known his thoughts, she would have told how much she wishes to be Dream Rapture. How she wished to be everything his mind had told him she could be. But reality is too persistent.
A tour. His offer breaks the hold of his spell, and she blinks. If she'd had the ability, his next words would have made her blush. Instead, her entire body heats as she ducks her head in embarrassment. “I would never,” she whispers almost inaudibly, though pleasure sweeps through the embarrassed notes. She is not as beautiful as he imagines, but she is absurdly happy he thinks so.
After a moment, she draws her gaze up to peer at gin through her lashes. After a moment's indecision, she drifts closer, pausing before brushing her lips in a hesitant stroke across his shoulder. “I would love a tour,” she finally murmurs, just a bit more audibly than before.
Her eyes have drifted closed once more as her lips trace greedily along his skin, storing the exotic familiarity of his warmth and scent deep within the recesses of her memories. The faintest of smiles curls her blue lips when he responds with the gentlest of kisses to her line of her cheek. She lets him draw her in, opening her eyes to meet the heat of his gaze.
I had hoped you would come. It warms her to hear him say that, a kernel of hope unfurling inside her chest. She so rarely allows herself such hope, wicked temptation that it is. So often it only leaves one wanting. But then he is pulling away, and doubt settles into its comfortable home.
For an achingly long moment she can only stare at him. If she had known his thoughts, she would have told how much she wishes to be Dream Rapture. How she wished to be everything his mind had told him she could be. But reality is too persistent.
A tour. His offer breaks the hold of his spell, and she blinks. If she'd had the ability, his next words would have made her blush. Instead, her entire body heats as she ducks her head in embarrassment. “I would never,” she whispers almost inaudibly, though pleasure sweeps through the embarrassed notes. She is not as beautiful as he imagines, but she is absurdly happy he thinks so.
After a moment, she draws her gaze up to peer at gin through her lashes. After a moment's indecision, she drifts closer, pausing before brushing her lips in a hesitant stroke across his shoulder. “I would love a tour,” she finally murmurs, just a bit more audibly than before.
Rapture
there is a pulse that echoes of you and I
