[mature] as though we were drowning inside our hearts; bardot

[Bardot]

Bardot

I know what sin is

She shivers beneath his attentions, aware of the markings he is making along her clear pelt. Normally she would be bothered by such things, liking to present herself as perfectly as possible. But Tunnel speaks to a wilder side of her, a darker part of herself that likes the sensations of his teeth against her skin. So she says nothing, arching beneath his touch with a soft breathy sigh. Returning his possessive touches with ones of her own. She likes the feeling of being “claimed” in a sense by him, as if she was the only thing in this dark forest that he could ever want. And in turn she leaves her own signs on him, pressing the point of her spiral just a little too hard when her blunted teeth pinch his inky blue skin, knowing she plays with fire and not caring at all if she gets burned. He curves into her, following the pattern she has created, and she presses hard against him as she bathes in the heat of his body. He is warm despite the cold and she curls into him, breathing in his musky scent. There is an odor of decay and neglect in this part of the forest but it’s drowned out by the clean dampness of him, washed fresh from the river. The sweetness of her flowers seems to mingle with his scent and she smiles, pleased, into his shoulder just before he grazes along her jaw. “I’ve always been out of place.” She murmurs back to him once she is released from his kiss, the gold of her eyes turning dark and tarnished with the flush of lust he coaxes from her. He nips at her throat which she readily exposes to him, fearless, as he mutters against her skin. It makes her laugh gently, softly, as if noise was too loud for this place. “Oh Tunnel.” She sighs innocently, pulling back just enough to find the intense gray skies of his eyes. “I have no intention of letting you go.” As if it had been she who had caught him all along, as if she was the spider who had snared him in her own web. That she might do the feasting instead of being feasted on.  The kiss she gives him then leaves no room for argument.

They may call me a sinner, but I am at peace with myself;

html © dante.

@Tunnel