⟪ nothing else as easy in this world as being in his arms is, one hand resting on his thigh, the other tracing patterns against his neck. her heart's racing, though. not in a bad way, she's pretty sure it's just doing overtime to contain all that happiness.
his scent has become familiar by now, she and it always comes with an odd sensation of home, even though she'd only stayed at his place for a couple of weeks.
eventually, might be a small eternity, she shifts, so their foreheads are pressed against each other. ⟫
( some things, when they happen, you take as irreversible. he got shot in a desert, once. married, divorced. the last thing he said to his father was that he hoped he died alone. the difference between irreversible and unforgivable is what settles in the frost in the hush that follows.
(some things are a prophecy.)
his eyes are closed. still (always) listening for wolves. but the crack of the fire and the drum of her heart drowns out the outside world.
tomorrow, everything and nothing will be different.
he threads his fingers in her hair, knocking it askew from where she'd pulled it up. then, thumbing at the line of her jaw, he kisses her. it's soft. sweet. a gentle press of his mouth at the corner of hers, more a question than a statement. )
⟪ if his kiss is a question, hers is an answer, warm, gentle, but open, happy and eager, her hand, too, burying itself in his hair let it down. her other hand moves from his thigh, his side, then to his chest, steadying herself against the headrush.
some first kisses had felt like an escape to her, but this... this is a homecoming, more than anything. for once, she isn't running away from something, but letting something happen, something good. she's excited, that's why her heart is racing, but she's calm, too. ⟫
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his scent has become familiar by now, she and it always comes with an odd sensation of home, even though she'd only stayed at his place for a couple of weeks.
eventually, might be a small eternity, she shifts, so their foreheads are pressed against each other. ⟫
no subject
(some things are a prophecy.)
his eyes are closed. still (always) listening for wolves. but the crack of the fire and the drum of her heart drowns out the outside world.
tomorrow, everything and nothing will be different.
he threads his fingers in her hair, knocking it askew from where she'd pulled it up. then, thumbing at the line of her jaw, he kisses her. it's soft. sweet. a gentle press of his mouth at the corner of hers, more a question than a statement. )
no subject
some first kisses had felt like an escape to her, but this... this is a homecoming, more than anything. for once, she isn't running away from something, but letting something happen, something good. she's excited, that's why her heart is racing, but she's calm, too. ⟫