β
a soft, almost bitter laugh.
β theyβre always warm. youβre holding hands with a dead man, you know. β
he sighs and turns his attention to the sky.
β there are so many more stars here than in the upper city. itβs β¦ disorienting. β
β β
βare they?β joanna regards her hand then, studies the thin fingers, the scuffed knuckles, well - maintained nails, slightly faded tattoos down the fingers.
she doesnβt often think about body heat.
βitβs a warm night, I suppose.β her eyes β
β β
β you cheeky little pup. i do suppose thereβs only one way to find out whoβs watching us, β he says, pushing her leg upwards with his thigh.
he releases one of its hands to cup her jaw before he kisses her, squeezing lightly. kisses trail to the soft of its neck,
&&
a low hum of approval escapes her when he gives another calculated shift of his weight. the devilkin looks to their left, and then to their right.
β β β β "i fear the only prying eyes this far into the forest belong to the wildlife." its gaze finds his, the canopy of stars ~
β β
β i love you, β he says again, just to hear it, to bathe in how true the words are. he leans in to kiss them, a soft, tender thing, tasting the cinnamon of her lips as heβd done so many times and so many ways before.
β i, ah, pilfered something. in the last village
&&
her free hand reaches up to cradle the side of his handsome face, thumb sweeping along his skin to collect blood-tinged tears. she smiles tremulously, hot tears continuing to roll down her cheeks. a half-sob, half-laugh escapes her.
β β β β "i love you in ways words can ~
we stopped in. for you. β he clears his throat and reaches into his pocket, feeling for the ring.
β weβre far too romantic for convention β he teases, fidgeting with the band. β but i β well, i quite like the public display. β
he extends his open palm, revealing a small
&&
β β
β come now, little devil, β he faux - scolds, flexing his fingers against its wrists.
β i only meant to suggest a more . . . intimate setting. iβd rather savor you β i mean, our π‘πππ β away from the prying eyes of others. β
he makes a show of shifting his
&&
she wriggles beneath him, testing the grip he has on her wrists. a slight crease forms between her brows as she squints haughtily.
β β β "well then, perhaps you can go catch your dinner π’π―π₯ mine." lips purse rather than give in to the smirk that so desperately wants to give.
β β
β so very willing, lazarus. β its name is drawn out murmur, savoring each consonant and vowel. β it doesnβt go unnoticed. β
he pins her hands over her head as she rolls against him.
β getting a bit bold, hm? i was only talking about dinner. β heβs teasing,
&&
she barely conceals the whimper she catches in her throat. the press of his thigh causes her body to react the way he wants it to, and she selfishly gives a singular roll of her hips.
β β β β "hmm, that's seems like a fair enough exchange. you'll need plenty of blood ~
β β
he exaggerates the impact of its tail, using the moment as an excuse to press closer.
β i wouldnβt dream of letting anyone else πππππ you, β he purrs.
β weβll try a bit of reciprocity, hm? youβll get your dinner, and iβll have ππππ. β
his thigh slots easily
&&
the swift change of position sends a jolt of thrill through her veins. she wraps her tail around his thigh, ensuring he remains this close. all thoughts of dinner are long gone.
β β β β "as long as you're the one serving it," she purrs, the dilation of her pupils doesn't waver.
β
β wouldnβt have been much of a ππππππ, little devil, β he says, bloodied gaze sliding from her to the thicket where the rabbit once lay.
β iβm sure the others will have something cooking soon. β
he slides a hand up its arm, delicate in one motion before pushing
&&
she grunts as they trip and fumble over each other, the fall rough from the speed of which they moved. she pins him easily, pupils blown and fangs bared in preparation for the kill.
β β β β "there goes my dinner," it complains, fingers curling around his throat. ~