Stavanger Bay give in to me

As always, Doe’s ministrations almost immediately sapped the strength from Szymon’s bones; he hummed his pleasure, nibbling at a bit of eggshell that clung stubbornly to her cream-furred cheek, and began to groom her in turn. When she drew away, making him the sole focus of her bright yellow eyes, “Mm,” he murmured, entranced. He nodded a decisive affirmative, leaning forward to trace a meandering trail of nibbles along her jaw, closing his kohl-lined lips around the pert curve of her chin, smoothing his tongue over the vulnerable hollow of her throat. Then it was his turn to draw away, steadied by her nearness and the quiet, accepting expression on her delicate, tapered features. “Al — w-ways, Doe,” he promised her with all the fluency he could muster. “Every,” he edged out, working over the tricky v and r with deliberate caution, “day.”

Doe-kachu, I choose you. Every day, always.

He didn’t have to ask her back; it was clear from the love in her eyes and the egg in their mouths.