Noctisardor Bypass life is about creating yourself.

Her blood jolts. It’s not a response she expects. Neither is his grin, slow, evocative, what had seemed like such certainly before all but whittled away in the passing of several breaths. With one word he rekindles the fire in her and she’s perilous in the awe of that. His green eyes glint. He smiles and she wants to taste it again. If he means to bait her- she’s powerless against him, anyway.

She closes their distance, stepping beyond what she knows, like something intrinsic guides her to where she should be- a moon to orbit his sun.

But she is not so sweet. With her teeth she grazes his jaw hungrily; possessively, ceasing only to run her chin along his flank.

"If I win, I get you for a week. Come home with me," breathlessly, mindlessly, she murmurs into the thick fur of his back. If she lost...

They don’t want this. She can’t think clearly anymore. They want this.

There is only now. Let him say stop. Let him be the one to pull away. She had already tried- and how well had that worked out?

Fig hadn’t expected her to break so easily, though she had warned him pretty fairly. Later, he would probably feel guilty, as though he’d coerced her into something she hadn’t wanted. But now was not the time for feelings such as guilt or worry. Fig had spent so much of his life being careful, thoughtful, cautious, level-headed and logical. He wanted to be reckless now. Live in the moment. Actually, honestly, authentically live.

So, he did not pull away when she came to him. He gave with a passion and want to match hers. If there was a voice of reason to put an end to their foolishness, it would not come from him. He had pulled himself back onto the ledge once to stop from falling, but he wasn’t falling this time. He was diving headlong into the storm, come what may.

”Anything you want,” he whispered as he soared.

courtesy of rnjesus  you saw nothing

Anything?

This sensation- it’s beautiful and terrible. There’s a fury in it, a curious blaze of instinct and trust competed for by a mind and heart in revolving turns.

She weaves her way back to look into his face: handsome, fine spun, taken, like she. She closes her eyes and nuzzles into his neck.

”Just once. With you.”

It’s what she wants. And not for any lack of coherence.

Because life goes on in not the way you’ve planned.

A part of Figment rebelled when she said just once. He knew already that once would never be enough. Not even a hundred times would satisfy his craving for her. But he kept his arguments to himself—he would save them for later when she tried to part from him and he found himself as reluctant as ever to untangle himself from her.

For now, the only protest he had was impatience. And for this feeling, this connection, to ever end.

naughty things ensue.

suppose I’ll go change the tag again lolololol