Noctisardor Bypass Be my rest, be my fantasy

@Figment I’ve made so many assumptions please call me out

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Fig.

He’s in her nose when she awakens, on her tongue when nights draw to close. In her mind as she dreams. And beside her every waking hour.

He jokes and kisses and teases. He hunts for her while she hunts him. There are games and laughter. Silliness. There are moments by the stream, and in it, and under moonlight alone. There’s his closeness, his weight, and the ways he brings her to unknown places. There are his pants and her moans and the colors she sees dappling across closed eyes like stars. There are ways she’s never felt before, and will never have words for. There’s mystery and novelty. There’s trust.

They forget to eat.
They eat too much.

She loathes to sleep and miss any time with him. But when she does it is sound; safe.

She hasn’t thought about tomorrow. But for all this burning, it should be no wonder to her what needs to be returned. When the heat begins to subside, she expects desire to go along with it.

It doesn’t. 

So how to give back what she has taken?

It’s before sunrise and he is not up yet. He is settled in sleep. She resists the urge to awaken him with a kiss, opting to study him, peacefully, in what he does not yet know will be their final day together.