Lion Head Mesa the [m]arble hall

and drank they together, priest and guardian, in a silent communion of heat to cool parched throats and whet the moment until senmut found himself caught in the dark red velvet of the wine's sensation.

here now he stepped toward legend, and the trailing of sistrums were in his mind, and there was a soft exhale as he at last pressed his mouth to her cheek. 

nightfall silk, indulgent to his touch. the prince's heart galloped; raced; he felt his blood heat, felt the flush unfurl across his cheekbones and down into the red pall of his chest. his touch remained soft, near unsure, but the musicality of his very humming existence beside legend soon boldened him, and quietly he twined rangy crimson arms around her and found the moonbeam eyes once more with the gems of greenstone given him.

no words would form.