Naaghai Lowlands [m] Bitis

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He lies. She applies herself like a mantle, fusing them into curve.

A lucid deadlock is preserved for her in that pause.  Unmoving, she looks down and into his cool face. For the briefest moment concession defines time. In it is Khusobek, past and future; concurrently. 

She twists her arms beneath his neck, into the stole of red hackles and with a bearing intention swallows the flame down into a relentless, driving force. For herself; for him.

. . .

After, when her heartbeat strikes against his and she is burned extremely, she severs any line of thought that will take her away from the current that rides down the flesh of her back. She rolls, releasing her possession to gather breath in the room which is filled with it.