Bramblepoint [M] The Night Comes Down like Heaven

"no." and the white teeth glittered for a moment, senmut slowly pulling machiavelli against the sweetened cadence of his heart to kiss — he lithely rolled in the next moments, overturning the moonpearl eyes from their kingdom above him to an oasis below.

"the Consort may have me. if he desires this, then i desire it also. i am his servant," and he kissed the fellahin here with a lingering firmness that was quite unlike how he had moved into such moments before; he drew the slender hips into the warmth of his own and drifted now his wondering palm down the taut belly;

"but you are not mine." another mingling of breath and spirit and eyes, senmut leaning lightly over the noble servant until they both paused in a soft laugh. he was not certain that he had ever felt this hunger before. the priest was learning that each dogged pulse of his hear evoked a new sensation, a new craving of spirit.

his scarlet ears tipped low against the muscular abdomen, and senmut thought to himself how he forged ahead into a world that had no map, that he alone was the cartographer of such designs.

he thought of machiavelli's smooth paw upon his face; and he did not speak more, but delved toward the assumed epicenter of their mutual want.

the moonlight sprinkled them in dapples of creamy glow as wind moved the trees across the face of the great orb hanging overhead.