Snowforest Taiga mangosteen

>:D

had he hands, amadeo would have likely lit a cuban cigar and ashed it over her patterned bedsheets. he is calm in the wake of everything, satisfied with himself — and with her, this strange, lovely little thing who had crawled so eagerly to her knees before him.
should he at least offer her his name? no, perhaps not; his job here was done, as was hers. she will bear children marked with ash, and that was as good a reminder as any.
but he will not leave yet, unless it is clearly desired. she leans against him and he tasks himself with preening the lobe of her ear strangely intimately, eyes half-lidded as the waves of ecstasy begin to slow.