distractly: (Default)
lightwood. ([personal profile] distractly) wrote 2017-09-26 04:58 pm (UTC)

( she remains quiet, more of respect, yet equal parts ardency as she awaits what might spill from the bed of his throat. music, singing, she can't imagine that he wouldn't pour himself into it as he seems to with everything else, as he seems to with her, and still she hadn't expected the voice that arises when he shifts, lets his eyes fall closed, and gives in to it. she supposes, really, there was no way she could've properly prepared, that even if she had, it's just him, it's baby that never ceases to bloom her adoration further.

she watches the way the hollow of his throat opens to the chords, the way he nearly hums into every proceeding line after the slightest of pauses, a breath, a purposeful break. it's a wave that breaks through her, rushes and sweeps and threatens to put her off her feet, causes brows to give the tiniest furrow as it hits her, like it always seems to in unexpected moments, how much she cares for him. how much he's opened her up to feel, things she'd never thought she'd have, all standing right before her.

and so when he finishes, she's only able to marvel, a delicate awe in the way she looks at him, still, cant stop looking at him, before gently- and just as slowly,
she's pressing to the tips of her toes. and it's only once fingertips lithely use the edge of his jaw to angle him down to her that her mouth greets his. it's impossibly soft, sensual, because she doesn't know how else to tell him how she appreciates what he's done for her.

what he's given her, that he's comfortable enough to be vulnerable in a room with just the two of them. she kisses him because it's the only thing she knows to do, all she can understand, and it isn't haste nor need that dictates it, but her own whisper of a thank you in movement alone.
)

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