[ Maybe it's that violence he misses, more than her sparking nature and quirky smiles. He's dished and taken a lot of blows on this strange short road that's ended with her in his bed. There's an honesty, somehow, in that mode of communication. At least between them. A fragment of truth where everything else is evasions and lies. ]
[ His eyes are open, watching her crest: every spasm, the line of her throat, the wet eyes and disorder of dark hair spread out on the pillows, and it's a quiet masterpiece. Something odd glints in his gaze. This is not the unflappable BK201, so used to sex that he's almost grown bored with it. This is a look of pure absorption. ]
[ He keeps going, rocking steady to help stretch her climax out. Trying to ride the other side of exquisite agony, the friction a delicious torture -- before he flows deep, shivers, gasping her name in three octaves, and lets go -- a hard frantic barrage. After resisting for so long, the climax is stubborn, at the door, refusing to leave his body. It teases and recedes and drives him mad as he pounds her. Distantly, Hei hears the mattress whining. He knows his pace is punishing. He knows he must be making noise. He doesn't care. The After -- if not now, then soon -- will be hell; he'll take this moment for everything. Every last gasp. ]
[ The peak is hard and sudden, a series of waves, an undertow that displaces all logic. His gasps dissolve into a groan that softens, softens, and finally subsides. Panting, he sags against her, emptied, still hard but now so sensitive he doesn't want to move. ]
⊕ march 15th, late evening
[ His eyes are open, watching her crest: every spasm, the line of her throat, the wet eyes and disorder of dark hair spread out on the pillows, and it's a quiet masterpiece. Something odd glints in his gaze. This is not the unflappable BK201, so used to sex that he's almost grown bored with it. This is a look of pure absorption. ]
[ He keeps going, rocking steady to help stretch her climax out. Trying to ride the other side of exquisite agony, the friction a delicious torture -- before he flows deep, shivers, gasping her name in three octaves, and lets go -- a hard frantic barrage. After resisting for so long, the climax is stubborn, at the door, refusing to leave his body. It teases and recedes and drives him mad as he pounds her. Distantly, Hei hears the mattress whining. He knows his pace is punishing. He knows he must be making noise. He doesn't care. The After -- if not now, then soon -- will be hell; he'll take this moment for everything. Every last gasp. ]
[ The peak is hard and sudden, a series of waves, an undertow that displaces all logic. His gasps dissolve into a groan that softens, softens, and finally subsides. Panting, he sags against her, emptied, still hard but now so sensitive he doesn't want to move. ]