soft epilogue
She didn’t want to hurt anyone. That was immeasurably true. Altruism was her ultimate motivator, but how much inaction caused a damaging and painful reaction?
Maynard Treicolt
reassured her that it didn’t matter. They had now, it was theirs - along with happiness and each other. Relief suffused her bones. She didn't want to dwell on the past either, there was nothing that could be done and the future looked all the more promising (disregarding the bioweapon in the cockpit).
The ridges and gaps in his hands served as a reminder how mortal they were in the end. Skin could be broken, blood could be spilled, and bones could shatter. How damaged he’d become from vexation from one thing or another. An anger that she’d felt too before he’d walked into her temporary room earlier that day. It didn’t stop there, the scars were etched on his handsome face and likely elsewhere too. That bruising touch didn’t translate with the way he held her, she could only feel his care and want. Other scars and imperfections would be discovered soon enough, as he would hers; she’d pretty well surrendered to that reality by now. The real exposure and vulnerability had happened with their words, anything more was just the result of being flesh and blood.
His eyes, before he closed them, spoke in a primal way no further utterance could. His patient acceptance and endearing everything tore down her defenses and obliterated reason, replacing it with a desire that roared through her veins. She only Mhmmm’d with an agreeable smile to the sentiment of being alone before he captured her up in another longing kiss that only made her greedy for more. He needn’t fear her not reciprocating anything at this point, and her hands slipped around his angled torso to pull him, or her, whichever it worked out to be, closer with an excited tremble.
This was one of those moments where total clarity appeared for only the briefest instance to confirm want and then motives took over all decision making and the blood surged through her system with a single intent. Every emotion that coursed through her mind now was fully attributed to him without any distraction.
There was humour to be found in their entanglement's lack of sustainability, and she let out a laugh and drew her legs up from the floor to give her a more advantageous angle from potentially being squished. With a half hip rotation later, she was poised with her back against the table and a leg on either side of his thighs. Changing the angle of their coupling. A roguish grin and arched brow coyly rose while she gave a backward nod toward the liquid courage on the table, before informing the ace pilot: “You taste a bit like Merenzane.”
Instead of immediately canoodling again, Loske took a second to brush her fingers through his hair slowly, letting them trail down behind his ear as if she were blindly trying to memorize him with a bit of affectionate tracing.
“I love you.” She murmured once again, liking the sound of the statement and this time didn’t hear the scolding tone at the back of her head again. It gave her clemency. And so there’d be no further mystery of since when or how much she sought to reward him with more than her verbal commitment. He’d been the bolder of the two thus far. Clumsy handiwork sought leverage with the layers of his hemlines, but she hoped the inefficiency of belts and tucked in things and whatever wasn’t super noticeable with her distracting kisses. At one point, her fingers brushed against the stomach beneath and a jolt of anticipation rushed through her. That anticipation eventually surrendered to gratification. The rest of the time Buddy has been encouraged to give them was a series of explorative moments, bent on appreciating rhythms and natural expressions of untamed and far too long suppressed desire.
The ridges and gaps in his hands served as a reminder how mortal they were in the end. Skin could be broken, blood could be spilled, and bones could shatter. How damaged he’d become from vexation from one thing or another. An anger that she’d felt too before he’d walked into her temporary room earlier that day. It didn’t stop there, the scars were etched on his handsome face and likely elsewhere too. That bruising touch didn’t translate with the way he held her, she could only feel his care and want. Other scars and imperfections would be discovered soon enough, as he would hers; she’d pretty well surrendered to that reality by now. The real exposure and vulnerability had happened with their words, anything more was just the result of being flesh and blood.
His eyes, before he closed them, spoke in a primal way no further utterance could. His patient acceptance and endearing everything tore down her defenses and obliterated reason, replacing it with a desire that roared through her veins. She only Mhmmm’d with an agreeable smile to the sentiment of being alone before he captured her up in another longing kiss that only made her greedy for more. He needn’t fear her not reciprocating anything at this point, and her hands slipped around his angled torso to pull him, or her, whichever it worked out to be, closer with an excited tremble.
This was one of those moments where total clarity appeared for only the briefest instance to confirm want and then motives took over all decision making and the blood surged through her system with a single intent. Every emotion that coursed through her mind now was fully attributed to him without any distraction.
There was humour to be found in their entanglement's lack of sustainability, and she let out a laugh and drew her legs up from the floor to give her a more advantageous angle from potentially being squished. With a half hip rotation later, she was poised with her back against the table and a leg on either side of his thighs. Changing the angle of their coupling. A roguish grin and arched brow coyly rose while she gave a backward nod toward the liquid courage on the table, before informing the ace pilot: “You taste a bit like Merenzane.”
Instead of immediately canoodling again, Loske took a second to brush her fingers through his hair slowly, letting them trail down behind his ear as if she were blindly trying to memorize him with a bit of affectionate tracing.
“I love you.” She murmured once again, liking the sound of the statement and this time didn’t hear the scolding tone at the back of her head again. It gave her clemency. And so there’d be no further mystery of since when or how much she sought to reward him with more than her verbal commitment. He’d been the bolder of the two thus far. Clumsy handiwork sought leverage with the layers of his hemlines, but she hoped the inefficiency of belts and tucked in things and whatever wasn’t super noticeable with her distracting kisses. At one point, her fingers brushed against the stomach beneath and a jolt of anticipation rushed through her. That anticipation eventually surrendered to gratification. The rest of the time Buddy has been encouraged to give them was a series of explorative moments, bent on appreciating rhythms and natural expressions of untamed and far too long suppressed desire.
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