A neck rife with the bruises of other men exposed long&lean, Trystan's head complicit with tangles and tendons that bowed it back in aggressive and unspoken demands. A low purr escaped past chapped and bloodied lips, slicking them sticky with honeyed passion.
The angle of the whore's hips and limbs forced their bodies together with unrestrained violence -- in beaten measures that would leave black&blue in the void of their empty hearts. His chest rose in a contortion bordering grotesque, offering up his skin for absolute sacrifice.
It wasn't making love, it was a feeding -- feral and dark and destructive. An act of futility born of longings neither could fill, but oh,
oh,
if they could only try.
Red left in its wake a fairer shade of scratch, tracing the lows of a valley down Liam's very center. Fingers worked fast -- harried & exact -- to remove a singular barrier between them, eyes intently on the other writer's face through every misgiving. Breath came shallow, in time with an arrhythmia heart, breaching the distance between forgone fabric and flesh no longer trapped by its constraint.