◊ lordt
to say he’d gone into this with an agenda would be a barefaced lie : he’s never planned ahead a day in his life. it happened because she was there. warm, willing, not one for small - talk or pretense, and that suited him fine. afterwards, he told her he wouldn’t call. not yet, she’d said. not yet, like she knew he’d break his own rules — like there could be no other possible outcome. maybe there wasn’t. maybe it doesn’t matter either way.
the room spins, kaleidoscopic, and he’s caught at the apex with sobriety falling to settle as flat as the scuffed floor tiles beneath their feet. she’s there, again. but if he called, the memory eludes him. fades to irrelevance when deft fingers curl, rough, around the collar of his shirt ; the fabric sticks to him, damp with sweat. her fervor numbs him at first. then he tilts his head, finds an angle that fits, matches her stroke for stroke. that’s when it explodes.
eyes press shut as if that’ll remove a few layers of meaning — and that works, mostly. tames the rising tsunami of chaos pounding away at the inside of his skull and lets him forget, just for a minute, how monumentally fucked up everything is now.
that’s all he wants from her. to forget.
kiss ya boi / @adatrox / selectively accepting !