👄 …my muse describes the way your muse tastes. (To K-from Fem. Vice)
"V..." K says her name with reverence, before exhaling the smoke through his mouth.
"Consciously I know it's my amor in there. That never changes. The way they look at me, the way they move, the way they breathe...it's the same pearl on a slightly different shell. Of course that doesn't mean there aren't some changes."
"She tastes like heaven and sin perfectly laced together - a dangerous combination. That could not go unmentioned." K laughs softly, temple resting on his knuckles as he fidles with the cigarette in his hand.
"V tastes like salty air, the kind that clings to your skin after a pleasant day, or before a storm. Because that's what they are to me - they're both the calm and the chaos, swirling together."
"Her taste is sweet, but not the innocent kind - the kind that could lure you in and you wouldn't be able to let go, nor want to. Addictive, blissful. I swear that when I bite her skin I can taste remnants of the sun still tingling in there if I close my eyes. And when I drag my tongue across her body, I can feel something that could only be described as soft resilience. Like she's brave enough to turn herself more vulnerable, knowing very well she has the courage to withstand anything thrown at her, and laugh about it afterwards. That's what V tastes like to me."
