[ smooches] happy valentine’s day voxie.
ISN'T SHE CUTE, FOLKS? . . . the bashful press of roxie's lips to his casing effortlessly supersede the provocative bravado she used to greet him. turning in full to appraise her awards him the diffident flattening of her long, curious rabbit ears; she's wittingly sheathed in dark, seductive shades that are meant to invite his hands. yet, the craven nature hell had ruthlessly deformed her with has yet to do anything besides yield to the suggestive glint of this teeth. ( perhaps he had once taken relentless pleasure in this, but roxie's currently veiled in a haze that drags him down to reconcile the unintended ripples in her bearing. )
serrated talons curl around the swell of her hips, she's coaxed towards him with a gentleness that disguises his greed and presses them, with painstaking slowness, together. he used to kiss roxie with all the deliberative arrogation of the shackle he keeps around her throat, bruise and claim what heaven failed to protect. just for today, he kisses her for the sake of it.
"you're getting sentimental, babe. if you're not careful, angel might see how much you like me."
