[ when she's not taking possession of his mouth, it's his neck — luke finds his nose pressed hard against her scalp as he breathes heavily, finding his heart dancing to an incredibly violent rhythm. it'll pop out of his chest if they keep it up, if he allows her to possess him much like a titan — but luke doesn't doubt that he won't mind this possession, where he had once deteriorated into a skeleton of his former self, he has a feeling that whether he's above or beneath or in clarisse that he'll somehow find himself soaring higher than the heavens zeus resides in. isn't the point of a titan to possess power? they were the first, the gods the second, and the demigods the third — clarisse may be less powerful than the god she descends from, but she has prowess when dealing with the warfare of affection. luke's lost, but he has an inkling that he's finally been found. ]
[ one of his hands remains flat on the bed, fingers gripping the sheets for purchase, while his other grapples at her shoulder; his fingers massage into her flesh just as his hips continue to rock into hers. he'd meant to take it slow, agonisingly enough to make her plead for mercy, but he finds himself within the throes of another war where his hips move of their own accord as he tries to thrust into clarisse despite the barriers preventing him from doing so. luke grunts in reply, not quite hearing her, rather intent on listening to her breathing and the little sounds that a goddess of war shouldn't even be capable of making. she is not meant to be soft or pliable within his hands, and while the nails on his back suggest otherwise, she lets him lay on top of her when a child of war would think it a slap to the face. ]
[ moving the hand from her shoulder, he skims it down her side and presses the heel of his palm hard against the bone of her hip. it lingers there, the movement of his own jarring what he wants to do, if he can even think the thoughts through. dragging his face down hers, he tries to steal her mouth again with an open kiss. he doesn't understand why she's hiding within the safety of his neck. ]
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[ one of his hands remains flat on the bed, fingers gripping the sheets for purchase, while his other grapples at her shoulder; his fingers massage into her flesh just as his hips continue to rock into hers. he'd meant to take it slow, agonisingly enough to make her plead for mercy, but he finds himself within the throes of another war where his hips move of their own accord as he tries to thrust into clarisse despite the barriers preventing him from doing so. luke grunts in reply, not quite hearing her, rather intent on listening to her breathing and the little sounds that a goddess of war shouldn't even be capable of making. she is not meant to be soft or pliable within his hands, and while the nails on his back suggest otherwise, she lets him lay on top of her when a child of war would think it a slap to the face. ]
[ moving the hand from her shoulder, he skims it down her side and presses the heel of his palm hard against the bone of her hip. it lingers there, the movement of his own jarring what he wants to do, if he can even think the thoughts through. dragging his face down hers, he tries to steal her mouth again with an open kiss. he doesn't understand why she's hiding within the safety of his neck. ]