[ for a moment, it really does feel like she's drowning. if she were any smaller, she would be crushed under his weight, her desperate attempt to breathe anything but luke a battle she can no longer win. she loses herself to him completely, her orgasm hitting her like a tidal wave, and all she can do is gasp, her fingers leaving the comfort of his face to dig into his neck, as it crashes over her. her hips arch sharply into his and stay there, unmoving for what seems like an eternity, every muscle in her body tense and frozen as if she has been simply turned to stone. heat courses all through her body — hot enough that she has to wonder if she was forged by hephaestus himself.
her eyes squeeze shut, not for lack of wanting to look at him, but simply because she is trying to tame the room that is spinning around her. she wants to say something witty like don't you mean tartarus, but finds she doesn't have it in her to do much of anything, let alone talking. her breaths are heavy and ragged against his shoulder as she rides the last waves of pleasure with him and tries to make sense of the mess in her brain, which she isn't sure is entirely working anymore.
so often she finds herself at a loss for words around luke, finding it easier to use her fists instead, that it never occurred to her this would be so much better. it's almost cathartic, in a way, having bared herself to him and had him bare himself to her in return. a door has opened — a door that never existed for either of them until now — and she thinks maybe, as long as his hand is in hers, they can walk through that door together and find the peace they have both so desperately been seeking: with each other, with the past, with the world.
as the pulse in her chest slows, she cranes her neck to one side, not only for his sake as he drags his teeth across her skin, but for hers — bringing the back of the hand she still holds to her lips, pressing a smile into it as if to say thank you. ]
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her eyes squeeze shut, not for lack of wanting to look at him, but simply because she is trying to tame the room that is spinning around her. she wants to say something witty like don't you mean tartarus, but finds she doesn't have it in her to do much of anything, let alone talking. her breaths are heavy and ragged against his shoulder as she rides the last waves of pleasure with him and tries to make sense of the mess in her brain, which she isn't sure is entirely working anymore.
so often she finds herself at a loss for words around luke, finding it easier to use her fists instead, that it never occurred to her this would be so much better. it's almost cathartic, in a way, having bared herself to him and had him bare himself to her in return. a door has opened — a door that never existed for either of them until now — and she thinks maybe, as long as his hand is in hers, they can walk through that door together and find the peace they have both so desperately been seeking: with each other, with the past, with the world.
as the pulse in her chest slows, she cranes her neck to one side, not only for his sake as he drags his teeth across her skin, but for hers — bringing the back of the hand she still holds to her lips, pressing a smile into it as if to say thank you. ]