The entire scenario was a sensation that Melinoe would be glad to get lost and drown in somehow. Their bodies pressed together and her back pressed against the wall felt distinctly primal, in much the same way that she suspected only certain gods and humans could achieve--especially in the early days of the world they knew. She whimpered against Phonos' lips as she felt his desire, both in his fervent kiss and at her thigh. It only served to fuel the fire already raging in her.
She hadn't wanted him to stop, but the need to catch their breath was not the end of the world. Her breathing came in short, quiet gasps. Her hands had since slipped from grasping the front of his shirt to sliding up over his chest, feeling the body beneath the material. She was more than content to do this for a while, but then he pulls away from her: all growl and rage and taking it out on the wall beside her head. She startled, and it was all Melinoe could do to not feed that anger back to him. But she always found herself in the same corner, the same boat of 'I cannot push him to embrace this, for he'll only push back'.
She allows her hand to drop to his that remains at her hip, sliding up to his wrist to grasp onto, if for nothing else than support for the pair of them. She was frustrated, less than he was, but the sentiment was certainly there. He rejected every speck of feeling he could possibly have only to find it suddenly in a situation that they hadn't meant to find themselves in, and managed to then reel it back in again. It was the closest she had ever seen him allow himself one iota of anything for himself, other than who he was and what his livelihood entailed: He was Murder. Could Murder ever have joy? Or pleasure?
For the briefest of moments, she had felt it emanate from him.
Melinoe remained breathless for a time, feeling mildly useless and watching him fight with his inner self. No matter what she said, it would likely frustrate him more. And they were both worked up in more ways than one without a quick escape. "Breathe, Phonos," she murmured, using her thumb to gently rub at the inside of his wrist. It was the best her brain could come up with in the moment, and still it felt wrong to say.
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She hadn't wanted him to stop, but the need to catch their breath was not the end of the world. Her breathing came in short, quiet gasps. Her hands had since slipped from grasping the front of his shirt to sliding up over his chest, feeling the body beneath the material. She was more than content to do this for a while, but then he pulls away from her: all growl and rage and taking it out on the wall beside her head. She startled, and it was all Melinoe could do to not feed that anger back to him. But she always found herself in the same corner, the same boat of 'I cannot push him to embrace this, for he'll only push back'.
She allows her hand to drop to his that remains at her hip, sliding up to his wrist to grasp onto, if for nothing else than support for the pair of them. She was frustrated, less than he was, but the sentiment was certainly there. He rejected every speck of feeling he could possibly have only to find it suddenly in a situation that they hadn't meant to find themselves in, and managed to then reel it back in again. It was the closest she had ever seen him allow himself one iota of anything for himself, other than who he was and what his livelihood entailed: He was Murder. Could Murder ever have joy? Or pleasure?
For the briefest of moments, she had felt it emanate from him.
Melinoe remained breathless for a time, feeling mildly useless and watching him fight with his inner self. No matter what she said, it would likely frustrate him more. And they were both worked up in more ways than one without a quick escape. "Breathe, Phonos," she murmured, using her thumb to gently rub at the inside of his wrist. It was the best her brain could come up with in the moment, and still it felt wrong to say.