How was it that the very unlikely pair found themselves in such an inwardly disheveled and heightened state of emotion? Why, for the love of all that was sacred in the universe, could she never quite let him go? So often were they at odds with each other, and he by all accounts, wanted nothing to do with her and her embrace of a very human life, content to spend his time with those of their kind from the Underworld. Had it been her fault because she had hoped so much that he would grow to understand his change into this mortal coil? Perhaps. Her heart that had just begun to calm itself from the spontaneity in their enclosed space was building up into another crescendo as he took her hand, only to bring it back to his person. Was it her hand that was beginning to tremble, or was it his?
So immersed in Phonos’ kiss and his touch had Melinoe been when she first reached for his shirt, to trace his skin so intimately that she hadn’t truly paid attention to where her hands initially travelled, apparently of their own accord. He was willing her to take the same path as before; an indication of some sort of inward embrace of what had become like a flashpoint, building up to an inferno that neither had experienced before. No words were needed, and she does as he needs her to. Her gentle fingers slide up from the bottom hem of his shirt, beneath the material to touch his bare skin again. The hand holding onto his wrist finally lets go, only to reach out and mimic the actions of its mate. Their dance is unhurried and sensual, allowing Meli to take to memory every inch and curve of his form she could gather.
After a few moments, her fingers of her left hand find the way to the front of his buttoned shirt, leaving the other hand to continue onward, sliding around his waist and up the length of his spine. Melinoe begins to unbutton the shirt that suddenly seems a hindrance. As she reaches the second in line, she looks up at him with her dark blue eyes, framed by a dark set of lashes, and waits for his lead. After all, the last thing she desires is to alienate him, or be separated from his person (and oh, how her own body and heart do cry out for him, for so many reasons) but she would stop the world from turning if he deemed it should be so.
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So immersed in Phonos’ kiss and his touch had Melinoe been when she first reached for his shirt, to trace his skin so intimately that she hadn’t truly paid attention to where her hands initially travelled, apparently of their own accord. He was willing her to take the same path as before; an indication of some sort of inward embrace of what had become like a flashpoint, building up to an inferno that neither had experienced before. No words were needed, and she does as he needs her to. Her gentle fingers slide up from the bottom hem of his shirt, beneath the material to touch his bare skin again. The hand holding onto his wrist finally lets go, only to reach out and mimic the actions of its mate. Their dance is unhurried and sensual, allowing Meli to take to memory every inch and curve of his form she could gather.
After a few moments, her fingers of her left hand find the way to the front of his buttoned shirt, leaving the other hand to continue onward, sliding around his waist and up the length of his spine. Melinoe begins to unbutton the shirt that suddenly seems a hindrance. As she reaches the second in line, she looks up at him with her dark blue eyes, framed by a dark set of lashes, and waits for his lead. After all, the last thing she desires is to alienate him, or be separated from his person (and oh, how her own body and heart do cry out for him, for so many reasons) but she would stop the world from turning if he deemed it should be so.