It had started with a dumb joke, like all good stories of scandal and surprise. I don't think either of us remember what it really was, at this point, lost in the far past of a few hours ago, before that joke had turned into bantering and bright eyes, voices lowering to whispers and glances toward the door.

Doors have a way of being walked through - out of this one, and quickly into your own, the casual smile and sparks in the air sliding our way through the threshold and into your space.

Poets might call it apt, but no one can be a poet the way we were, frantic kisses and a wanton hate for clothing enveloping us. My fingers there, probing and questing as the wall you'd painted a while ago kissed your shoulderblades, stubble on the side of your neck and flashing eyes everywhere as our tongues flashed like fire.

It's not so much a progression as a fall, plummeting into gasping breaths and tongues where they shouldn't be - and should be, as the heat rises. Instinct and melting barriers and a thousand other things dance between us, and I didn't think it'd get this far meets the drumbeat of more.

That rhythm sweeps us both along, scrambling to the bed and falling short, until the carpet is at your back, my hands cupping your cheeks, drawing in kisses like breath until we can both feel it. That connection, just the faintest.

There's a capital-F Feeling, hanging there between us, and for just that barest moment, the world narrows down to the sound of heavy breath in the air and the burning, blazing heat of skin on skin. I know that I'll remember this, your eyes burning up at me, the way they widen, and soften, and glance aimlessly before looking down to where the heat simmers against your entrance. My own gaze stays on yours, brown eyes molten and lingering somewhere between amusement and unabated lust, and my hands on you are like a warm blanket on a cold day.

Just stay. Right there, they seem to whisper, in the idle stroke of a thumb on your skin and the gentle squeeze and press. The motion is firm, underneath the layer of gentle warmth, and I can see it in your eyes again. Need, wonder, uncertainty, even longing in a way that doesn't make sense, and doesn't need to.

All you need, now, is a push.

Just another musing on a favorite theme - that theme being passionate, friendly, and slightly aggressive sex that we both know will end in a nice, warm, natural flow of seed out inside you.

I'm quite amenable to any sort of partner for this one, or another idea entirely if you simply liked the style. There are a fair few prompts in my post history if you're curious. As always, cheers, and thank you for reading!

-Werewizard