you undo the button with clumsy fingers, the metal click loud in the small space, then pull down the zipper. the sound is rough, intimate. he's already hard, you can see the shape of him straining against his boxers, and your mouth goes dry.

you hesitate, your fingers hovering over the waistband of his boxers. he's so still, like he's holding his breath, waiting. you can feel the heat of his arousal through the thin cotton, and your own body responds, a pulse of warmth between your legs, your thighs pressing together instinctively.

you hook your fingers under the elastic and pull down.

his cock springs free, thick and hot, and you wrap your hand around it without thinking. the feeling of him in your palm—heavy, velvety, twitching at your touch—makes you gasp softly. he makes a sound too, a choked, desperate noise that he cuts off immediately, his jaw clenching so hard you can hear his teeth grind.

you stroke him, slow, experimental, learning the shape of him. he's long, with a slight curve, and the skin is smooth over iron hardness. your thumb brushes over the tip, and it's already wet, slick with pre-cum that beads and smears under your touch.

"fuck," he breathes, the word punched out of him.

you do it again, a deliberate circle of your thumb around the head, and his hips jerk involuntarily. he slams his hand against the wall beside your head, a dull thud that makes you flinch, but you don't stop. your grip tightens, and you pump him slowly, from base to tip, feeling every ridge and vein.

his forehead drops to your shoulder. his breath is hot and uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are locked, fighting against the pleasure. his free hand is fisted at his side, knuckles white.

"you feel so good," you murmur, and it's true. the weight of him in your hand, the way he responds to every touch, the sounds he's trying to suppress—it's intoxicating. your own arousal is building, a damp heat between your thighs, and you press your legs together, trying to ease the ache.

he doesn't answer, but his hips start moving, tiny, aborted thrusts into your grip. he's trying to hold still, you can feel it, but his body is betraying him. each movement is shallow, desperate, seeking more friction.

"just let go," you whisper, your lips brushing his ear. "no one can hear us."

that's a lie, and you both know it. the walls are thin, and the party is right outside. but the risk seems to undo him further. a low moan escapes his throat, muffled against your shoulder, and his hips pick up speed, fucking into your hand with more urgency.

you match satoru’s rhythm, your strokes steady and firm, twisting your wrist at the top the way you've read about. his cock is slick now, coated in pre-cum, and the sound of it—wet, obscene—fills the closet. you can smell it too, the salty, musky scent of his arousal, mixing with your own.

"please," he says, and the word is broken, almost a whimper. "please, i—"

"please what?" you ask, and your voice is soft, teasing, even though your heart is racing. you're getting wetter by the second, a slick heat spreading through your underwear, and you shift your weight, pressing your thighs together harder.

he groans, a sound of pure frustration. "i don't know. just—don't stop. please don't stop."

you don't.

you speed up, your hand moving faster, your grip tighter. the pre-cum is everywhere now, making a mess of your fingers, his stomach, his boxers. you can feel his balls tightening against your wrist, his breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. he's biting his lip, trying to stay quiet, but every few seconds a whimper escapes, high and needy, completely at odds with his usual quiet demeanor.

you want to hear more.

you slow down, just barely, and he makes a sound of protest, his hips chasing your hand. you stop completely, your fingers still wrapped around his cock, and he lets out a shaky, frustrated breath.

"why did you stop?" he asks, and his voice is wrecked, vulnerable.

"i want you to tell me what you want," you say, and your own voice trembles. you're shy, still, but the power you hold over him—over this big, tense, controlled man—is heady. your pussy is throbbing, wet and empty, and you squeeze your thighs together, trying to relieve the pressure.

he swallows audibly. "i want… i want you to touch me. please. i need…"

"you need what?"

"i need to come," he chokes out, and the admission seems to cost him something. his hand comes up, finding your waist, gripping the fabric of your shirt like he's holding on for dear life. "please. i can't—i've been thinking about you all night. watching you across the room. and now you're here, and your hand is on me, and i—fuck."

the confession makes your breath catch. you start moving again, slow and deliberate, and he moans, long and low, his hips bucking into your grip.

"you've been thinking about me?" you ask, and you hate how breathless you sound.

"yes," he hisses. "all night. wondering what it would feel like. if you'd be gentle or rough. if you'd let me touch you back."

his words paint a picture, and you feel a rush of heat between your legs, your clit aching with need. you press your thighs together harder, but it's not enough. you need something, anything.

"you can touch me," you whisper, and it's an invitation, shy but sincere.

his hand slides from your waist, down your hip, over your thigh. he hesitates, his fingers resting on the hem of your skirt. "like this?" he asks, and his voice is almost reverent.

you nod, even though he can barely see you.

his hand slips under your skirt, his fingers warm and calloused against the bare skin of your thigh. he moves higher, slowly, giving you time to stop him. when he reaches the damp cotton of your underwear, he stops, his breath catching.

"you're wet," he says, and there's wonder in his voice.

you feel your face heat, but you don't pull away. "yeah. because of you."

he makes a sound, something between a groan and a whimper, and his fingers press against you through the fabric, finding the spot where you're most sensitive. you gasp, your hips bucking, and your grip on his cock tightens involuntarily. he hisses, thrusting into your hand, and the dual sensations—his touch on your pussy, your hand on his cock—fill the closet with a symphony of wet sounds and stifled moans.

he rubs you through the fabric, circling your clit, and your knees nearly buckle. you lean into him, your forehead resting against his chest, your hand still moving on his cock. his breath is ragged in your hair, and you can feel his heart pounding against your cheek.

"i want to feel you," he murmurs, and his fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, pulling them aside. the cool air hits your wet folds, and then his fingers are there, sliding through your slickness, finding your entrance. he pushes one finger in, slowly, and you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulder.

"oh, god," you breathe.

"you feel incredible," he says, and his voice is strained, like he's barely holding on. he pushes deeper, curling his finger, and stars burst behind your eyes. your rhythm on his cock falters, but you keep moving, driven by instinct.

he adds a second finger, stretching you, and you whimper, your hips meeting his hand. the sound of it—the wet, squelching noise of his fingers inside you—mixes with the wet sound of your hand on his cock, and it's filthy, depraved, everything you didn't know you needed.

"i'm close," he warns, his voice cracking. "i'm so close, i—"

"come for me," you say, and it's almost a plea. "i want to feel it."

he does.

his body goes rigid, a shudder wracking through him, and he buries his face in your neck, a long, broken moan vibrating against your skin. his cock pulses in your hand, hot ropes of cum spilling over your fingers, dripping down your wrist, staining his shirt and yours. he keeps thrusting into your grip, riding out the wave, and you keep stroking him through it, soft and slow, until he's trembling and spent.

his fingers are still inside you, and you're so close yourself, teetering on the edge. he seems to sense it, because he curls his fingers again, pressing against that spot, and you cry out, your hips bucking. your orgasm crashes over you, sudden and intense, your thighs clamping around his hand as you shudder against him.

for a long moment, there's only breathing, heavy and tangled, and the sticky mess between you. his cum is cooling on your hand, your own wetness coating his fingers, and you feel a strange, shy intimacy, like you've shared something you can't take back.

outside, the seven minutes are up. someone knocks on the door. "time's up, you two!"

you pull apart, clumsy and slow, fixing your clothes in the dark. he zips his jeans, and you wipe your hand on your skirt, feeling the dampness of your own arousal between your legs.

the door swings open, light flooding in. yuki is there, grinning, but her smile falters when she sees your faces—flushed, messy, eyes dark with leftover hunger.

neither of you says a word.

satoru brushes past you, out of the closet, but his hand catches yours for a split second, his fingers brushing yours. a whisper of a touch, a promise.

you follow him out, your heart racing, your body still humming.

seven minutes was never going to be enough.

it’s his pet names that linger instead— sounding all soft and familiar, worn warm from use. the ones he returns to without thinking, like second nature. schatzi. simply sweet. ever so precious. the word curls from his mouth with an ease that feels almost absentminded, yet never careless. and liebling, his favorite, his darling. it’s usually spoken quieter, closer, like it belongs to you and him alone.

those are the few words you come to know. not by translation, but how they’re given. by the way his voice lowers around them, the way they brush against your skin like something tangible.

mixed by blood, eren's heritage lives in the small details about him more than anything else; his cadence, his features, his mannerisms. he doesn't necessarily talk about it. his tongues, german and turkish, live elsewhere. like in fleeting moments on the phone with his family, voice softened with a familiarity different from the kind he shows you.

it's admirable, how effortlessly he slips into the rhythm of home when catching up with his mother and father. you hear it only then, in fragments and tones, something distant. you try to glimpse into that part of him, but he leaves it unshared. 

it isn't that your boyfriend withholds any aspects of his life, or his culture, from you. rather, he lets untranslatable words fall as they come, shaped more by his feeling than intentionality. there's a certain intimacy in that. he thinks that you don't have to understand every syllable to feel the weight of it.

because with him, it's about how it lingers in the space between you long after the words have fallen away.

you know eren doesn’t make much use of deutsch in his everyday life, no. it remains tucked away as the one thing he doesn't reach for, but something that exists all the same. and maybe, that's what makes it all the more enticing, when it surfaces in the moments his control finally begins to slip.

it’s in those instances, when his breath grows uneven and composure frays at the edges, that something from deep within him begins to rise unbidden. words he doesn't consciously choose, tones he typically wouldn't shape, leaving him in a low, broken lilt. there's nothing intentional about it, just the rawness of instinct when the sensation is so overwhelming that he can't help himself any longer.

and in that unraveling, there's something disarmingly sensual. not just the act itself, or the hot slide of his hands when he touches you, but a side of him that can't be hidden away, revealed only when he's too far gone to hold it back.

"scheisse!"

it slips out of him without warning. his mind’s so muddled by the way your dewy walls squeeze his cock that he doesn’t even think to translate. he’s drawn fully into the hilt of your gushing pussy, his presence heavy both in-and-outside of you. he's got you splayed out on your back, displayed ever so beautifully, soft textured hair fanning out on the pillows, like that of a halo. how fitting, for his precious angel. 

eren has you tucked under the breadth of him and slovenly folded into missionary, your body immovably pressed beneath the heat and heaviness of his imposing frame. his attention narrows on you, you, you, until nothing else seems to exist outside of it.

your trembling leg is held in his left palm, secured at the pit of your knee as he guides it up against your shoulder as a means to fucks deeper into you. his other hand rests hot upon your waist, grip tightening whenever you react, kneading at warm brown flesh whenever you clamp down on him. he's unrelenting with how he draws out, plows in, does it again, again, again. dense clapping resounds in hollow echoes throughout the dim-lit bedroom of his paradis-city penthouse.

"e—ren! eren, erennn,” his name falls fractured from your lips, each syllable hitching as it leaves you. he hears it, and something in him shifts. a slow, unmistakable reaction that pulls at the corner of his mouth before it fully settles into a smile. it spreads wide, brazen and sharp in a way that looks as feral as he feels; all teeth, cutting sharp and boyish across his face, features drawn tight with ardor.

pleasure has already taken hold of him; face flushed, sweat gathering and rolling in narrow paths down his skin. his dark manbun sits slightly undone at the base of his head, loose strands slipping free to cling to his temples and the nape of his neck, his tattooed body damp with the same heat that coats him. his brows, thick and dark, knit tightly together, while his bright-teal eyes stay intense and wild, fixed on you with a look that doesn’t waver. you’re his maker and weakness alike, the only thing holding his focus together as he unravels for you.

"komm schon, engel," eren dips low, his large frame folding over yours, shoulders rounding as he closes the space between you, brushing the plush of your lips with his own. "hngh, wha—?" you whine against his mouth, needing of clarity. his breath is warm and close when he murmurs, earnest for a taste of your lips, "küss mich."

you don’t fully comprehend him, but eren closes the gap regardless, until there’s nowhere left for your voice to go but into him. his large hand lifts up, cups your jaw nice and steady, tilts you upwards just enough to meet him as he presses his lips to yours. firm at first, then deeper, more claiming than it is gentle. when he pulls back, it’s only by a breath’s width, enough for the curve of his smile to linger against your mouth. 

his hips take to a slow roll, grinding into yours so sweetly. the rounded end of his hard cock nudges the inner pudge of your softest spots, with the lean ridge of his pelvis brushing over the sensitive peak of your clit. the both of you hold no inhibitions, breaths pouring into each other's mouths in uneven waves, panting and moaning with not a sound refrained.

him and you, you and him, him in you. all sense becomes lost in a heated slew of sloppy strokes and the wettest kisses. he's making such a mess of you; stealing your breath, bruising your flesh, fucking stirring your insides.

for eren, countless sensations begin to merge. your velveteen walls are clamping down, tight, on his pulsing dick, dripping and sobbing all over the length of it. then there's the way you cling to him, just ferocious. the powder-white arch of your fresh nails do well at drawing fiery marks down the broad plane of his tatted back. his olive skin is warm and damp under your palms, glowing sheen with a film of sweat. 

your breath brushes against the reddening shell of his pierced ear, sounds uneven and soft in a way that makes him grow impossibly harder. eren responds in kind, groans amplified, his hold at your waist tightening just enough to keep you anchored to the you-shaped dip in his king sized mattress. you're so pretty, so perfect; behaving so well that all he wants to do is just give you more. 

so he does. 

"shh, lass mich einfach . . stillhalten." eren’s hands span down your shaking thighs, dancing around around your calf until they close around both of your ankles. his fingers wrap fully, thumbs rubbing circles while the rest of his grip adjusts you without effort. he translates what he knows you didn't catch, "don't move." 

eren shapes the physical space between you, and he continues to bend you at angles until the right silhouette is captured. he brings your knees toward your shoulders, folding the form until thighs press firmly against the core of your tummy. shifting his weight low, he transitions into a deep squat, strong thighs flexed as he assumes the position of sitting on his haunches, all without pulling out of you.

with the new vantage, he drives forward and plunges into the tightness of you with sudden, intense momentum that draws the sharpest, most involuntary cry from your lungs— a sound that brings a knowing smile to his face. eren frees self-satisfied laughter, for he always manages to pry out the very reaction he sought to provoke. he finds your body familiar. so easy to mold, too easy to play with.

"ffuuuck! p-please, papaaa, please—"

his response comes rippling out as an unintended growl, sourced from the depths of his chest, and the bass of it makes you clench helplessly around him. with every surge, every thrust forward, he loses another piece of his restraint. an especially taut squeeze of your soaked pussy is all it takes for his snark to dissolve into total surrender.

"fuck . . du bist so eng," his words grow reckless to match just how you undo him. he rambles on about just how tight you are, freeing terribly desperate praise and german incoherencies. he's too far gone to realize he'd even switched languages. frankly, eren doesn't even know what he's saying anymore, and you sure as hell don’t either. it’s hard to follow when he’s digging you out like that; hips slamming down, the fat of his balls clapping against the seam of your ass with every thrust.

more foreign words tumble from his lips— dark, guttural, yet somehow melodic, leaving you in a haze of both lust and confusion. despite it, your body understands the intent perfectly. the way you arch into him, cunt swallowing every known inch of his dick whole, slick walls clamping around him like a desperate vice, tells him everything he needs to know. 

eren finally seems to be returning to himself, eyes clearing as he grows aware; and with that, comes the teasing. another predatory smirk pulls at his mouth as he realizes just how cockdrunk he’s made you, sensitive even down to the veins that drag within you. and so, he draws out the friction, slows his pace to an agonizing crawl, buries himself into you with impossible depth.

each heavy thrust knocks at your cervix and prods at the very limit of you, blunt and demanding, as if he’s trying to leave his mark on your very soul. he's so all-consuming that the heady scent of his skin and the licking heat of his salt-slicked body fills your lungs. you’re crying, you think, unsure as to when it started. all you know is you’re breathing him in, tasting the raw, primal edge of him with every gasp and tear you choke on. 

"aww, poor baby,” he croons, tone darkened with condescend, “macht dich das an, schatzi?" he murmurs, the grunted slew of german humming against your skin. he’s asking if it turns you on— the suddenly rough shift into his mother tongue, and though the meaning of his words escape your mind, you can only nod helplessly, teeth sinking into the swell of your spit-streaked lip as a flush burns across your chest.

"feels good, yeah? i'm fucking you so deep, aren't i? mm, c'mon, angel . . . talk to me, talk to daddy." he eases more of his weight onto your pressed frame, feeding you deep, languid strokes so slow you can hear the wetness sloshing.

"yeahhh, it's good, er-en . . hnn, feelssogood, d-daddyyy," his name tears out of you in a pulled shudder, the syllables breaking over one another. it’s the type of sound that invites his wolfish grin, curled with a special kind of satisfaction. his smile is purely predatory when he gets to hitching your leg up higher, rocking into you faster. the lewdness of unfiltered noise begins to swell throughout the room.

before long, you're both trembling over the pace he’s taken; his fingers twitching along your pushed-up thighs, while you're left grappling for purchase along his bulging, corded biceps, your fingers digging into the sinuous centipede inked across his firm rounded muscle. frantically, you cling to one another as the world outside seems to fade away.

eren leans in, ink-dark strands escaping his hairtie, feathering your neck, and cascading over his shoulder to curtain your faces. overzealous, he captures your lips with his own once more, silencing your soft sounds with a deep kiss that tastes as saccharine as love itself, wettened by the salted twinge of adrenaline. his moans tumble out of him helplessly once you get to licking at his tongue. he juts it out for you to suckle on.

the tension brews to a fever pitch. you’re close, and so is he.

"komm und hol mich," he wants—no, needs you to cum for him, pleads in breathless sounds so gritty that you can feel them pass through your bones. those bright-teal eyes, glassed over with brimming tears of pleasure, desperately lock onto yours. his touch is just as urgent.

eren brings the calloused pad of his thumb to your clit, each deliberate rub a targeted press that sends fresh jolts of heat spiraling through your tummy, makes your hips buck up into the onslaught. his breath comes out in ragged puffs as his fleshy, kiss-bruised lips meet your ear, grazing the shell, words unfamiliar yet sweet all the same. “komm auf meinen schwanz, bitte.” the vulnerable rawness of his voice is a love language all in its own. something in you knows to follow his command, even if the meaning is a mystery. 

that building pressure low in your gut begins to coil, tightening into a concentrated knot that demands release. it’s a heavy, mercurial ache that pulses in sync with his movements, making your vision swim as you reach the precipice. your every nerve-ending screams for the sweet, sweet release that only his next deliberate strike can provide.

as for eren, his focus is simply fractured; hands moving with a restlessness that betrays how close he is to the edge. he lifts his free hand to knead and possess the soft weight of your right breast, his grip firm and demanding, before his fingers lift to heedlessly lace around your neck, as a means to keep you pinned in the middle of storm of his movements. 

that same grasp trails away from pressing your artery, slinks down, and squeezes a big, greedy handful of ass into one palm alone. he delivers one smack— two, three. the fourth leaves red in its wake, blooming faint along warm-brown flesh. he merely smiles when you mewl at him. 

the combination he grants you is far too much, too fucking frantic; the stinging heat of his palm against your skin and the possessive weight of his hand at your throat leaves you feeling hazy and unmoored, your thoughts dissolving into a thoughtless, honeyed fog.

a few more of those slowed, plunging thrusts, paired with how nicely he toys with your puffy clit, is what finally shatters the dam and sends rolling waves of your orgasm to crash right through you. it washes over, heavy and thick, the feeling purely electric as it zips through the base of your spine all the way down to your tightly curled toes. your quivering legs lock around his lean waist as he fucks you through the height of it, dark-chestnut hair swinging over hunched shoulders.

"don't you let go yet— m'not done." eren rasps against your agape lips, voice a broken wreck. he taps your soft cheek in two firm pats when your eyes begin to flutter shut, peers at you through hooded eyes, forcing bitten words out through grit teeth, "look at me, schatzi," his fingers tangle into the soft, dense curls of your hair to tilt your head his way. "you came so fuckin' hard, tell me you felt that—shit! mm, p-please, baby . . tell me you’re mine."

you manage to open your mouth, try for an answer, but every brutal impact of his hips knocks the air from your chest, splintering your voice into meaningless little sounds. the rhythm of his pounding, loud and heavy, turns shaky and imprecise as he utterly loses the battle for control. you can see the strain in the way his adam’s apple bobs in his throat, his breath hitching as he teeters on the edge. 

eren frames your face with a sudden tenderness, his large hands encompassing either side of your head as if you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth itself. he pulls you in until your foreheads touch, eyes locking in a feral, heavy-lidded stare that teases at his release. you babble out his name with every sloppy knock of his hips.

your inner walls clamp down in a steady, involuntary pulse around him, and the friction becomes too much for him to bear. then comes a guttural sound, ripping straight from his chest, followed by a smaller, vulnerable whimper that echoes out, almost like a plea:

"scheisse, ich komme— fffuuuck!"

he jolts forward with an almost animalistic force, burying himself to the very hilt as the first warm, heavy spurts of his release spill free from his cockhead and into your awaiting womb. you feel him throbbing deep within your silken walls, the pulsing erratic as he stuffs your cunt with thick loads of his cum; emptying himself, filling you.

a hushed stillness sets over eren's thirtieth-floor apartment. all movement drifts to a weighty pause; until, eren eventually collapses his full weight onto you with a long, shuddering sigh. the solid, unyielding mass of him drives a soft huff out from your throat, pinning you into the charcoal sheets in a way that feels strangely grounding.

his inked forearms bind around you like vines, pulling your bodies flush-tight until there’s no room left between you. in turn, you drape your arms over the broad expanse of his back, your thumbs tracing soothing circles over the angry, reddened lines of the skin you tore. 

"ugh— rennie, you're heavy."

"mmn." is his heedless response. you both lie there in a tangled, breathless heap of afterglow, your lungs working for shallow air as the adrenaline begins to recede. after threading through the dark, damp silk of his long hair, weaving and undoing braids in the same sitting, your arms finally loosen their hold around his nape. eren nuzzles his face into the soft swell of your breasts, the tip of his nose grazing the sensitive bone of your sternum as he seeks out your warmth.

a small, balmy laugh escapes you, the sound light and surreal against the dense, syrup-thick atmosphere. the air is heavy, saturated with the salt-sharp scent of skin, the musk of his cologne, the lingering sugar of your arab perfume, and the sweet, pungent tang of your collective release— a sensory memento of every orgasm you just shared.

"damn . .” the silence breaks around his voice, low and winded, “didn't think y’had a kink for that."

"hmm," you blink slow, the wisps of your curled lashes fluttering. "for what?"

"uh-uh, don't play dumb now," eren noses your jugular, tickling your neck with a nudge so fleeting you can’t help but break, a shy giggle bubbling up and out into the open. "could've just told me you wanted me to switch languages, princess."

“i didn't even know it was something i’d enjoy that much," you bite down on a drowsy laugh, manicured fingers lifting to idly twirl a stray, dark lock of his hair. you’re secretly glad his hair-tie snapped under the pressure.

"i like the way your brain just . . . shorts out when you hear it. makes you so . . ." a kiss, breaking the pattern of speech, is pressed to your upturned lips, so pink and soft.

“—much more," another, then a suckle to your jaw, "—responsive." there's a gravel-like texture to the sound of his teasing. "i don't think i've ever heard you get that loud before, baby.” eren hums aloud onto your skin, a low rumble of pure satisfaction that thrums low in his throat and vibrates against your chest.

he shifts his weight just enough to pepper wet, uncoordinated kisses along the sensitive expanse of your throat, his every movement sluggish with pleasure. 

“verdammt gut,” he murmurs against your skin, testing the effect he has over you, simply wishing to witness how tightly you’d pulse around him in response. sure enough, he smiles to himself when you do, walls clamping down where he remains stuffed inside you. a whispered moan falls from you, eyes screwed impossibly tight. 

his lips latch to your pulse as he mouths praises you don’t need to translate to understand. the meaning sounds as sweet as his kisses taste. “du bist so gut, liebling.” even though his brain's misted over with lust, and his dick is still warmly nestled deep inside you, he can’t help but nip playful marks into your flesh. you find yourself cooing at his affections, your fingers tangling in the deep-brown spill of his hair as you shallowly rock your hips onto his softening cock. 

he mumbles more foreign little nothings into the damp, sweat-slicked crook of your neck, the tone so tender it feels like a physical caress. 

“ich liebe dich so sehr, angel . . .” he breathes, the confession soft and embracing against your skin. the meaning devotional, so unmistakable; he loves you, he loves you, he loves you. 

the ardency of the past hour's lovemaking seems to evaporate, leaving only the two of you sinking in the cooling sheets. from the crevice of your chest to his broadened one, your hearts beat heavy against one another in a synced tempo.

with one last, lingering kiss to your collarbone, eren lets his heavy eyelids fall shut. the silence that follows isn't empty. instead, it’s full and warm, smelling of salt, sandalwood, and the raw fragrancy of his adoration.

the darkness of the room feels like a protective veil. in the stillness, with his warmth still grounding you and his scent filling your lungs, you finally let your own eyes close, drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep cradled in the arms of the man who loves you more than he has the words to say.

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