your burning yearning need to bleed

What had followed was one of the best nights of his life, and he wasn’t entirely certain you understood the impact of your actions. Kafka had never felt so seen and loved than he had lying flat on his back beneath you. The way you touched him as if he was your whole world, every stroke of your nimble fingers and how your gaze roamed with nothing but acceptance. 

You touched every scar, lingered to leave little kisses next to the newer ones and whispered sweet nothings which penetrated all the way down to the kaiju inside. It was more than lovemaking; it was devotion and a promise all rolled into one experience. 

He never hid the parts of himself which he didn’t like because when he was with you those insecurities melted away into insignificance. The softness of his stomach, which had once bothered him when comparing himself to the other cadets, didn’t matter when you nuzzled your cheek against it like a contented cat. The hairy expanse of his chest wasn’t a bother when you threaded your fingers through it with a salacious purr. His concerns about stamina melted away when he was able to take you for a record third time in one night, proud as a peacock when you tapped out due to our own exhaustion. 

None of it mattered when you loved him. 

It was conflicting to lie here both hard as a board with his cock nestled against your thigh and with tears desperately trying to pool in his eyes. Kafka wasn’t sad, he was overwhelmed, and you seemed to sense it even in slumber. 

“...s’matter?” you slurred, raising your head and blinking through sleepy eyes. 

Kafka sniffed and wiped away a rouge tear with the back of his head before squeezing you tightly to him. He smiled into your knotted tangle of hair, kissing your head for a long moment until all he could smell was your shampoo and your scent.