Loloma
( @adventurepunks​ )
A beautiful sunrise graced Fiji island that morning, with a cast of warm oranges and blues that streaked across the horizon as far as the naked eye could see. John drew the curtains to their private lodge to watch the colours drip over the landscape, and for once he was at peace.
The night before was absolutely sublime, of oath and promise exchanged by the beach, of sunsweet kisses drenched with the ripe citrus of strawberries, of a trust that grew and mended the broken bridges they left behind.
John turned from his spot by the window to see Nick stretched out and fast asleep on his belly, for the intricate criss-cross of cuts and scratches that painted his back have closed but were still tender to the touch.
The sun streamed in and dusted Nick in golden glow. He was so beautiful like this.
John’s shadow sliced through the light, smothering Nick’s sleeping visage in a shade of cool vantablack, for John was even jealous of the sun bathing this handsome sight and so he would covet it with his darkness.
He knelt by the bedside as his shadows licked at his husband’s frame. Cool feathery kisses from each snaking tendril and a hot one from his very lips to Nick’s.
“Gud morn, me beloved, me sweet.”
Oh he couldn’t help himself when he began to peel away inch after inch of the bedcovers, just to have calloused digits hover over the beautiful cuts. Each and every one.
What he would give to taste the ruby red wine from this body.
A single claw dragged ever-so-lightly across the nape where hair ended and bone began, a gentle scrape past that and down the spine, to the rise of that cleft and lower still where the sheets still covered.
“So ravishin’ like dis.”
