foxglove;

PARADISE WHISTLES THROUGH AN OPEN WINDOW,  and once found it only evaporates again,  turning from faint glittering specks to motes of grey dust.   the old west was unforgiving.  the sun held no lovers and thus kept all her softness beside her molten heart.  he thought it poetic,  almost.  he liked attaching heavy handed metaphors to cruel things.  vipers coil behind the most pleasant smelling plums and plumes of foliage,  until they lurch out and coil around their prey’s nimble ankles.  the world was cruel,  but that didn’t mean it had to be ugly. 

❛   few things aren’t these days,  madam. ❜   his voice is a heavy - honey drawl yet there is a sharpness,  laying boundlessly between throat and tongue.  ionian country felt so very far away,  yet the dialect sat neatly on his chest still.  a cog goes off in his knee as he descends into a short bow  ❛  good thing i’m well acquainted with danger. ❜

     here   in   the   heart   of   the   desert   ,      in   the   sweltering   heat   ,      she   stands   ,      glacial   .         glacier   ,      frozen   tongue      /      verglas   heart   ,      unimpressed   with   performative   gesture   :      she   all   but   turns   away   ,      all   but   shuts   the   door   in   his   face   and   continues   with   her   day   .         in   another   world   ,      another   ,      more   naïve   her   ,      does   exactly   that   ,      and   maybe   that   her   never   survives   to   see   the   sunset

        “  then  what  do you need?  ”     —–  it wears thin,  patience grinding in time with his teeth,  chipping all too quickly for someone who should be more composed;  a quick scan confirms his companions’ absence.  good.     “  the way you’re haunched is making even  me  uncomfortable.  ”

UNPROMPTED   .     )         always   accepting   .         @scarrborn​​           He knows what to do with her, broad hands cupping and massaging her soft mounds. He rubs them right out of her dress, teeth along her neck. “I love how they bounce for me,” he growls, giving her hips a thrust with his own, letting her feel the bulge that’s waiting for her. “So distracting...Kneel. Wrap them around my cock. I wanna see how nice it fits.”

     crude   ,      perverse   ,      he   ever   lacks   common   decency   with   words   that   worm   beneath   her   skin   and   makes   her   shiver   :      a   chill   that   burrows   through   once   thought   impenetrable   fortress   ,      strikes   at   the   heart   ,      and   she   sings   sweet   surrender   .         he   ,      like   forbidden   sin      /      like   cantharides   ,      an   inhibition   she   should   not   indulge   ,      but   he   returns   ,      kisses   her   and   caresses   cool   flesh   in   divine   worship   ,      and   she   ,      the   solitary   fox   in   the   middle   of   nowhere   ,      falls   further   into   his   embrace

           ❛      how   crass      ❜            the   barest   letter   of   disapproval   formulates   response   ,      but   lacks   the   usual   scathing   tone   ,      lacks   the   brutality   of   their   first   encounter   :      something   sweeter   about   her   biting   critique   ,      concealing   fluster      /      concealing   wavering   fortitude      /      concealing   her   eroding   denial   .         how   crass   ,      ziva   says   ,      as   though   his   demand   is   one   out   of   the   question   ,      nigh   unthinkable   fruit   of   an   audacious   demeanour   ,      yet   ,      barely   a   second   later   ,      she   complies

UNPROMPTED   .       )           always accepting   .         @felide​           they're gentle in their movement, all warmth and no burns. their eyes look to ziva's as though they're basking in the light of her. "you're like ice to be around," it starts with a murmur, before crescendoing into a comfortable volume. "it's like you're fire-repellant. i love it." gently does burnt-umber crown lilt unto vulpine shoulder, dual blue eyes shutting. "but you always make me so sleepy, 'va."

      revel   in   idyllic   image   ,      springtide   garden   where   verglas   and   forest   fire   come   to   dwell   :      halcyon   impossibility      /      the   pulchritude   of   opposites   finding   haven   in   each   other   .         she   ,      the   vixen   with   ebony   hair   and   whispers   of   red   woven   into   the   wild   waves   ,      like   poppies   bursting   through   the   dirt   ,      sits   upon   the   oak   veranda   with   gifted   tome   upon   lap   and   bare   feet   brushing   the   grass   beneath   ,      a   ghost   kiss   to   their   verdant   blades