His wings flare over his shoulders, protectively, possessively, when he feels the shift in her kiss, in her mood. He doesn't quite understand it at the time when it happens, and he certainly doesn't know why, but none of that matters in this place, this fraction of a second in whatever time and universe he's fallen into.
(He wants her, and he only breaks their kiss when it's clear that either one of them needs to breathe.)
He gives her more of his touch - sliding one of his hands between their bodies to seek out the arousal between her legs, fingers grazing over her clit to bring her greater pleasure. He gives her more of his weight to bear, his hips pressing eagerly towards his hand, towards her.
His motions are almost automatic (but not impersonal), muscle memory (how can it be a memory, when he has never been with her before) taking over. This just feels so right, so familiar.
no subject
(He wants her, and he only breaks their kiss when it's clear that either one of them needs to breathe.)
He gives her more of his touch - sliding one of his hands between their bodies to seek out the arousal between her legs, fingers grazing over her clit to bring her greater pleasure. He gives her more of his weight to bear, his hips pressing eagerly towards his hand, towards her.
His motions are almost automatic (but not impersonal), muscle memory (how can it be a memory, when he has never been with her before) taking over. This just feels so right, so familiar.