01-12-2025, 04:31 PM
The words opened a seive. Not that he'd been waiting for consent but once given he didn't hold back.
Sasha leaned into Oriena and pressed his body against hers releasing her throat as he took her lips with his in a firey passion fueled but the fire with in. The shard in his hand he shoved into his coat pocket. And the power still raged when he released the jagged glass from his palm. Satisfied with the idea he didn't hesitate to take what was offered.
The hand that was now shard free began to work at her wet clothes. Nothing worse than wet denim was wet leather. Not that Sasha had much experience with either.
The fire flowed through him, around him. They both shivered in their wet clothes. There was little control in the thought as the hand against the stone wall of the alcove was a conduit for the heat he felt. He pushed the fire into the wall. It didn't ignite but the warmth spread from his hand across the wall. It felt nearly as good as the woman who he pushed up against the stone.
The power purged his fears his insecurities. He was better, stronger. He was the fire and he poured that knowledge, that confidence into how he tugged at Oriena's clothes and his own freeing them for what they both were eager for. The warmth from his hands, (the weave he hadn't known what it had done) still radiating through the wall. The dead plants creeping up the alcove walls, wilted further, some catching a tiny flame before poofing out of fuel.
The alcove warmed with the body heat and the pulse of Sasha's power through the wall. And Sasha barely noticed anything beyond Oriena's flesh against him.
Sasha leaned into Oriena and pressed his body against hers releasing her throat as he took her lips with his in a firey passion fueled but the fire with in. The shard in his hand he shoved into his coat pocket. And the power still raged when he released the jagged glass from his palm. Satisfied with the idea he didn't hesitate to take what was offered.
The hand that was now shard free began to work at her wet clothes. Nothing worse than wet denim was wet leather. Not that Sasha had much experience with either.
The fire flowed through him, around him. They both shivered in their wet clothes. There was little control in the thought as the hand against the stone wall of the alcove was a conduit for the heat he felt. He pushed the fire into the wall. It didn't ignite but the warmth spread from his hand across the wall. It felt nearly as good as the woman who he pushed up against the stone.
The power purged his fears his insecurities. He was better, stronger. He was the fire and he poured that knowledge, that confidence into how he tugged at Oriena's clothes and his own freeing them for what they both were eager for. The warmth from his hands, (the weave he hadn't known what it had done) still radiating through the wall. The dead plants creeping up the alcove walls, wilted further, some catching a tiny flame before poofing out of fuel.
The alcove warmed with the body heat and the pulse of Sasha's power through the wall. And Sasha barely noticed anything beyond Oriena's flesh against him.