Leaving kisses, touches, traces.

Perhaps that was the way they chose to admire. No, that they needed to admire. Longing gazes, studying from a distance could only do so much. The wishfulness inside would build so much. It was a wonder that Saima had ever managed to keep things internal so often. And yet, those were the only tools that Saima had available for so long. Having to keep their attractions, their feelings to themselves. Perhaps they just had gotten used to it. It was a terrible habit and breaking it all the more difficult. One often carried the burden of desire with the nagging thought of inadequacy in the midst of their desires.

Dreaming of kissing the divine. To see in others what they had hidden in themselves. In celebrating what was coming to the surface and transforming their existence as they understood it. To kiss the divine, to share in that delight, to perform the acts of which they wished for was a delight. To admit, to whisper – the thoughts, lines, and lines of which had been spun within them. To place small kisses – cheeks, jaws, shoulders, neck. Only to suggest dreams of further attention, of further connection. They dare relish in the cravings for shared affection, entanglement even. 

Coming a little closer, movement as if performing an old dance, Saima allows themselves the space to touch. Let their graceful fingers filled with magic to caress, to affectionately lay on the build of their beloved. Fingers that will pull a little bit closer, just a little. They love the tension before the crash, they relish the dance that only seems to build. Hands, hands – most wondrous things. It’s all too amazing the worship that they can provide. Let the age, the experience stored away come through in every step that they take.

In a collision, mouths meet all too willing to make movements to consume each other more. The adrenaline, the energy rushing through is hard to bear and harder to contain. Yet it only drives these sorts even further into delirium – seeking out that combination of worship that could set places ablaze. It feels like there’s entirely too much for the world to stand. And maybe there is – but what is that to those who made the world, who hold the world, who watch over this planet still. What is that to those whose stories haunt the mortals still even in the smaller forms of references of more ‘modern’ media. It is of no matter. Articulate thoughts dare not form in the midst of the collision, only bringing beings closer and closer together.

Saima’s touches always get a little more purposeful – less teasing and more desirous. The pulls a little fiercer, the way that their fingers can dig just so into the body of their beloved. They know not what way they will end up but as long as they are close, unbearably so – with the weight of a partner pressed against them tight, they can only be content. An unspoken plea: Please let them feel so much, too much upon them in one way or another. To create a whole another way of being, to shine in the glory of losing control, if only for a moment – they could wish for nothing more.