laser guns and champagne

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 Though he released his grip on her gingerly, the Prinsessa was held to him by something else. An invisible rope had tied her to him, though they had argued and played at the idea of a hunt mere moments before. With an expert touch he seemed almost to mould her from clay as an artist would, bringing his tongue along the slope of her jaw. She relished it, closing her eyes to embrace the soft vibrations of his chest and the rough feeling of warm sandpaper over her.
 She wanted, almost desperately, to say something to him. But she could not find the words. Words even in her own many tongues did not describe what she was feeling, what she knew, nor what she wanted. Enveloped by his essence, she was lost to the world. The sky became distant. She was one with him in these harshly tender moments, blended together with an animal she was never meant to encounter.
 For a fleeting moment, she almost wished she could give him what he wanted, to be fertile with his children. But just as quickly this brief thought vanished, pushed aside by something far darker, pressing, and selfish. She pressed against him wantingly, and together they would stay under the starlight. Healing through trauma, finding solace in a terrible love, it was all they could do just to breathe into and through it.
 But they were home.

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