Categories > Games > Final Fantasy X
No Legends
0 reviewsAuron and Lulu exchange a few moments of smutty poetics and reflect on heroism.
0Unrated
Like two burrowing foxes, the lovers nip at each other in the high-grown grass. Affectionately --his tongue pulsing down familiar moonlight-marked paths of her neat and shuddering shoulders and her teeth habitually nibbling at the square angle of his jaw just below his ear. Lulu smiled because she could not help it and Auron frowned because he could.
In Spira, love brings hope to the damned and Kings are made legendary by it.
She had him laid out below her like a book and she had turned to pages --chapters even, that no-one has read. In a hoarse whisper, she read aloud from him and with a plum fingernail, she kept her place. From scar-numbed skin to the frantic fiery nerves of rugged muscle, the leaves shuddered as he built up. The ecstasy embarrassed him slightly and he begged to be pressed closed again and shelved silently in her library. But it is too late --she has taken his story in with pressure and embrace and action. He burst. Auron can never be unread.
It is said that the bond shared between Zaon and Yunalesca was the first true marriage in Spira. Their devotion, so singular and purposeful, made invalid all nuptials to come before and blessed all since.
He was learning how to usurp her, he was learning how to take her. Like a bell-ringer, he tugs each braid firmly, a little cry from her at each. He breathes humid and hot onto her neck as though to polish her. He pushes his coarse lips into her softest crevices and her bell begins to rock in the steeple. She rings out like a chime. He wraps around her quivering aftermath --the tolling has undone them both, a little.
The loyal sword of a guardian. The altruistic duties of a summoner. The timeless tribute of an Aeon. A babe snuggled into his mother's breast. So has legendary love made Spira, and so does it continue thusly.
Her hand has not been so fatal as his and she has not been in worlds outside worlds as he has. Yet there was as much in her kiss as in his --the stroke of his finger around her areola was warm and rough and here/. Legendary heroes are cool and smooth and reside in far-off temples, carved and pedestaled and /dead. There was nothing heroic in how she cradled his scarred cheek upon her slender stomach in the aftermath of their lovemaking. There was everything ordinary in the way they smiled at frolicking monkeys, their bare-skin dappled in starlight and shadow under the netted canopy of windbreak trees. Legendary was not a word spoken between these lovers, and so love brought them away from Spira's sickle for the night.
When morning brought Yuna's call, they took up their weapons again, /legendary/, the distance and brilliance between them as stars.
In Spira, love brings hope to the damned and Kings are made legendary by it.
She had him laid out below her like a book and she had turned to pages --chapters even, that no-one has read. In a hoarse whisper, she read aloud from him and with a plum fingernail, she kept her place. From scar-numbed skin to the frantic fiery nerves of rugged muscle, the leaves shuddered as he built up. The ecstasy embarrassed him slightly and he begged to be pressed closed again and shelved silently in her library. But it is too late --she has taken his story in with pressure and embrace and action. He burst. Auron can never be unread.
It is said that the bond shared between Zaon and Yunalesca was the first true marriage in Spira. Their devotion, so singular and purposeful, made invalid all nuptials to come before and blessed all since.
He was learning how to usurp her, he was learning how to take her. Like a bell-ringer, he tugs each braid firmly, a little cry from her at each. He breathes humid and hot onto her neck as though to polish her. He pushes his coarse lips into her softest crevices and her bell begins to rock in the steeple. She rings out like a chime. He wraps around her quivering aftermath --the tolling has undone them both, a little.
The loyal sword of a guardian. The altruistic duties of a summoner. The timeless tribute of an Aeon. A babe snuggled into his mother's breast. So has legendary love made Spira, and so does it continue thusly.
Her hand has not been so fatal as his and she has not been in worlds outside worlds as he has. Yet there was as much in her kiss as in his --the stroke of his finger around her areola was warm and rough and here/. Legendary heroes are cool and smooth and reside in far-off temples, carved and pedestaled and /dead. There was nothing heroic in how she cradled his scarred cheek upon her slender stomach in the aftermath of their lovemaking. There was everything ordinary in the way they smiled at frolicking monkeys, their bare-skin dappled in starlight and shadow under the netted canopy of windbreak trees. Legendary was not a word spoken between these lovers, and so love brought them away from Spira's sickle for the night.
When morning brought Yuna's call, they took up their weapons again, /legendary/, the distance and brilliance between them as stars.
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