Pomegranate Seeds

A fire had been lit in the fireplace. The flames licked at the ash-blackened stones as the fragrance of burning wood drifted to fill the room, but the heat was negligible.

Soft, chaste kisses were falling on his skin like a dusting of snow. He felt a nip at the side of his mouth, a whisper down the length of his neck, and a cool sprinkling over the expanse of his chest and abdomen. He drank them in as freshly-turned soil soaks in the first snowflakes, his body shifting to meld to those wandering winter-chapped lips.

Oh those lips! They mapped across his skin as if to chart the constellation of his pleasures, sweeping skilfully from one delectable sensation to another. When they arrived, guided by a trail of fine hair, to the fruits of their patient labour, it was to find him ripe and swollen with a treacherous desire.

The teasing came soft and merciless there. Feathery kisses pressed along the stem, and a tongue flicked its tip to the underside of the head. It stoked at his passion until he could bear it no more.

"No, please!" he begged as a cold breath rolled playfully over his heated flesh.

A quiet laugh rang in his ears, light and pleasantly amused. Then a penance; lips parting and enveloping the tip, mouth slowly drawing in the length of his arousal, tongue pressing like warm velvet to his throbbing need…

He arched into the warmth, ignoring the chill that bit at his exposed skin as the fur throws peeled and slid from him. Wanton sighs fell from his lips in a rosary of sweet prayers, occasionally punctuated by a low broken moan. And there was the sound of the act itself. It was wet, breathy and lewdly eager, and he could feel himself blush to hear it.

His hips were slowly thrusting of their own accord, seeking to build on his stimulation. When firm leather-gloved hands pinned him down, he submitted readily to the tyranny of his desires.

After he had peaked, his toes curling into soft rabbit furs as he gave his seeds, he fell into a sated stupor as sleep weighed heavy on his eyelids.

His captor and lover rose to peck a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, tasting of him.

I love you, came the barest of a whispered sigh.

His lips curved into a smile in spite of himself.

A/n: I was in the mood to indulge in a little purple prose today.