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Your window was open.

I opened my eyes slowly, sticky-lidded with the dreamer's dust. You had turned in your sleep; moonlight fell on the twisted sheets and on your skin, making you glow milkpure against the clamoring shadows. Like a fallen angel, so vulnerable in your wings of linen.

We needed to leave, soon. But to unkindly jolt you from your slumber was a cruelty (one of the few) that I could not commit. So instead I trailed my fingers across your eyelids, your ears. Took gentle teeth to your earlobe and neck. A thin layer of dew glistened in the hollow of your throat. The summer nights were just as unforgiving as the days. You tasted like salt and mint and honey, and I sampled your shoulders and chest, to see if you tasted so wonderfully melancholy everywhere else.

You woke up, to bless me with that laterose smile that I love so much; to twine your hands in my hair. I kept licking, drinking in silver flesh - nectar and ambrosia. Food of the Gods.

You liked it, I could tell, by the way your eyes fluttered and you moaned so softly that the airy sylphs stole the sweet sound away before I could catch all of it.

Sudden movement of your hands pulled me up, across your chest. And then...

Let the nightly faeries giggle and gossip.

Make the moon cover her blushing face.

I could drown out the starsong with my own.

Your window was open.
I hope nobody was watching.

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