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Flowers

Summary:

Rohan and his thoughts on flowers.

Notes:

adaptation of a thing i wrote a few days ago, just because i like flowers.

Work Text:

I think of flowers when we make love.

 

I think of red and pink hibiscus, with their reddish style and yellow stigma growing from the centre, when I finally see your naked body, getting closer to mine.

Small white daisies when your wet lips merge with mine, gently moving in harmony with my own, leaving me breathless, mostly when your tongue meets mine in a lascivious waltz.

Red roses of every size when my neck receives your lips, and your teeth bite softly on my skin, which makes me moan under my breath and my cheeks turn red.

 

I think of white jasmines when your hands caress and massage every part of my body, and I rub my body against yours, feeling and sharing the wetness in between my legs and yours.

Wild bushes of magenta lilacs when you sunk into me, filling my body completely with your phallus, while my nails leave red markings on your back.

Fields of lavender when our bodies are covered in sweat, as well as the ends of the strands your long dark hair tickle my face.

Red tulips when your subtle sighs and gasps harmonize with mine as I feel yours against my ear, meanwhile your hips move sensually in circular motion and my legs are wrapped around your waist.

 

I think of an explosion of blooming sweet peas and heliotropes when you fill my insides with your seed, while mine is set free over my abdomen or maybe staining the white bed sheets.

 

I think of white and red chrysanthemums when you lay next to me and softly murmur “Rohan, I love you” as you close your eyes and give me a drowsy smile.

Numerous strands of red salvias when, still out of breath, I reply with “I love you too” while caressing the centre of your chest, in the groove between your pectorals.

White carnations when I watch you, quietly, in your sleep.

Morning glories with their round petals when I fall asleep cuddling you, getting lost in my dreams and the fragrance of your body.

 

I think of tiny anemones the next day, when you get dressed because you have to leave.

Fine-drawn rosemaries when I miss you, gloomy and melancholic.

Delicate yet graceful felicias when you finally come back to me.