“How…” Omraziel’s silvered voice hesitated, unaccustomed to vocalized inquiry, low yet resonant, the barest whisper of wind against a sterling gong. “Tell me how you feel.”
“Like 'm flying…falling,” Eliah stuttered a laugh. “This close to you… my wings are melting…” He rubbed his wet cheeks against Omraziel’s, hands tightening on the silksmoke skin, senses full of black and silver. He was panting, incoherent.
Omraziel considered this with a barely audible hmmm, absorbed the urgency of Eliah’s responsive whimpers. “Fall,” he said at last. “I have you.” Omraziel surged forward and upward with the inexorability of seeds and tides and captured Eliah’s moan in his own mouth. They both fell, spinning, blazing and full of light.
