Sometimes I write stupid OC shipping shit when I shower and then occasionally I write it down
The thing that struck him about her was her heat. Rochen had hot skin and tears that burned and a heart that could sear a brand if he touched her the right way. Even sitting next to her, her head resting against his shoulder, she was a furnace.
Baldur knew, logically, that it was biological. Seatrolls were cooler than land dwellers, and a girl raised in the desert was hottest of all, but…
But it seemed like that fire came from something deeper than her skin. Her breath against his skin was worse than any desert, her arms around his waist were certain to set him alight. Rochen’s kisses burned into his cheek, until he was sure that anyone who looked could see it there, glowing red hot. He could feel it even long after she left, an lingering mark of affection.
And it wasn’t enough.
Every time they parted, he wanted more. The heat she left him always faded, and he hated it. He wanted to kiss her until his breath was hot as hers, wanted to embrace her until his skin burned away. Rochen was hot, endlessly hot, and he wanted to accept it all.
Rochen’s love burned. And he wanted to be consumed.