Phoenix

And here she thought nothing could surprise him anymore.

Ho-oh is staring down at her, eyes wide in disbelief. It’s a pretty funny look, on a giant bird. Delia can’t help but let out a quiet giggle at that face, fingers still tangled in the feathers of his neck.

Her hands creep up to the bird’s face, palms gently grabbing his giant head. Slowly, Delia lower his head to her own face, thumbs rubbing circles on his cheeks.

“I said I want you.” she whispers, “I love you. I want you. Please.”

Please.

Ho-oh obliges.

He’s warm, warm, warm against her- it’s as if his feathers held the Sun. She drops more and more layers of clothes as time pass, but the cold stays foreign to her. Delia’s lover wraps her thin body in his large wings, and it’s better than the fanciest blanket she could ever find.

He’s hesitant, in his touches. Scared to scare her, scared to hurt her. He gently rubs his beck against her neck, barely grazes her with his soft feathers.

She’s not.

Her hands are everywhere- on his belly, on his neck, on his face, on his thighs. She’s soft, as is her soul; but she’s firm, and insistent. She’s all rubbing palms and gentle kisses, and when she eventually presses her whole body against him, he lets out a shaky breath.

She’s so small, so frail, compared to him. But Delia goes on, slow and steady, takes his whole length like a thirsty man drinks an entire bottle of water.

(The lube helped, she’ll joke later.)

This is how she comes; riding a giant god, panting on his chest, her clenched fists tearing some feathers off him. His body against her mouth muffle her moans, but his own cries of pleasures are in no way hidden.

This is how she falls asleep: surrounded by warmth and softness and love, mind nothing but a mist of bliss.

He holds her in his wings until she wakes up. 

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