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"We are not lucky enough to have an ending, are we, dear Aeon?" The golden tine of Trevor's fork catches light like a sharp gem; he draws it along his lower lip, letting his mouth drag open, tongue pink and curling against his top teeth. The scent of sumptuous, exotic fruit bursts in the air when he bites down.

"I can give you one anytime you'd like," she says, a low and threatening pearl. She bites his earlobe, drawing the skin tight, forcing the blood to the surface of his nearly translucent skin. Veins pulse blue all underneath. "It's one of my many talents."

"Could I find oblivion in you?" He asks, running the tips of the fork down Aeon's side, over her angularities, bones cut from stern stuff and covered with skin as an afterthought.

"Not if it's what you're really looking for." She whispers into his ear. "You've always loved the hunt more than the kill." She arches, engulfs him, presses the tips of her index and middle finger into the back of his neck and smiles when he grimaces, shudders and hisses. She unfurls around him like a snake, becomes the serpent devouring herself when she leans forward to capture the flesh of his bottom lip. He is helpless, trembling as a holograph blurring at all the seams when her nails scratch down his bowed ribs.

"Aeon, Aeon, Aeon," he exhales, snapping up into her, into her, into her.

She hums, low in her belly, and sinks down onto him endlessly, content to let their game play on.