Title: Drowning
Rating: PG-13/T
Pairing(s): Philip/Syrena
Summary: Syrena pulls him down for a kiss—something he clearly doesn't expect, but accepts gratefully—and he lets the feeling of her wet smooth lips against his bloody chapped ones.
"Just say it," she says gently in her beautiful soft and caring voice. His heart is tight in his chest, yet filled with warmth that spreads quickly to his entire body, a comfortable sensation that he'd love to sink in. The tip of her finger tips—slender and wet and cold against his sweaty feverish skin—brush past his cheek bones down to his lips, and he parts them willingly.
"Forgive me?" his reply is weak and barely audible, but she hears it. Her lips, red and wet and glint under the sun light that reminds him so much of cherries, quirk up elegantly into a small smile that makes his ramming against his chest painfully, much more painful than the wound on his stomach.
Philip is going to die soon, her voice rings in his head, and he almost laughs at how stupid it is to be scatterbrained at such urgent time. He lets it anyway; for her voice to ring in his head, more like a melody than a broken record, and it feels as if the ground is slipping away underneath his feet.
Syrena pulls him down for a kiss—something he clearly doesn't expect, but accepts gratefully—and he lets the feeling of her wet smooth lips against his bloody chapped ones. It feels nice, or should he say fantastic? Maybe more like undescribeable, because her lips are moving shyly along with his, but it still feels god-damned great.
When she pulls him down further into the water, Philip doesn't resist, because if this is her way of forgiving him for what he has done, then let it be. Their lips are still locked, the sweetness is still there, and for a second thought, he doesn't think he mind to be drowned in that sensation, as long as he's with her.