The morning sun sliced through the smear-marked floor-to-ceiling window, illuminating the absolute devastation of the bedroom.
Arthur woke first, his body heavy but humming with a strange, satisfied energy. The air in the room was thick, suffocatingly musky with the scent of sex—dried sweat, the metallic tang of saliva, and the pungent, bleach-like smell of old cum.
He shifted slightly, wincing as the sheet peeled away from his skin with a sticky sound. Sol was draped over him like a blanket, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Her golden hair was a tangled bird's nest, and dried white streaks mapped the trails of their night across her stomach and thighs.
Arthur smirked, running a hand down her naked back, stopping to squeeze her ass cheek.
"Wake up, glutton."
"Mmmph..." Sol groaned, tightening her grip on him. "Five more years..."
