Orton gasped in a tiny breath, held it. Then he gave in, completely and irreversibly.

His hands slid up her back, suddenly impossibly dexterous; the clasp of her bra parted with silky smoothness and fell away as his other palm caressed downwards, sending shivering fire up her spine while also causing her jeans to slip effortlessly off her hips and down to the floor. She gasped and shuddered; one hand clutched at his hair while the other began to slide down his chest towards his belt. His palm touched her heart, lightly, then slid up to caress her cheek, drawing her mouth to his; and then he kissed her, and the force of it was like nothing she had ever experienced.

It took her breath away; every movement, every motion, matched her desire exactly as Orton's sight beyond sight guided his passion exactly in step with her own. She clawed at his shoulder, hard, and kissed him back; he ran his hands across her body, touching her precisely where she wanted at each moment she wanted it, and she exulted in the sensation with an unrestrained abandon that fed a deep, starving need within him in a way nothing else could. With every second, their energy and urgency mounted; she struggled free of the last of her clothes and tore his shirt away, pressing her whole body against him as her skin burned with a need she couldn't even articulate beyond wordless growls. They rolled back and forth across the bed, groping for each other with a ferocity that surprised them both as they kissed and bit and panted each others' names. Blood pounded in their ears, the sweet sanguine symphony of sex that drowned out all other sounds.

Orton felt like he was about to pass out; his body seemed to be impossibly charged, on the verge of transforming into lightning. He plunged both his hands into her hair as she threw her head back, groaning, and kissed her neck so powerfully that she gasped; she wrapped her legs around him, then hooked her heel over the waistband of his pants and shoved them down and away. He slid his hands down to her shoulders, kissing her mouth again; she pulled him sideways on top of her, and then they fell off the bed and onto the floor with a crash. Neither of them noticed. In a tangle of blankets at the foot of the bed, their passionate embrace finally became an entwinement, and both of them lost all control within moments.

They made love for hours, in as many different ways and forms as possible; sometimes they caressed each other tenderly, speaking soft endearments, and other times they simply fucked, furiously crashing together until they reached a shared climax which left them both gasping and aching. Orton, armed with a vast array of tantric techniques, brought Enna to screaming paroxysms of pleasure again and again; Enna clung to him and gasped in his ear, panting hedonic hypocorisms that spurred him on to ever greater and more passionate acts. When fatigue threatened, they murmured charms of revitalization and invigoration; the hours of the night grew long as the dawn stubbornly refused to arrive, as though the stars wished to bear continuous witness to their long-delayed union.

Finally, uncountable aeons later, they collapsed into a chair together; most of the rest of the room's furniture was in such dishabille that it could no longer be trusted to bear their combined weight without dedicated preparation. Enna, nearly insensate with afterglow, nuzzled against Orton's chest and murmured something; Orton stirred, almost asleep himself. "Hm? Whazza?"