|This post contains adult themes.|
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So, without further ado, onto today's drabble...
WARNING: THE FOLLOWING WORK OF FICTION MAY CONTAIN ADULT THEMES AND LANGUAGE.
The word obelisk always speaks to me of ritual and ancient things, and that's what inspired this short.
Fenric walked round the obelisk, examining its four sides carefully before selecting one and placing his palm flat against the ancient designs there. Instantly, his knees went weak and he fell forward, his bare shoulder smashing into the stone. A force swept past him, turning him still further, so that he ended up with his back where his palm had momentarily been.
Power swept through him. He groaned, his body waking to all-encompassing desire, and he grabbed compulsively at the monument's reliefs. Moments, or hours later, his body sang and, passion flowing triumphantly from glyph to man, he came.
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