Adamion gazes down at Fern, his aspect a smooth oval of porcelain in the tattered silk frame of his dark hair.  His countenance katana sharp and Kabuki wan.  There would almost be a beatific peace to his features, if the rouge of arousal didn't mark its keen lines, and a regal arrogance harden them.  His loveliness is the hateful, glorious loveliness of a distant star looking down into eyes full of dying dreams.<br/><br/>He brushes her; lean trills of his fingers, as one would brush music from a harp.  The music of Fern's suckling and whimpering inspires him to slide his penis in and out of the cushion of her mouth, smooth as fiddle string and thick as a steak.<br/><br/>He begins to pump and pump, his balls swinging on Miaren's tongue, as he brings himself near a boil.