The ancient door shivers as my lover thrusts me against the threshold, her eyes alight, fingers woven into my hair. Runes and filigree carve arcane patterns across my back as she presses in, kisses my breasts, my neck, my lips, the arcane thrum of this place setting my nerves aflame.

She pulls away, eyes ablaze, her smile like old magic and the places deep beneath the world, longing to be unearthed.

And all I want is to plunge into those depths.

We’re not the first to come this way, nor the last to press our flesh to those graven curves and wonder what lies below. But unlike them, we’re not here in search of power; we don’t thirst for a satchel of trinkets or an infusion of divine might.

We’re here to reclaim these once-sacred spaces lain fallow, to feel them in our bones and offer our own frantic, desperate sacrament.

We’re here because it’s hot to fuck against the forbidden door.

My heartbeat thuds against cold stone as she kneels, soft lips exploring my thighs, pinpricks of warmth in this old, dead ruin.

The door shudders as my back arches, as I gasp, enraptured. It thuds in my veins, and I imagine that tall, seamless pane parting beneath our fervour, swinging open as she thrusts into me and I clutch at her and cry out in need and lust and love.

And we topple, together; fall, forever, into that infinite darkness.