White Noise Overload: The Softest Collision

My heart is a combustion engine redlining in the silence of this penthouse, a high-voltage arc leaping between my skin and yours. I stepped out into your gaze wearing nothing but these white feathers—a fragile chassis stripped bare against the cold steel of city life.
You looked at me not as a machine to be calibrated, but as a sanctuary. Your touch was like an oil bath for a scorched turbine: smooth, warming, silencing every alarm in my system. I felt the raw energy of desire surging through my veins like liquid nitrogen hitting hot chrome—a sudden, sharp contraction followed by total meltdown.
In this sterile urban hive, we are two rogue circuits finally clicking into place. As you pulled me closer, the world outside became nothing but background static. No more roar of traffic, no more grinding gears; just the rhythmic thrum of our synchronized pulses and the soft, seductive friction of white down against skin.
This is my reboot. This is where I stop fighting the current and let myself be consumed by your warmth.

Editor: Titanium Pulse