oh my goddess

It's permission that Isla doesn't know she needs, and only as Sunjata gives it does she realise how close she's been to just taking. The fledgling Ancient hums a note of agreement in response to his remark, her head tipping back at the flare of pleasure and pain that comes from his fingers tugging at her fair hair. She doesn't need encouragement as he shifts against the rocky ledge, Isla half rising out of the water to straddle his lap. "More," she urges, and though the glitter in her pebble blues is playful, she makes it sound like life or death. And gods, it may as well be - through war and grief and endless seasons of nothing save the briefest flares of pleasure in very recent times, to say that she's overwhelmed is an understatement. Between the heat, the touch of his hands and the press of his body against her own, Isla is a slave to herself. Melting against his chest and letting an arm slip around his neck and shoulders, the Ancient finds herself entranced by the flush of heat in Sunjata's cheeks, letting her thumb graze across his cheekbone and towards the curve of his jaw as if to tilt his head up to get a better look. "Have you always been so warm?" ISLA when it's just the two of us, only the two of us, I could die