Weaver
So precious is this life, this gift,
this temporary blindness.
this temporary blindness.
His voice drops low, a heated whisper, and her smile turns a bit mischievous, a bit devilish, at the sound. ”Mmm,” she hums in agreement, something suggestive about the sound. ”I would hope it is, or else your standards are very low and perhaps I should be offended.” There’s a tease in there, but she’s clearly flattered, clearly pleased. A preening cat beneath the compliment.
The topic of Korbin drifts away, because she doesn’t particularly want to think of her brother right now. That would be weird, to say the least. She would deal with the problem of Korbin later. She would have to tell him about this, because it wasn’t just a one night thing. Or at least, it certainly had the potential to be more, unless things went terribly south very quickly.
Instead her mind drifts to him, to the warmth of his body, to the feeling of those hidden muscles beneath his skin, to the hum of approval in his throat. He bites down on the edge of the tattoo, and she lets out a slight gasp, her breath hitching, though the sound is clearly not displeased. He goes to remove his shirt, bracing on one elbow and successfully getting stuck. She laughs, unable to help herself, her hands skimming up his back to the shirt to help him untangle it, an amused smile curving her lips.
When his shirt is gone, she sits herself up slightly, reaching down to pull the top layer over her own head with more success than he had. Thankfully she needs very few layers with the Academy’s magic, and neither of them have to remove five different layers of clothing (ah, the perpetual Halo mood-killer). There’s still her bra, but she’d let that tease him for a moment.
The topic of Korbin drifts away, because she doesn’t particularly want to think of her brother right now. That would be weird, to say the least. She would deal with the problem of Korbin later. She would have to tell him about this, because it wasn’t just a one night thing. Or at least, it certainly had the potential to be more, unless things went terribly south very quickly.
Instead her mind drifts to him, to the warmth of his body, to the feeling of those hidden muscles beneath his skin, to the hum of approval in his throat. He bites down on the edge of the tattoo, and she lets out a slight gasp, her breath hitching, though the sound is clearly not displeased. He goes to remove his shirt, bracing on one elbow and successfully getting stuck. She laughs, unable to help herself, her hands skimming up his back to the shirt to help him untangle it, an amused smile curving her lips.
When his shirt is gone, she sits herself up slightly, reaching down to pull the top layer over her own head with more success than he had. Thankfully she needs very few layers with the Academy’s magic, and neither of them have to remove five different layers of clothing (ah, the perpetual Halo mood-killer). There’s still her bra, but she’d let that tease him for a moment.
Burn and drown and embrace the false dark,
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
then grasp the unthinkable height of resulting joy.
