when it's just the two of us, only the two of us
Isla might not feel it, not in a physical sense, but the high she's riding wants absolutely everything to do with Remi in this moment. There are questions, of course there are - I thought I wasn't your type? What's wrong? What about Ronin? Where's Mateo? - and they're all very logical things and very important to ask. And yet, Isla doesn't. Not just because it feels good, after so long fraught with horror and tension and darkness and death, but because as their lips part and she gazes up at the Lullaby, there's a haunting sense of something very, very wrong.
"Remi..." Her hands smooth over his cheeks, slipping into his messy curls, as if to try and coax some of the expressions she's more used to seeing from him. Still arched against him, their bodies pressing in all the right places (and that, too, is a pleasure that's entirely psychological, but powerful nonetheless), Isla's fingers brush carefully across his lips. "I could..." she whispers suddenly.
"There's a place in the Grounds, where Ascended can feel again. A room blessed by Frey. But we should... this is..." Sudden. Ridiculous. Absolutely not like them at all.
"Remi..." Her hands smooth over his cheeks, slipping into his messy curls, as if to try and coax some of the expressions she's more used to seeing from him. Still arched against him, their bodies pressing in all the right places (and that, too, is a pleasure that's entirely psychological, but powerful nonetheless), Isla's fingers brush carefully across his lips. "I could..." she whispers suddenly.
"There's a place in the Grounds, where Ascended can feel again. A room blessed by Frey. But we should... this is..." Sudden. Ridiculous. Absolutely not like them at all.
i could die
Isla
