Isla
"Map making," Isla repeats, breathless despite not needing to breathe, her laughter little more than a fluttery huff against the side of his neck. She arches against the trail of his fingers against her skin, the teeth that drag along her collarbones, and quite without her permission, her fingers are starting to unbutton his shirt. "I think it was star-mapping, actually," she mumbles, not that she cares - she was not talking about that, and they both know it.
She draws back enough to look him in the eyes, blue on green, at his suggestion, Isla raising her eyebrows to him. "I still don't have a key to that room, so you'll have to break the door again," she mumbles. "And I thought we were going to Torchline right after?" It's not a no, but neither is it an absolutely yes.
She draws back enough to look him in the eyes, blue on green, at his suggestion, Isla raising her eyebrows to him. "I still don't have a key to that room, so you'll have to break the door again," she mumbles. "And I thought we were going to Torchline right after?" It's not a no, but neither is it an absolutely yes.
sooner or later, we all have to wake
and try forgetting everything
and try forgetting everything
