Frey
The air thickens before Frey even appears, growing warm and sweet, heavy with the scent of honey and something darker—something primal. The shrine hums beneath Hotaru’s fingertips, a shiver of anticipation rippling through the water, over the smooth stones beneath her. Then, without so much as a whisper of warning, a body presses against hers from behind, heat licking up her spine, a mouth at her ear—smiling.
"Lust, hmm?" Frey’s voice is a decadent thing, low and knowing, a breath against her throat as hands—clever, insatiable, weightless and all-consuming—trail over her bare shoulders. "Now that is a word I can work with, my little storm."
They stretch, lounging around her like a second skin, golden limbs and molten curves, every inch of them shifting, undulating, teasing. Their skin is silk, their presence a weight she feels in her bones, pressing against her in ways both familiar and new. They are temptation, indulgence, a heat curling between her thighs and settling deep in her belly as they trace lazy fingers down her arms.
Then their gaze drops to the silk gown she’s brought, and the knowing little smirk they give her is enough to set the air ablaze. "Darling, you should have kept this. It would look far better slipping off of you." They lift it between elegant fingers, testing the fabric before—just to prove a point—it vanishes from their grasp, appearing draped over their own shoulders, tied just loose enough to let it gape at the chest.
"But," they continue, trailing a finger down the line of Hotaru’s sternum, just above the curve of her bikini. "You didn’t come here for me to strip you bare—" though their touch suggests they might. A slow, knowing grin spreads over their lips as they lean in, pressing close, a decadent contrast of heat and softness against her body before reaching down to wave a hand over the balls of ice at Hotaru's side.
Hotaru's projectiles have been upgraded!
"Lust, hmm?" Frey’s voice is a decadent thing, low and knowing, a breath against her throat as hands—clever, insatiable, weightless and all-consuming—trail over her bare shoulders. "Now that is a word I can work with, my little storm."
They stretch, lounging around her like a second skin, golden limbs and molten curves, every inch of them shifting, undulating, teasing. Their skin is silk, their presence a weight she feels in her bones, pressing against her in ways both familiar and new. They are temptation, indulgence, a heat curling between her thighs and settling deep in her belly as they trace lazy fingers down her arms.
Then their gaze drops to the silk gown she’s brought, and the knowing little smirk they give her is enough to set the air ablaze. "Darling, you should have kept this. It would look far better slipping off of you." They lift it between elegant fingers, testing the fabric before—just to prove a point—it vanishes from their grasp, appearing draped over their own shoulders, tied just loose enough to let it gape at the chest.
"But," they continue, trailing a finger down the line of Hotaru’s sternum, just above the curve of her bikini. "You didn’t come here for me to strip you bare—" though their touch suggests they might. A slow, knowing grin spreads over their lips as they lean in, pressing close, a decadent contrast of heat and softness against her body before reaching down to wave a hand over the balls of ice at Hotaru's side.
Hotaru's projectiles have been upgraded!
