Frey
The scent arrives before the heat; lush and wild, like crushed flowers beneath sun-warmed skin. Then comes the sound, not quite laughter but pleasure braided into breath, curling between the trees and catching in the damp air like rising steam. Frey appears as they always do: naked, perfect, exquisitely alive. Whatever shape Colt might desire most, whatever form calls to her body’s secrets and her mind’s edge, that is how they take shape. Their skin gleams like heat lightning on river-stone, limbs fluid with temptation. Arousal follows in their wake like a tide pulled taut by moonsong.
With a low, indulgent chuckle, Frey lets their fingers drift across the muscles of Colt's back—a featherlight brush that leaves a wake of tingling sensation behind—before circling around her like a cat themselves, their hips swaying, grin wicked. Over her shoulder they flash Sunjata a grin, all teeth and mirth and innuendo. "Luckily for you," they purr, "Sunjata and I have a long history of using blindfolds. Don't we gray eyes?" By the time the sentence finishes, they’ve slipped behind him. Their hands lift, palms splayed wide to gently cover his eyes. Where their skin touches his, warmth surges like liquid gold, the divine tease of arousal rippling through every inch of his blood and bone. When Frey lifts their hand away, a blindfold remains, silky and near-weightless, clinging with barely-there sensation; not an obstruction, but a gift.
They press a slow and decadent kiss against his cheek before turning to Colt, eyes aglow. "Don’t worry," they assure her. "He’ll see exactly what he wants to see." Men could be such visual creatures, after all.
And just like that, they’re gone, vanished in a puff of honeysuckle and honey-warm wind, laughter still curling around the room like smoke, and leaving them both with a familiar, maddening ache.
Until he takes it off, Sunjata will be able to 'see' whatever he wants through the blindfold!
With a low, indulgent chuckle, Frey lets their fingers drift across the muscles of Colt's back—a featherlight brush that leaves a wake of tingling sensation behind—before circling around her like a cat themselves, their hips swaying, grin wicked. Over her shoulder they flash Sunjata a grin, all teeth and mirth and innuendo. "Luckily for you," they purr, "Sunjata and I have a long history of using blindfolds. Don't we gray eyes?" By the time the sentence finishes, they’ve slipped behind him. Their hands lift, palms splayed wide to gently cover his eyes. Where their skin touches his, warmth surges like liquid gold, the divine tease of arousal rippling through every inch of his blood and bone. When Frey lifts their hand away, a blindfold remains, silky and near-weightless, clinging with barely-there sensation; not an obstruction, but a gift.
They press a slow and decadent kiss against his cheek before turning to Colt, eyes aglow. "Don’t worry," they assure her. "He’ll see exactly what he wants to see." Men could be such visual creatures, after all.
And just like that, they’re gone, vanished in a puff of honeysuckle and honey-warm wind, laughter still curling around the room like smoke, and leaving them both with a familiar, maddening ache.
Until he takes it off, Sunjata will be able to 'see' whatever he wants through the blindfold!
