CHULANE
A smirk, devilish and devious, tilted his lips as she spoke of needing new clothes, and cleaning up. That she wasn’t hurt was indeed a relief, but that she was concerned over her appearance and cleanliness was just such a normal thing to be concerned about – the simple mundaneness of it almost brought him more relief than the knowledge that she was safe. But alongside all of that, he also happily let his mind picture her in the act of changing out of her tattered coverings, of showering – of joining her in the shower.
He really was becoming more of a scoundrel every moment he spent with her.
Returning her embrace with much enthusiasm (hips leaned forward as he supported her against the wall, arms looped down and around her waist in a protective, almost possessive manner), he welcomed the kiss again, murmuring something about looking forward to hear it before letting the bliss of the moment simply consume him. It was a gentler kiss this time, soft and delicate, but he enthusiastically participated nonetheless.
“Let’s get you inside,” he murmured against her neck the next time they broke apart, as he leaned against her, hands roaming over the curves of her waist with a hint of the pressure he knew he needed to apply for her to actually feel it. Though he spoke of moving, of going somewhere else, he still made no real motion of actually doing that. “Do you want to shift?” the smirk returned, the farmer fully aware of the implications of such a question, and ready to accept them should she wish to travel to their cabin cloaked in fur or feathers rather than porcelain skin and tattered clothing.
He really was becoming more of a scoundrel every moment he spent with her.
Returning her embrace with much enthusiasm (hips leaned forward as he supported her against the wall, arms looped down and around her waist in a protective, almost possessive manner), he welcomed the kiss again, murmuring something about looking forward to hear it before letting the bliss of the moment simply consume him. It was a gentler kiss this time, soft and delicate, but he enthusiastically participated nonetheless.
“Let’s get you inside,” he murmured against her neck the next time they broke apart, as he leaned against her, hands roaming over the curves of her waist with a hint of the pressure he knew he needed to apply for her to actually feel it. Though he spoke of moving, of going somewhere else, he still made no real motion of actually doing that. “Do you want to shift?” the smirk returned, the farmer fully aware of the implications of such a question, and ready to accept them should she wish to travel to their cabin cloaked in fur or feathers rather than porcelain skin and tattered clothing.
it is better to know some of the questions
than all of the answers
than all of the answers
