you wouldn't even recognize me anymore
not that you knew me back then
Gorgeous.
Not a word the hard-lined woman hears often. It makes her pause for just a moment, knowing full well that the girl is flirting with her, but slightly unsure as to whether she wants to reciprocate anymore. The words are too smooth, too honeyed and cloying to be true. People do not say that kind of thing to Wessex, because she isn’t gorgeous. She never was.
Edy did - or didn’t - she can’t remember any more.
The lines of her taut, smooth skin - yes, the fire in her belly - yes, the way she squirmed and mewled and moved underneath her hands - yes. The Launceleyn woman fucked like a wildcat, but Wessex can’t for the life of her remember if Edy ever called her gorgeous.
It shouldn’t matter, not with the way the light infuses this girl’s skin with a pale luminescence that rivals the moon. The Queen makes a sound in the back of her throat as she finishes with her breeches - of pleasure or consideration, it might be hard to tell (she doesn’t even know, herself) - and rises to find herself face-to-face with a sweater-less chestneckface and a lone soldier of a nightgown strap. If Hotaru’s eagerness was ever in question (it wasn’t), it could not be now. Wessex cannot help but chuckle.
She lets Hotaru make her advance, her own hands rising to the edges of her sweater. “I’m assuming demi-god Queens qualify as promising,” she murmurs, fingering the soft material, purposefully staying away from bare skin. “I can’t keep you warm if you get too cold,” she says in warning. “If I take too much… ” trails off and well, she won’t let Hotaru die. She would never. But the girl had asked about danger and in lieu of showing off her metal accessories or hitting her with a biopulse, this is the next best thing. “... sometimes the pleasure...” finally comes out with a half-shrug as if to say, what's a woman to do? other than get lost in it.
If the girl is still all in, Wessex trail one of her hands from the top of the cardigan to her shoulder, along its crest and then up the nape of her neck to rest her thumb lightly for a moment on the pulse of the beautifully vibrating carotid artery.
Not a word the hard-lined woman hears often. It makes her pause for just a moment, knowing full well that the girl is flirting with her, but slightly unsure as to whether she wants to reciprocate anymore. The words are too smooth, too honeyed and cloying to be true. People do not say that kind of thing to Wessex, because she isn’t gorgeous. She never was.
Edy did - or didn’t - she can’t remember any more.
The lines of her taut, smooth skin - yes, the fire in her belly - yes, the way she squirmed and mewled and moved underneath her hands - yes. The Launceleyn woman fucked like a wildcat, but Wessex can’t for the life of her remember if Edy ever called her gorgeous.
It shouldn’t matter, not with the way the light infuses this girl’s skin with a pale luminescence that rivals the moon. The Queen makes a sound in the back of her throat as she finishes with her breeches - of pleasure or consideration, it might be hard to tell (she doesn’t even know, herself) - and rises to find herself face-to-face with a sweater-less chestneckface and a lone soldier of a nightgown strap. If Hotaru’s eagerness was ever in question (it wasn’t), it could not be now. Wessex cannot help but chuckle.
She lets Hotaru make her advance, her own hands rising to the edges of her sweater. “I’m assuming demi-god Queens qualify as promising,” she murmurs, fingering the soft material, purposefully staying away from bare skin. “I can’t keep you warm if you get too cold,” she says in warning. “If I take too much… ” trails off and well, she won’t let Hotaru die. She would never. But the girl had asked about danger and in lieu of showing off her metal accessories or hitting her with a biopulse, this is the next best thing. “... sometimes the pleasure...” finally comes out with a half-shrug as if to say, what's a woman to do? other than get lost in it.
If the girl is still all in, Wessex trail one of her hands from the top of the cardigan to her shoulder, along its crest and then up the nape of her neck to rest her thumb lightly for a moment on the pulse of the beautifully vibrating carotid artery.
but it all comes back to me in the end
WESSEX
