MAEA
Hers was a flavor of honey and lavender, of icy clear waters and crisp apples not quite ripe. A scent of parchment and ink, of clean clothes and the last sliver of fragrant soap cut by hands now gone forever. She inhaled him and offered herself in return, what little there was to take.
Then he broke away and she hummed a little complaint, grateful for the chance to breathe though she was. Her lips felt empty without his against them, quite keen to continue where they left off. She didn't know how he was able to stand, to lift her up while she was still attached around his neck, his waist, clinging to him so as not to fall down - not quite like a child, but close at least in size and lightness - even as he stood and headed for the water. Maea's clothes had barely begun to dry, and still damp they chilled her so much that the waters felt cold, rather than cool. With his face buried against her neck she felt no desire at all to let go, to put herself at the mercy of the currents.
Holding on to Sunjata, she breathed in a shuddering gasp as the cold crept up her legs, over the hips, higher and higher as he brought them deeper. "It's cold," she shuddered, surprised that her voice was so hoarse, that she could still speak at all. Nuzzling her head down to his neck, Maea let her lips stroke over the skin, feeling the pulse of his jugular against her mouth; it beat hard, quick as her own and she lapped at it with her tongue, tasting salt and sweat and a little more of that smokey liquour hint... and beneath it, the one that was simply him.
She could grow used to this.
Then he broke away and she hummed a little complaint, grateful for the chance to breathe though she was. Her lips felt empty without his against them, quite keen to continue where they left off. She didn't know how he was able to stand, to lift her up while she was still attached around his neck, his waist, clinging to him so as not to fall down - not quite like a child, but close at least in size and lightness - even as he stood and headed for the water. Maea's clothes had barely begun to dry, and still damp they chilled her so much that the waters felt cold, rather than cool. With his face buried against her neck she felt no desire at all to let go, to put herself at the mercy of the currents.
Holding on to Sunjata, she breathed in a shuddering gasp as the cold crept up her legs, over the hips, higher and higher as he brought them deeper. "It's cold," she shuddered, surprised that her voice was so hoarse, that she could still speak at all. Nuzzling her head down to his neck, Maea let her lips stroke over the skin, feeling the pulse of his jugular against her mouth; it beat hard, quick as her own and she lapped at it with her tongue, tasting salt and sweat and a little more of that smokey liquour hint... and beneath it, the one that was simply him.
She could grow used to this.
