saiden
The scar didn't faze Saiden in the slightest. Indeed, his own hands and body was scarred and marked from a lifetime at sea: tanned from the sun, weathered from nets, rough from the hard work of sailing. It was just a sign that Weaver had survived. He kissed around it, even as the hand under her shirt slid up to a breast, brushing against a still clothed nipple.
As her own hands moved over his hair, his ear, his neck, he hummed encouragingly. As he did, his head moved to the other shoulder, pulling back the shirt there to expose the skin. When he noticed the ink, and he lifted his eyes to examine the tattoo. Finger traced the outline of the bird, he smiled and met her eyes. "This is nice." There was a slightly questioning tone to his voice, but mostly he just sounded satisfied.
As her own hands moved over his hair, his ear, his neck, he hummed encouragingly. As he did, his head moved to the other shoulder, pulling back the shirt there to expose the skin. When he noticed the ink, and he lifted his eyes to examine the tattoo. Finger traced the outline of the bird, he smiled and met her eyes. "This is nice." There was a slightly questioning tone to his voice, but mostly he just sounded satisfied.
