AmaLIa
shield of safrin
He doesn't chase her, doesn't catch her, and for a moment Amalia lets herself sulk, arms across her chest. "Maybe I should just leave you to it," she huffs, nose turned up. But the indignation cannot last for long, especially in light of their recent struggles; too close to actual fears and faults, too close to the darkness that bites at her heels.
So she turns, arms dropping, chest and heart bare. He's a majestic sight in the iron tub, his body a work of art cut through with countless scars and losses. Taking him in silently for a second, she lets her hungry eyes trace every inch, sweeping across him posessively.
Then she steps forward and knees by the tub. Resting her arms on the lip of the bath, Amalia dips her fingers in the water, tracing lazy patterns above his submerged belly, never quite touching his skin. "What do you want, Deimos?" Her eyes search his; her voice is soft. To wash his back, to give him space, to show him how much she wants her still- Amalia needs to know.
So she turns, arms dropping, chest and heart bare. He's a majestic sight in the iron tub, his body a work of art cut through with countless scars and losses. Taking him in silently for a second, she lets her hungry eyes trace every inch, sweeping across him posessively.
Then she steps forward and knees by the tub. Resting her arms on the lip of the bath, Amalia dips her fingers in the water, tracing lazy patterns above his submerged belly, never quite touching his skin. "What do you want, Deimos?" Her eyes search his; her voice is soft. To wash his back, to give him space, to show him how much she wants her still- Amalia needs to know.
you can't choose what stays
and what fades away
and what fades away
