the pause between breathing

It's infuriating, the way he keeps her on edge, the silver in her cheeks intensifying as she tries not to press too much into his touch lest she rush things along. And this is absolutely something worth savouring, especially at the admission that he's feeling better. It's with a breathless huff of victory that she releases the last buckle and bares his chest and torso, and as Varus withdraws a bit Isla is sitting herself up, her legs still draped lazily about him. The rest of the getup can come later (heh, innuendo) - for now she's fully invested in finally feeling him against her without any barriers of leather or fabric. Her arms slip around him to draw him close, fingers mapping the musculature of his shoulder blades and his back while her lips seek out his own in a kiss that's surprising in its softness. "This is what I wish I could do, when you're not feeling yourself," she murmurs against his lips. Not the sex, necessarily, but the touch, the contact, the intimacy. Isla the flesh is weak