Hotaru
It’s a good thing they’re both so bad at keeping their eyes to themselves, otherwise it would be easily noticed by the other. It’s hard not to stare. Even without the bandages there is so much new to counter the familiar. The empty expanses of skin where tattoos once laid, scars she hasn’t had the chance to explore with hands and mouth as she has with every other inch of his body. It makes heat flush up her neck, dances a tremble along her fingers as she pulls away from the soft wrapping she barely registers touching. So different from the warm skin she otherwise would have felt if she had a little less restraint, a little more hope.
Looking up at him through golden lashes she gives a wry, humorless quirk of her lips to match his own. “Ronin?” she ventures. Safrin has a precious few chosen ones, and Deimos would have been crowing his joy from the mountaintops if he’d been the one tasked with putting The Flood in his place.
Her nickname on his tongue snags like a hook around her navel, tugging her forward a half step as his hand rises, almost as if they’d choreographed it. A shiver dances up her spine at the soft rumble of his voice as it dips lower, only growing more noticeable as his hand touches her skin at last. Eyelashes flutter against her will, breath hitching in her chest as her lips threaten to part. It’s heady. Intoxicating. Somehow more volatile and impactful than the last two times she’d seen him, when she thought she was already being tested.
Slowly forcing her eyes open she looks up at him, and a curling smile blossoms - something mischievous and enticing in her mismatched eyes. “That so?” she whispers, hands rising to settle at his waist, low enough to avoid his ribs. Stepping closer until their fronts are almost touching, Ru tilts into his touch, watching him from the corner of her eyes. “Wash it off for me?” The offer is almost flirtatious even without the context of what she’s doing, but all she needs is an opening.
Looking up at him through golden lashes she gives a wry, humorless quirk of her lips to match his own. “Ronin?” she ventures. Safrin has a precious few chosen ones, and Deimos would have been crowing his joy from the mountaintops if he’d been the one tasked with putting The Flood in his place.
Her nickname on his tongue snags like a hook around her navel, tugging her forward a half step as his hand rises, almost as if they’d choreographed it. A shiver dances up her spine at the soft rumble of his voice as it dips lower, only growing more noticeable as his hand touches her skin at last. Eyelashes flutter against her will, breath hitching in her chest as her lips threaten to part. It’s heady. Intoxicating. Somehow more volatile and impactful than the last two times she’d seen him, when she thought she was already being tested.
Slowly forcing her eyes open she looks up at him, and a curling smile blossoms - something mischievous and enticing in her mismatched eyes. “That so?” she whispers, hands rising to settle at his waist, low enough to avoid his ribs. Stepping closer until their fronts are almost touching, Ru tilts into his touch, watching him from the corner of her eyes. “Wash it off for me?” The offer is almost flirtatious even without the context of what she’s doing, but all she needs is an opening.
Now you can quit, you can cave in
but just know you're not beyond saving
but just know you're not beyond saving
