[ Despite her laissez-faire approach to skimming passing memories, it isn't as if she stays "tuned in" every waking moment, to every waking thought. But it isn't as if she would have to Read to catch his interest either. Richie is a flirt with anything that gives him the time of day, blurting pet names and telegraphing winks simply a part of his being, his culture. Glancing off easy, like water off a Wyrm's back. ]
[ Even now, there is still something slippery about the thought, something that refuses so adamantly to stick. This world was so different from the one she left behind, full of so many of those that would seek to treat her as a person rather than the object that she had become, knowing well how little she had to offer in return, and he was no small exception. Still, after centuries of being used and discarded, it was simply simpler to expect as much as she could put in. Better to have loved and lost, some might say, but when one has lost and lost and lost... ]
[ He's been persistent, though. Bittersweetly so, with his friendship as much as his affections. And if she had to be honest, there were far, far easier, more comfortable, less roundabout ways to seek out a bedfellow here, than to repeatedly subject oneself to a barren and unknowable plane that had nearly snapped his sanity in his first visit. It's a fleeting notion that roughens her gloves for clinging to that thought, and along with that buzz warm in her veins, it allows her at last to sink thoughtlessly in to the pleasure of another's lips. ]
[ There they are again, and her hips shift over his as she leans up and into the deepening kiss. Wouldn't you know it, his tongue is good for more than just running his mouth at full speed after all. Fingers play across his chest, tracing the dips of his collarbones, the tendons up the side of his throat. In return, there are hands in her hair, mussing the stately topknot in which it was always tied. As he pulls away to speak, she reaches to loosen it the rest of the way, spilling her mossy dark waves well over a shoulder, nestling into the cowl neck of her raiments as she lets out a snicker. Low and weary. ]
Tell me, how long do you suppose it has been since I last had anyone? How little you would think it would take to please me, and yet you would still strive to avoid it. [ It's a terribly trick statement. Her standards have always lain somewhere around miserably impossible to meet, and yet really, it all comes down to beggars can't be choosers. ] Must we gag you? Is that the worst we can come to?
no subject
[ Despite her laissez-faire approach to skimming passing memories, it isn't as if she stays "tuned in" every waking moment, to every waking thought. But it isn't as if she would have to Read to catch his interest either. Richie is a flirt with anything that gives him the time of day, blurting pet names and telegraphing winks simply a part of his being, his culture. Glancing off easy, like water off a Wyrm's back. ]
[ Even now, there is still something slippery about the thought, something that refuses so adamantly to stick. This world was so different from the one she left behind, full of so many of those that would seek to treat her as a person rather than the object that she had become, knowing well how little she had to offer in return, and he was no small exception. Still, after centuries of being used and discarded, it was simply simpler to expect as much as she could put in. Better to have loved and lost, some might say, but when one has lost and lost and lost... ]
[ He's been persistent, though. Bittersweetly so, with his friendship as much as his affections. And if she had to be honest, there were far, far easier, more comfortable, less roundabout ways to seek out a bedfellow here, than to repeatedly subject oneself to a barren and unknowable plane that had nearly snapped his sanity in his first visit. It's a fleeting notion that roughens her gloves for clinging to that thought, and along with that buzz warm in her veins, it allows her at last to sink thoughtlessly in to the pleasure of another's lips. ]
[ There they are again, and her hips shift over his as she leans up and into the deepening kiss. Wouldn't you know it, his tongue is good for more than just running his mouth at full speed after all. Fingers play across his chest, tracing the dips of his collarbones, the tendons up the side of his throat. In return, there are hands in her hair, mussing the stately topknot in which it was always tied. As he pulls away to speak, she reaches to loosen it the rest of the way, spilling her mossy dark waves well over a shoulder, nestling into the cowl neck of her raiments as she lets out a snicker. Low and weary. ]
Tell me, how long do you suppose it has been since I last had anyone? How little you would think it would take to please me, and yet you would still strive to avoid it. [ It's a terribly trick statement. Her standards have always lain somewhere around miserably impossible to meet, and yet really, it all comes down to beggars can't be choosers. ] Must we gag you? Is that the worst we can come to?