[Relaxing. Hayame almost says that such things are not relaxing at all... but the words trail off before she can finish them. Not just because she imagines that, for different people, for people like Akua maybe it was, but because... Not at first, no, she had been far too desperate with the potent mix of discord and heat when she had arrived at that house in Springstar almost genuinely convinced that she really was just going to ask for help purifying her shard... But later in the night (earlier in the morning), after Set had made use of borrowing the form of a jinba to sate the more pressing, instinctual needs of a mare in heat to be mounted and bred... in the absence of that more primitive, high-strung hunger... she had been able to lose herself slightly in the warmth and the hazy wind of pleasure. Before sneaking away before the dawn, as shame and confusion returned to her... She had thought it. How peaceful and languid the two of them had looked in the content rest of an evening spent... like that.
So maybe she cannot finish saying it. That it would not be relaxing. It wasn't just them anymore, either. Some nights, now, she... That person, they were... they always seemed at ease and so comfortable compared to her. If it would turn the pulsing need in her body that felt similar to heat into something else... Hayame finds that she is turning her face slightly into the passing stroke of the other woman's fingers, that even just that... feels electric. The stiff hair of her vestigial mane seems to stand up, along with the fine strands at the back of her neck beneath the heavy fall of her ponytail.
And when that sultry, confident voice bids her to look up, to accept her aid... Hayame wants to. Even knowing what might happen if she did, knowing that she should have more control of herself than this, that she should be thinking of the Oracle more than this, that she should be more loyal than this, even if that person had told her... told her that she was free to let her hair down in front of whoever she chose...]
Akua, I shouldn't-
["I" shouldn't, not "we"... ? Did the word choice matter? Maybe not, when it meant that Hayame raised her head. Akua is one of the few people in this world who has seen what is now hidden behind the leather patch on the left side of her face, who could imagine that hungry, desire-clouded look in her stormy gray eye mirrored in one of sickly green. She is one of the even fewer people who knew what Hayame's lips tasted like.
And as their lips meet, as Hayame's fingers curl tightly into the burgundy lace of the other woman's dress and a low, wanting sound slides up her throat... she is perhaps the only person who now knew that Hayame seemed to kiss far better than she used to.]
no subject
[Relaxing. Hayame almost says that such things are not relaxing at all... but the words trail off before she can finish them. Not just because she imagines that, for different people, for people like Akua maybe it was, but because... Not at first, no, she had been far too desperate with the potent mix of discord and heat when she had arrived at that house in Springstar almost genuinely convinced that she really was just going to ask for help purifying her shard... But later in the night (earlier in the morning), after Set had made use of borrowing the form of a jinba to sate the more pressing, instinctual needs of a mare in heat to be mounted and bred... in the absence of that more primitive, high-strung hunger... she had been able to lose herself slightly in the warmth and the hazy wind of pleasure. Before sneaking away before the dawn, as shame and confusion returned to her... She had thought it. How peaceful and languid the two of them had looked in the content rest of an evening spent... like that.
So maybe she cannot finish saying it. That it would not be relaxing. It wasn't just them anymore, either. Some nights, now, she... That person, they were... they always seemed at ease and so comfortable compared to her. If it would turn the pulsing need in her body that felt similar to heat into something else... Hayame finds that she is turning her face slightly into the passing stroke of the other woman's fingers, that even just that... feels electric. The stiff hair of her vestigial mane seems to stand up, along with the fine strands at the back of her neck beneath the heavy fall of her ponytail.
And when that sultry, confident voice bids her to look up, to accept her aid... Hayame wants to. Even knowing what might happen if she did, knowing that she should have more control of herself than this, that she should be thinking of the Oracle more than this, that she should be more loyal than this, even if that person had told her... told her that she was free to let her hair down in front of whoever she chose...]
Akua, I shouldn't-
["I" shouldn't, not "we"... ? Did the word choice matter? Maybe not, when it meant that Hayame raised her head. Akua is one of the few people in this world who has seen what is now hidden behind the leather patch on the left side of her face, who could imagine that hungry, desire-clouded look in her stormy gray eye mirrored in one of sickly green. She is one of the even fewer people who knew what Hayame's lips tasted like.
And as their lips meet, as Hayame's fingers curl tightly into the burgundy lace of the other woman's dress and a low, wanting sound slides up her throat... she is perhaps the only person who now knew that Hayame seemed to kiss far better than she used to.]