[Akua’s lips are softer than the pair she has been growing accustomed to since that first, transformative night. There is no hint of beard to tickle or scratch at her face. She is wholly different… and even though that should remind her even more of why she shouldn’t be doing this, even though her hearts did ache with the idea of being disloyal… everything burned again. Akua is here. Akua… knew very well how to help. Akua had offered.
And he, that day, had made it sound like… like he wouldn’t condemn her if she fell prey to instincts or need, and if that were true-
Her kisses grow deep. Permission is granted. Her body curves in to the other woman’s because it remembers all too well what pleasure her hands could deliver, spine arching, forelegs curling, tail flicking behind her. Her fingers slide along the lace, then down, trying to find the hem, a frustrated sound slipping from one tongue to another before, in the scant space between lips when the next breath was required, she mutters a small, toothless complaint,]
Why do you always wear such complicated things… ?
[She was wearing the same old robe, crossed across the chest above the simple underlayer and tight breast bindings. … Bindings that she really wishes were looser, now, as she finds herself more in want of air than she ever somehow felt in battle or a dead gallop.]
no subject
And he, that day, had made it sound like… like he wouldn’t condemn her if she fell prey to instincts or need, and if that were true-
Her kisses grow deep. Permission is granted. Her body curves in to the other woman’s because it remembers all too well what pleasure her hands could deliver, spine arching, forelegs curling, tail flicking behind her. Her fingers slide along the lace, then down, trying to find the hem, a frustrated sound slipping from one tongue to another before, in the scant space between lips when the next breath was required, she mutters a small, toothless complaint,]
Why do you always wear such complicated things… ?
[She was wearing the same old robe, crossed across the chest above the simple underlayer and tight breast bindings. … Bindings that she really wishes were looser, now, as she finds herself more in want of air than she ever somehow felt in battle or a dead gallop.]