[ A grin splits wide, crinkles the shadow about his eyes. ]
Goes better for two. Quicker, anyway. [ Can’t feel her hand on him, light as it is, but hard to think of anything else; the way she centers the swell of his chest. ] Wouldn’t mind taking our time.
[ Hand settles over hers, measuring the space where one finger swallows another. Pulse on pulse. Thumb on thumb, a thimble tracing circle into nail.
There's a small fortune in steel lying in the yard behind him. Wouldn't take but a moment to pull free and fetch. It'd be stupid, careless, to leave it. He’s feeling pretty stupid just now.
Cedric leans close. Wraps the second arm about her waist, and lifts – laughing – ]
(Gela hums something soft, a few notes up, down and up.) I have all afternoon, (in case that may be of interest. It isn't entirely true — there's always something to be doing — but when you're your own boss nobody keeps score besides yourself, and Cedric is looking at her like he's never seen something so lovely, fingertips in the spaces between her own, tapping out something rhythm or pulse she doesn't know. She likes it.
He leans in and her head tilts, following, a burst of laughter coming out of her when he instead lifts her up like it's nothing. Pulls her up over the fence.
She rakes that palm up, to his shoulder to push down on, help herself over.
Nothing catches on the wood. She had thought about the pockets on her skirt—)
I can take some of those things.
(What's lying on the ground behind, noticed from before, obviously, because she can't take her eyes off him now that they're close, hand on his shoulder — anchored on what Gela thinks is a pauldron? She knows little about armor, actually. But maybe today she'll learn.)
it's been a thousand years dot jpg, pls feel free to drop or handwave whatever as works 4 u
[ If they go now, the tent'll be empty. Her hand on his shoulder, that little bounce of pressure and release – he wants, at once, to know the weight of it on skin. The way muscle stretches under sleeve, the swirl of skirt and breeze,
His thigh brushes the space between hers, teeth grazing air before chin cants and lips press to jaw; light as the lap of tongue beneath.
It'll wait. There's always more war. Only so much this. ]
sorry I still want this thread even though I don't have a kissing icon
(She smiles into it in the same moment it takes his teeth to touch air because she can tell it's coming. Her hand on his shoulder tightens then releases, a pulse, and she drags it over metal without looking, searching for skin. The warmth of his neck. She fits her thumb in there near his jaw and tilts his head to bring his mouth over, up some. Not a stranger to knowing what she wants — more than a peck on the cheek.
Her hand doesn't move, as if unsure he'll stay there without direction.
His skin is sweaty from the training and he tastes a little of it, like he's been panting. Gela is dimly aware that he'll feel the scar on her upper lip, thick.
That's fine. He can feel it.)
im throwing half a draft i found before i write you a new thing at some point
[ A surprised little sound, pleased and eager and questing for the shape of her tongue. There's a hand on his neck, direction, and there's another in the small of her back, hitching into her. Motion dips between braced hand and hunger.
It's been a while. Necking it with some sad mercenary – well, you can live on bread and water. It's nothing for the taste of salt, a little sweetness between them; iron where he nips at a lip. (To wonder what must have once split it)
To draw up for air is, ]
Maker,
[ He isn't thinking about the Maker right now. There's only one thing on his mind: Written in hazy eyes and thumping pulse. ]
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no subject
Goes better for two. Quicker, anyway. [ Can’t feel her hand on him, light as it is, but hard to think of anything else; the way she centers the swell of his chest. ] Wouldn’t mind taking our time.
[ Hand settles over hers, measuring the space where one finger swallows another. Pulse on pulse. Thumb on thumb, a thimble tracing circle into nail.
There's a small fortune in steel lying in the yard behind him. Wouldn't take but a moment to pull free and fetch. It'd be stupid, careless, to leave it. He’s feeling pretty stupid just now.
Cedric leans close. Wraps the second arm about her waist, and lifts – laughing – ]
Right then, let's go,
[ The fence isn't so tall. He can swing it. ]
no subject
He leans in and her head tilts, following, a burst of laughter coming out of her when he instead lifts her up like it's nothing. Pulls her up over the fence.
She rakes that palm up, to his shoulder to push down on, help herself over.
Nothing catches on the wood. She had thought about the pockets on her skirt—)
I can take some of those things.
(What's lying on the ground behind, noticed from before, obviously, because she can't take her eyes off him now that they're close, hand on his shoulder — anchored on what Gela thinks is a pauldron? She knows little about armor, actually. But maybe today she'll learn.)
it's been a thousand years dot jpg, pls feel free to drop or handwave whatever as works 4 u
[ If they go now, the tent'll be empty. Her hand on his shoulder, that little bounce of pressure and release – he wants, at once, to know the weight of it on skin. The way muscle stretches under sleeve, the swirl of skirt and breeze,
His thigh brushes the space between hers, teeth grazing air before chin cants and lips press to jaw; light as the lap of tongue beneath.
It'll wait. There's always more war. Only so much this. ]
sorry I still want this thread even though I don't have a kissing icon
Her hand doesn't move, as if unsure he'll stay there without direction.
His skin is sweaty from the training and he tastes a little of it, like he's been panting. Gela is dimly aware that he'll feel the scar on her upper lip, thick.
That's fine. He can feel it.)
im throwing half a draft i found before i write you a new thing at some point
It's been a while. Necking it with some sad mercenary – well, you can live on bread and water. It's nothing for the taste of salt, a little sweetness between them; iron where he nips at a lip. (To wonder what must have once split it)
To draw up for air is, ]
Maker,
[ He isn't thinking about the Maker right now. There's only one thing on his mind: Written in hazy eyes and thumping pulse. ]