(no subject)

[song_tra_bong]

Mary Anne doesn't move when she sleeps--no tossing and turning, no kicking or flailing of arms. She tends to wake up in exactly the same position she drifted off in, at least when she's sleeping alone. Some training dies hard.

And some not so. The need to wake up ready to fight has eased in her somewhat; she's harder to wake and the process of waking is slower. It hasn't been a problem yet, so now she sleeps, curled on her side with her hands tucked beneath her chin.

Comments

[song_tra_bong]

She whines faintly, lifting her hips to give him an easier time with the pants.

Meanwhile, her fingers trace patterns along his waist, gradually toying with with the button and fly on his pants. Her motions are deliberately, teasingly slow.

[ten_of_swords]

He doesn't pay attention to her hands as he slips down her body, pulling her pjs off. Ruin bites her hips, dragging his tongue across her lower belly while his hands move along her thighs. His nails dig and scratch as he moves higher inside her thighs and his teeth pierce skin on her other hip.

[song_tra_bong]

Whining progresses to a broken string of whimpers. She cries out when his teeth dig in, hips twitching involuntarily.

She runs a hand through his hair, nails scraping scalp then back down along his neck.

[ten_of_swords]

Ruin hisses, leaves her bloody hip, and moves lower between her thighs. He is not vicious here -- wouldn't want to ruin the lovely bits of hers he quite enjoys. Instead, his tongue flicks out, firm against her, while his claw-like nails grip her thighs securely.

[song_tra_bong]

Her hand slips to rest on the crown of his head. New scars on top of old ones and she'll let them linger instead of heal; she suspects her skin might look like lace after a while. The thought itself is enough to make her moan, the sound dropping lower in her throat at the feel of his tongue.