[ teasing him comes as naturally as breathing, mumbled against his lips as they slot together — comfortably, now, instead of frantically. it is the first time she's had this kind of languid, soothing reprieve in the wake of sex.
but it's also true. that she wants to keep the mark of him on her, that she wants to let his sweat and semen seep into her skin until he's as indelibly etched into her as her sins are.
the crown of bones around her throat make for a poor pillow, though, and she steadily shifts to account for that. to help him find a more comfortable way to rest.
eventually, rolling onto their sides and then nikolai onto his back, she tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder and finds this, at least, is still comfortable. that she can trace patterns in his skin, that she can guide his hand to find where he's left stains in hers. that these moments of gathering their breath can be quiet and peaceful and not broken by her mistakes. ]
I like this. [ she peers up at him through dark lashes, tears drying. she offers this as a sort of compromise: resigning herself to the idea of the banya and the fact that she will want to go, the drying sweat will make it sound necessary and welcome, but giving voice at least to the reason for her reluctance. ] Being yours.
no subject
[ teasing him comes as naturally as breathing, mumbled against his lips as they slot together — comfortably, now, instead of frantically. it is the first time she's had this kind of languid, soothing reprieve in the wake of sex.
but it's also true. that she wants to keep the mark of him on her, that she wants to let his sweat and semen seep into her skin until he's as indelibly etched into her as her sins are.
the crown of bones around her throat make for a poor pillow, though, and she steadily shifts to account for that. to help him find a more comfortable way to rest.
eventually, rolling onto their sides and then nikolai onto his back, she tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder and finds this, at least, is still comfortable. that she can trace patterns in his skin, that she can guide his hand to find where he's left stains in hers. that these moments of gathering their breath can be quiet and peaceful and not broken by her mistakes. ]
I like this. [ she peers up at him through dark lashes, tears drying. she offers this as a sort of compromise: resigning herself to the idea of the banya and the fact that she will want to go, the drying sweat will make it sound necessary and welcome, but giving voice at least to the reason for her reluctance. ] Being yours.