[ It's too early, maybe, if she was the kind of woman to consider that, but early so far as she hadn't - completely - planned this. Oh, come here with an idea, certainly. The way she went into a building with an idea of burning it down, the way she flicked her blades in her hand with the purpose of killing a monster twice her size. An idea of comfort, of giving him something to hold onto where she knows how hard that can be. Of reminding him that it's - not all loneliness. If she can give him anything to see him through the weight of his life, please, let him remember it's not all loneliness.
The rest of her can - wait, she isn't here for her. She's here for him, where he's injured - not just physically though she's keenly aware of that. Where she's, oh, sweat and dirt stained after her dragging through the districts dust and hauling weaponry, the way she's always just that little blood stained. Nothing glamorous or particularly seductive. No, there isn't the time or means for it to be like it should, as long and drawn out and how much she wants to pour over him. See how far she can push him, how much he will push back and they can just enjoy it nothing else. She'll make a proper plan for that later.
But there is space enough for what she's here to do. Giving him something else, for a little while. Trails her lips back up his neck, his jaw, brushing against his ear. Her hands moving and sweep over him like - he was as she called him. Her shamsher. Beckoning him up in a trace of his spine so she can kiss him once and firm to the pulse of his throat, the solid beat of him, feeling it fluttered against the tip of her tongue.
( there are her own broken truths, she can't make love to anything less than weapons, anymore ) She mouths the words into his skin in commands to be felt rather than heard. Absolute in that she knows he will follow because she has every intention of stripping his control from him. ] Hush, now.
[ Her hands shift off of him, undoing the brace off her dominate hand. Economical practised movements to work at belt clasps one handed. They're in private, but there's no privacy in a war camp that isn't undone quickly, even when you've found a quiet corner to drink misery away. Gets the one at her wrist undone, and the rest is yanked down. Exposes just why she wears them from the bite mark in V-line of tooth marks on the back and inner of her wrist as it comes free. So that she can touch him properly, her now bare hand slipping to his hip. A solid, indicative press of where her mind is.
It's not to invite him to return the favour when she pulls back to settle flat below him, her knees shift light so she didn't hit bruised ribs beside him, feet flat to the ground. Her gaze warm as it flickers between his eyes, lighter brown in the firelight. Rather as she squeezes at his hip, it's warning for him to brace himself how he needs to keep quiet when her hands slips lower under the line of his waistband. The other still gloved hand shifting to brace against his chest to keep him just there over her. ]
cw: nsfw
[ It's too early, maybe, if she was the kind of woman to consider that, but early so far as she hadn't - completely - planned this. Oh, come here with an idea, certainly. The way she went into a building with an idea of burning it down, the way she flicked her blades in her hand with the purpose of killing a monster twice her size. An idea of comfort, of giving him something to hold onto where she knows how hard that can be. Of reminding him that it's - not all loneliness. If she can give him anything to see him through the weight of his life, please, let him remember it's not all loneliness.
The rest of her can - wait, she isn't here for her. She's here for him, where he's injured - not just physically though she's keenly aware of that. Where she's, oh, sweat and dirt stained after her dragging through the districts dust and hauling weaponry, the way she's always just that little blood stained. Nothing glamorous or particularly seductive. No, there isn't the time or means for it to be like it should, as long and drawn out and how much she wants to pour over him. See how far she can push him, how much he will push back and they can just enjoy it nothing else. She'll make a proper plan for that later.
But there is space enough for what she's here to do. Giving him something else, for a little while. Trails her lips back up his neck, his jaw, brushing against his ear. Her hands moving and sweep over him like - he was as she called him. Her shamsher. Beckoning him up in a trace of his spine so she can kiss him once and firm to the pulse of his throat, the solid beat of him, feeling it fluttered against the tip of her tongue.
( there are her own broken truths, she can't make love to anything less than weapons, anymore ) She mouths the words into his skin in commands to be felt rather than heard. Absolute in that she knows he will follow because she has every intention of stripping his control from him. ] Hush, now.
[ Her hands shift off of him, undoing the brace off her dominate hand. Economical practised movements to work at belt clasps one handed. They're in private, but there's no privacy in a war camp that isn't undone quickly, even when you've found a quiet corner to drink misery away. Gets the one at her wrist undone, and the rest is yanked down. Exposes just why she wears them from the bite mark in V-line of tooth marks on the back and inner of her wrist as it comes free. So that she can touch him properly, her now bare hand slipping to his hip. A solid, indicative press of where her mind is.
It's not to invite him to return the favour when she pulls back to settle flat below him, her knees shift light so she didn't hit bruised ribs beside him, feet flat to the ground. Her gaze warm as it flickers between his eyes, lighter brown in the firelight. Rather as she squeezes at his hip, it's warning for him to brace himself how he needs to keep quiet when her hands slips lower under the line of his waistband. The other still gloved hand shifting to brace against his chest to keep him just there over her. ]