[ There is only one, brief consideration to not so much what she is doing - but how she is doing it. It is not so much that Annie is a woman, but that she is - lithe, light. Lakshmi hadn't been purposefully insulting when she spoke of her own disregard of Damon.
She liked her men broad and heavy and set well, she knew that much at least. Liked to feel something broad and powerful in her hands and for all she has seen Annie do, say of herself, the things she has done - she realises, that at least, hasn't changed, simply the form of it has. But who better equipped to understand it then?
Because the form had changed, and she thinks on it. Annie was lean, not just in difference, but in that Lakshmi knew herself, where she curved, where she was slight and then fuller, but Annie was - sleek, fine boned as a racing horse. It makes her feel so light under her hands - over aware of her strength in a particular. But realises at least, she is familiar in a way that Annie, perhaps is not. It takes her nothing in the cover of their tents to unwrap the material around from with hands that don't have to look. To peel her out of layers, without ever raising her head to look at what she's doing. The pull and yank and thread apart, as she finds mouth and then her throat. A drag down over her skin as she pushes veils and material out of the way - barking laughter, in her memories - was this how Gangadhar felt unravelling her from her jewels?
( Probably not - the English were the ones hung up about covering a woman's chest. )
It's a disregarded thought, as she pinches skin between teeth, the steady cover of her mouth over it to suck dark and red on her skin, she doesn't know exactly what she's doing, - but she knows what she likes, and like this, skin to skin, the hive burning the connection of the hive between them - was there a difference in her to Annie to back again? To the deeper breath she takes as she pushes the other woman back. Annie had no harsh lines, didn't have the rigid form that Lakshmi kept herself in that with the invitation that she didn't have to, just not, not for a little while - she spreads like ghee set afire and sweet. Rich as butter could be, the long guttering flame that pushes Annie back, pushes herself up between her legs and covers her as she works at the rest of her clothes.
No middle breath, no moment before the plunge, the thunder of horses and canon in her mind. Front line cavalry charge as she moves her. ]
no subject
She liked her men broad and heavy and set well, she knew that much at least. Liked to feel something broad and powerful in her hands and for all she has seen Annie do, say of herself, the things she has done - she realises, that at least, hasn't changed, simply the form of it has. But who better equipped to understand it then?
Because the form had changed, and she thinks on it. Annie was lean, not just in difference, but in that Lakshmi knew herself, where she curved, where she was slight and then fuller, but Annie was - sleek, fine boned as a racing horse. It makes her feel so light under her hands - over aware of her strength in a particular. But realises at least, she is familiar in a way that Annie, perhaps is not. It takes her nothing in the cover of their tents to unwrap the material around from with hands that don't have to look. To peel her out of layers, without ever raising her head to look at what she's doing. The pull and yank and thread apart, as she finds mouth and then her throat. A drag down over her skin as she pushes veils and material out of the way - barking laughter, in her memories - was this how Gangadhar felt unravelling her from her jewels?
( Probably not - the English were the ones hung up about covering a woman's chest. )
It's a disregarded thought, as she pinches skin between teeth, the steady cover of her mouth over it to suck dark and red on her skin, she doesn't know exactly what she's doing, - but she knows what she likes, and like this, skin to skin, the hive burning the connection of the hive between them - was there a difference in her to Annie to back again? To the deeper breath she takes as she pushes the other woman back. Annie had no harsh lines, didn't have the rigid form that Lakshmi kept herself in that with the invitation that she didn't have to, just not, not for a little while - she spreads like ghee set afire and sweet. Rich as butter could be, the long guttering flame that pushes Annie back, pushes herself up between her legs and covers her as she works at the rest of her clothes.
No middle breath, no moment before the plunge, the thunder of horses and canon in her mind. Front line cavalry charge as she moves her. ]