[ What she doesn't know, the symbiote fills in the gaps - about where Annie wants to be touched. Asking, learning, knowing, down in the same breath, an unforgiving push that she feels her shudders as her own, a dance done in reverse for once. She matches what she gives, her fingers part from skin only to rake that terrible mess of her bound up hair free, the gold of her tikka, the heavy ornamentation of her veil discarded in an easy devesting pull. Unraveled and determined as she catches Annie under her knee, hooks her leg to push it up and back. Pushing to the angle that she can as she shifts down her body further, her mouth flushed with the own heavy press of the way she drags from mouth to neck, not giving her the space to move. A helplessness of her own situation that turns to easy dictation.
Because she has no preference either except in the need that defines so much of herself, to give and give and give, until the fire could find quiet for while, to hold and hold and hold until she could hold onto the things she lost over again.
With it, she grips hard, against her thigh, pushing into her with a steady rock of her hips as she rolls to her knees, that cut battle tense line of muscles that holds herself just above, dragging over her throat, clavicle in a sharp, red staining, kiss. Pushing against that want without giving back anything of the ground she took. ]
no subject
Because she has no preference either except in the need that defines so much of herself, to give and give and give, until the fire could find quiet for while, to hold and hold and hold until she could hold onto the things she lost over again.
With it, she grips hard, against her thigh, pushing into her with a steady rock of her hips as she rolls to her knees, that cut battle tense line of muscles that holds herself just above, dragging over her throat, clavicle in a sharp, red staining, kiss. Pushing against that want without giving back anything of the ground she took. ]