[She’s all encouragement, every sound and movement of her, and Sephiroth isn’t keen to stop. When his teeth aren’t pressing down in an impulsive love bite, his lips fill that void, warm and indulgent and almost plush against her skin. He hums a little noise of approval; his tongue catches the faint tang of her perspiration, no doubt a consequence of their physical exertion before now.
All the while, he removes his gloves. They’re discarded, and land at his boots like dead, skinned animals. Sephiroth takes this opportunity to reach back up, emboldened enough to palm at the curves of her breasts.
He breaks the kiss just briefly enough to speak, his tone low.]
no subject
All the while, he removes his gloves. They’re discarded, and land at his boots like dead, skinned animals. Sephiroth takes this opportunity to reach back up, emboldened enough to palm at the curves of her breasts.
He breaks the kiss just briefly enough to speak, his tone low.]
Tell me how you like to be touched, Ciri.