[ lets her, though as it comes up to his chest he lets go of her clothing, mouth leaving her breast, and sits up enough for her to pull it off the rest of the way, over his head and arms.
The moonlight's just enough to see by, to show her that as it used to be, his own skin is bare of design... making the other marks, many new since the days of the City, stand out all the more. Scars thick and thin, pitted and lined over the lean muscle of chest and gut and shoulders, the most prominent a dark, long furrow stretching across his ribs. Around his left side, the edges of an almost delicate filigree of them wind over the hip, disappearing further behind. ]
[ she might have seen something like it before on another, or others, raised hard skin the length of her thumb, where a blade equally wide might have once slid through, the kind of wound that few lived long enough to form such marks from, without aid.
... he doesn't meet her eyes, only reaches up to cover the backs of her hands with his. ]
[ the ones there all seem to be connected to one and the same, curving and curling and branching, like the fine stems and thousand-leaves of ferns etched onto his skin, covering the left half of his back from hip to shoulderblade. The only other incongruity a matching scar to the one she touched on his front, this one a fraction shorter.
his hand moves from her face to slide down neck, and shoulder, and body, feeling it out again. ]
[ ...moves it further, guiding her fingers to the grooves of his ribs, and around to his back, trailing them to the raised lines of muscle that run alongside his spine. ]
[ unknown geography to be charted, cords of lean muscle easily felt under the skin, itself uneven with the raised, hard lines of scars. small, quiet sounds, little more than hitches of breath, whenever fingers run over particular zones; the back of his neck, the lines that run down from there to his waist. ]
[ ...his back shivers, and curves, and slides under her hands as he lowers his mouth to her breast, tending to it. His hand moves from the other to slip further down, to the nightgown gathered at her waist... fingers pushing slow under the fabric, over hip and belly, to the edges of the nest of hair below. The erection under his shorts all too tangible by now, brushing against her inner thighs. ]
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devotedtothecore) wrote2011-08-18 08:23 am
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The moonlight's just enough to see by, to show her that as it used to be, his own skin is bare of design... making the other marks, many new since the days of the City, stand out all the more. Scars thick and thin, pitted and lined over the lean muscle of chest and gut and shoulders, the most prominent a dark, long furrow stretching across his ribs. Around his left side, the edges of an almost delicate filigree of them wind over the hip, disappearing further behind. ]
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... he doesn't meet her eyes, only reaches up to cover the backs of her hands with his. ]
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Beautiful, steady Chrysos. . .
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his hand moves from her face to slide down neck, and shoulder, and body, feeling it out again. ]
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...
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[ ...breaks off from kissing, and shakes his head, arm pulling gently away from her fingers ]
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...just... not there.
Not now.
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...lets go of her hand to cup her breast again, thumb brushing over the nipple, as he moves in to cover her mouth with his. ]
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... beautiful, beautiful....
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....Aerta...