[ it's either a mercy or a bizarre new form of cruelty, those teeth against her throat. w's heart could explode every time one of those nips doesn't end in shredded flesh, and it's not like repetition is any comfort. she'd trust texas to bring messages to some of her most seasoned, talented men hidden away on the battlefield, but she'll never trust anyone not to want to kill her eventually. not with this personality.
but she can't say the danger of it all doesn't make her blood sing. maybe someday when she isn't ready to cut a bitch at the drop of a hat she'll even ask for texas to show her how sharp those teeth can really be. for now, it's just exciting, same as it is when her hands squeeze and texas sighs, when texas squeezes into the meat of her thigh and w loses her mind for a split second and feels her panties dampen. the warring bodily power of it all is as fascinating as it is intoxicating.
anyway, she likes it here against the door, climbing texas like a siracusan sapling. there's a nice dull thud to make when she lets texas's trousers fall free and tangles her fingers in the fabric beneath them and snaps her hips forward eagerly, rattling the door on its hinges. an even nicer sound when her fingers fold across texas's forehead to shove her head back, so she can bow her own and repeat the same routine down texas's chest, mirroring those slow, careful nips when she gets to her breasts. the taste of her is like a drug, exhilarating in that forbidden and dangerous kind of way, and it isn't long before she finds a nipple to worry between those needling teeth of hers.
she'll push down the remnants of her dress when she can. it's not a pretty sight: there's that cavernous web of scar tissue across her torso where she was fatally gored before babel swept her up into the sky, her flesh so busy with old burns and battle scars besides. no signs of oripathy lesions, oddly enough, but she's a sarkaz and definitely diseased. at least she's distracted enough to feel divorced from whatever texas might think — she's lucky to even be here to see this, honestly, anyone else who's ever seen this much of her skin isn't around to tell any tales about it now. but the bridge of w's nose still burns pink as her dress pools at their feet and the cool air of the room deepens the shivers thrumming through her shoulders. ]
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but she can't say the danger of it all doesn't make her blood sing. maybe someday when she isn't ready to cut a bitch at the drop of a hat she'll even ask for texas to show her how sharp those teeth can really be. for now, it's just exciting, same as it is when her hands squeeze and texas sighs, when texas squeezes into the meat of her thigh and w loses her mind for a split second and feels her panties dampen. the warring bodily power of it all is as fascinating as it is intoxicating.
anyway, she likes it here against the door, climbing texas like a siracusan sapling. there's a nice dull thud to make when she lets texas's trousers fall free and tangles her fingers in the fabric beneath them and snaps her hips forward eagerly, rattling the door on its hinges. an even nicer sound when her fingers fold across texas's forehead to shove her head back, so she can bow her own and repeat the same routine down texas's chest, mirroring those slow, careful nips when she gets to her breasts. the taste of her is like a drug, exhilarating in that forbidden and dangerous kind of way, and it isn't long before she finds a nipple to worry between those needling teeth of hers.
she'll push down the remnants of her dress when she can. it's not a pretty sight: there's that cavernous web of scar tissue across her torso where she was fatally gored before babel swept her up into the sky, her flesh so busy with old burns and battle scars besides. no signs of oripathy lesions, oddly enough, but she's a sarkaz and definitely diseased. at least she's distracted enough to feel divorced from whatever texas might think — she's lucky to even be here to see this, honestly, anyone else who's ever seen this much of her skin isn't around to tell any tales about it now. but the bridge of w's nose still burns pink as her dress pools at their feet and the cool air of the room deepens the shivers thrumming through her shoulders. ]