[ it really seems like this shouldn't be going as well as it is. if w was going to pick this kind of trouble with anyone, it should have been some bloody, savage thing, not nosing around in so much warm skin, suckling her mouth full and rich with that addictive taste. she could get lost again, and maybe she is, so preoccupied with devouring texas's breasts and enduring the roll of her hips that she could almost miss it when she starts to mess with that awful plastic wand.
w expects, no matter what, that texas will eventually want to kill her, and that this will hurt. as well it should: life is suffering. she's heard ines sob a trillion times for whatever hoederer does to her in their tent, and she knows well enough from the war that shit like this can be devastating. there's no reason she can figure that it shouldn't be that way for her.
and now that she sizes that wand against the whole of her naked body — it's huge and sounds powerful. she can't take her eyes off it, her head lifting off texas's chest to track its movements. the soft buzz of it already makes her skin crawl, and for a moment, her hips steady and stop. she begins to maybe sort of regret her dedication to doing this against the door.
but she's no fainting little bitch. much as her stomach is sick with the threat of the unknown, she's not about to back down when it's texas. her fingers lock around the back of texas's neck, her gaze burning as she growls: ]
Fuckin' do it.
[ tear her apart with that thing, or whatever. what's a massage? the word almost certainly doesn't exist in sarkaz, where people toil til they drop from their muscles snapping, where every innocuous thing is expected to draw blood and spread agony. a word like that could mean a litany of terrifying anythings, and w's gone tense again though she's doing her level best to play it off, like she's now fully invested in pulling down texas's tights halfway with her hands, the rest of the way with a rubbing ankle. ]
no subject
w expects, no matter what, that texas will eventually want to kill her, and that this will hurt. as well it should: life is suffering. she's heard ines sob a trillion times for whatever hoederer does to her in their tent, and she knows well enough from the war that shit like this can be devastating. there's no reason she can figure that it shouldn't be that way for her.
and now that she sizes that wand against the whole of her naked body — it's huge and sounds powerful. she can't take her eyes off it, her head lifting off texas's chest to track its movements. the soft buzz of it already makes her skin crawl, and for a moment, her hips steady and stop. she begins to maybe sort of regret her dedication to doing this against the door.
but she's no fainting little bitch. much as her stomach is sick with the threat of the unknown, she's not about to back down when it's texas. her fingers lock around the back of texas's neck, her gaze burning as she growls: ]
Fuckin' do it.
[ tear her apart with that thing, or whatever. what's a massage? the word almost certainly doesn't exist in sarkaz, where people toil til they drop from their muscles snapping, where every innocuous thing is expected to draw blood and spread agony. a word like that could mean a litany of terrifying anythings, and w's gone tense again though she's doing her level best to play it off, like she's now fully invested in pulling down texas's tights halfway with her hands, the rest of the way with a rubbing ankle. ]