(maybe she does want to sink her teeth in lappland's neck badly, maybe she wants to despite the tight grip on her hair. the way claws threaten to rake lines along her scalp, maybe she also wants to kiss her quiet and breathless. rut and grind against her gracelessly with where her emotions are; leave teeth marks along her breasts that won't be healing for a bit. the thoughts not leaving, it has yet to, even as her teeth are kept short of leaving the marks she craves from bites. so she doesn't. what she does instead is take part of the pale skin of lappland's neck along the column of her throat and sucks hard on it.
she's being quiet, but she's thinking. thinking while her bare hand teases, brushing against lappland's panties with an index finger along her cunt, her lips. the claws of that hand threatens to rip them open as if that's the intent while they press lightly into fabric.
her other hand (gloved and everything) reaches to tug down that evening down with other intentions of its own. to cup a breast and squeeze, brush thumb against her nipple roughly through her bra if she were wearing one. she noticed that, the shiver and the tremble in lappland's legs while fabric rips of her vest strings and blouse coming open. she can presume it's both careless and deliberate, just like the pressing of texas being more deliberate. that part has been clearer since they started, whenever her mouth lets go of lappland's neck. leaving behind a black-blue mark, nice and pretty for now. it'd only be one of many.) Constant violence doesn't do anything, either. Just like how me running away doesn't. So maybe I do run away from talking about it, from anything remotely near remembering. (because that's how she's been. avoiding speaking about it, conversations that she should have been having by burying herself in something or other as a means of not thinking. that only worsened during her stay.)
But do you really think it'd be worth me being that angry again? The way that I was in Volsinii near the end as I kept watching the way they used, abused, and did everything they could to claim a win at the cost of multiple lives?
Or the way that I felt it after the fire? (the words are hummed out, again, her lips take another patch of skin. another hard suckle and her tongue brushing along it slowly. to taste her, to leave those bruises. the leather fabric of her gloved hand brushes along more pale skin with each squeeze, each passing second getting rougher. the scents getting more obvious and thicker from texas, she might be considering ignoring the game and playing it. not the way they intended, anyway.)
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she's being quiet, but she's thinking. thinking while her bare hand teases, brushing against lappland's panties with an index finger along her cunt, her lips. the claws of that hand threatens to rip them open as if that's the intent while they press lightly into fabric.
her other hand (gloved and everything) reaches to tug down that evening down with other intentions of its own. to cup a breast and squeeze, brush thumb against her nipple roughly through her bra if she were wearing one. she noticed that, the shiver and the tremble in lappland's legs while fabric rips of her vest strings and blouse coming open. she can presume it's both careless and deliberate, just like the pressing of texas being more deliberate. that part has been clearer since they started, whenever her mouth lets go of lappland's neck. leaving behind a black-blue mark, nice and pretty for now. it'd only be one of many.) Constant violence doesn't do anything, either. Just like how me running away doesn't. So maybe I do run away from talking about it, from anything remotely near remembering. (because that's how she's been. avoiding speaking about it, conversations that she should have been having by burying herself in something or other as a means of not thinking. that only worsened during her stay.)
But do you really think it'd be worth me being that angry again? The way that I was in Volsinii near the end as I kept watching the way they used, abused, and did everything they could to claim a win at the cost of multiple lives?
Or the way that I felt it after the fire? (the words are hummed out, again, her lips take another patch of skin. another hard suckle and her tongue brushing along it slowly. to taste her, to leave those bruises. the leather fabric of her gloved hand brushes along more pale skin with each squeeze, each passing second getting rougher. the scents getting more obvious and thicker from texas, she might be considering ignoring the game and playing it. not the way they intended, anyway.)