(she did think her to be handsome, maybe it doesn't help the way that cellinia herself was blushing. that it brought out the pink tinging fair skin, not even how her lips kiss along her palm, her fingers. they're never going to be clean of that blood which once had covered them, that does cover them. but that didn't matter, for a moment they feel lighter. like they weren't something that had ended far more than her share of people. her father, the others. a softened gaze, she notices how it made irene smile.
she's quiet, quiet when she kisses her again, quiet when she pushes her to lay back to help tug that leotard down the rest of the way. the fabric slides down, down her legs, and reveals she had nothing else on underneath it. completely bare, bare skin both blemished and unblemished when cellinia deepens this kiss. a distraction, from how her heart pounds. this longing was killing her, destroying her. wanting to tear her apart while she bends to it. she gives her this body, her body, every mark and every figurative wound in places that most would be more keen to stay away from it.
she doesn't want to surrender it to anyone else, between the kisses, the way she presses bare skin against irene. raw heat, desire, and arousal burns in her to the point she makes herself be patient. because she doesn't want to ruin it by rushing, not like how they've done before in that dome. not even in the other ways that it's happened while her hands, her fingertips, trail down along irene's body. along her ribs, her abs, she's mapping her skin out. for places that she wants to mark as they carry on in their own world away from the chaos outside.
away from the paparazzi, the sets, the costumes. they didn't matter, what matters more is in front of her. that's something she knows, that she can feel with heat simmering and burning, slowly building up into passion that she couldn't put a label on. but it felt like something more, something so strong that her heart aches at the thought they could be separated again by the resort's whims with people.
whatever it is, she pushes through it, to give her this attention and affection while eventually taking hold of one of irene's hands. to bring it to her heart, to hold it there silently. to let her know she's here, she's real.)
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she's quiet, quiet when she kisses her again, quiet when she pushes her to lay back to help tug that leotard down the rest of the way. the fabric slides down, down her legs, and reveals she had nothing else on underneath it. completely bare, bare skin both blemished and unblemished when cellinia deepens this kiss. a distraction, from how her heart pounds. this longing was killing her, destroying her. wanting to tear her apart while she bends to it. she gives her this body, her body, every mark and every figurative wound in places that most would be more keen to stay away from it.
she doesn't want to surrender it to anyone else, between the kisses, the way she presses bare skin against irene. raw heat, desire, and arousal burns in her to the point she makes herself be patient. because she doesn't want to ruin it by rushing, not like how they've done before in that dome. not even in the other ways that it's happened while her hands, her fingertips, trail down along irene's body. along her ribs, her abs, she's mapping her skin out. for places that she wants to mark as they carry on in their own world away from the chaos outside.
away from the paparazzi, the sets, the costumes. they didn't matter, what matters more is in front of her. that's something she knows, that she can feel with heat simmering and burning, slowly building up into passion that she couldn't put a label on. but it felt like something more, something so strong that her heart aches at the thought they could be separated again by the resort's whims with people.
whatever it is, she pushes through it, to give her this attention and affection while eventually taking hold of one of irene's hands. to bring it to her heart, to hold it there silently. to let her know she's here, she's real.)