Now it is Éowyn who gasps, her breath catching sharply at the warmth of another's hand where she is joined. There is wetness there, certainly, and a furnace-heat that seems to gather higher by the moment. She bites her lip, lifting her hips a little from where she straddles Mercutio, inviting further touch.
That thing, that no-thing. She understands it now, and smiles at it, leaning in to bring their faces closer as she begins to unlace the sides of her shift. "Thou speak'st too much in riddles, lady. Hast thou been told so?"
She might hesitate more for a husband than a wife. But as she has just been reminded, they are of a kind, and what does one woman have to hide from another? She does not linger on her fastenings, loosening them as much as is needed to let the fine linen hang lighter on her lean form, and then settles back to haul it off over her head.
Beneath, she is slender and fine-boned, her breasts small and taut, her arms visibly muscled. The half-healed scar of their battle, still livid against her pale skin, stands in a rill an inch or two above the tied waistband of her petticoat, the only fault marring her skin.
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sforzinda
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Date: 2025-06-15 11:38 pm (UTC)That thing, that no-thing. She understands it now, and smiles at it, leaning in to bring their faces closer as she begins to unlace the sides of her shift. "Thou speak'st too much in riddles, lady. Hast thou been told so?"
She might hesitate more for a husband than a wife. But as she has just been reminded, they are of a kind, and what does one woman have to hide from another? She does not linger on her fastenings, loosening them as much as is needed to let the fine linen hang lighter on her lean form, and then settles back to haul it off over her head.
Beneath, she is slender and fine-boned, her breasts small and taut, her arms visibly muscled. The half-healed scar of their battle, still livid against her pale skin, stands in a rill an inch or two above the tied waistband of her petticoat, the only fault marring her skin.