I asked. [ Yseult watches his reflection for another beat, a faint furrow dug between her brows, and then finishes up her braid. It's a thick simple plait, not the neatest she's ever managed, but it settles over one shoulder as she rises to pull on a clean shift and a simple dress, undyed fabric nearly white, belted at the waist and the neck left open, lapels pulled wide.
She turns from her wardrobe to set a hand on his side, the bare skin above his trousers. She looks down at him, every familiar inch of muscle and tattoo and scar. ]
no subject
She turns from her wardrobe to set a hand on his side, the bare skin above his trousers. She looks down at him, every familiar inch of muscle and tattoo and scar. ]
Then stay. Just be quiet until I'm done.