[ (But if it were about winning—) Nell lets him shove her arm above her head, no complaint about the drag of cold stone against skin. The last two times were different: the first practically shaking with adrenaline after a near-miss, boots caked with mud and blood still dripping from a wound on her shoulder; the second thoroughly drunk after the dullest sort of bad day. But the sobriety and the daylight are things to focus on ignoring later.
For now they hardly cross her mind, not when there is so much else to occupy it. That pale pink peak—skin and shade both strangely delicate compared to everything else about her—is caught and flushed red in his grip, and her own curls into the collar of his shirt. She hauls back and up until it catches at his throat, and in case that seems like a mixed signal, she pulls her head back to direct, smirking as she continues to strange him just a little: ]
Off.
[ She'll hook her leg higher around his hip as he does it, skirts pushed up around one stockinged knee. ]
no subject
For now they hardly cross her mind, not when there is so much else to occupy it. That pale pink peak—skin and shade both strangely delicate compared to everything else about her—is caught and flushed red in his grip, and her own curls into the collar of his shirt. She hauls back and up until it catches at his throat, and in case that seems like a mixed signal, she pulls her head back to direct, smirking as she continues to strange him just a little: ]
Off.
[ She'll hook her leg higher around his hip as he does it, skirts pushed up around one stockinged knee. ]