“Back inside? Never,” Astrid insists, because it’s a challenge now, a dare, and she’s not going to back down from it and the chance to prove herself as belonging out here in the wilderness. No matter the rough bark, the air crisp and cold and even cooler whenever his mouth moves away, his saliva cooling on her skin.
One hand down his trousers, her other maps the edge of Talin’s sharp-cut cheekbones. The artful way he flutters his eyes makes her laugh, thumb against the corner of his lips, her fingertips combing his hair back. Still: she likes it very much.
“Do you pose like this for all the men and women?” she teases. Another slow drag of her hand, thumb rolling over the head of his cock.
His smirk turns to a real smile, pressed pleased against her skin. They're so much the same, he and Astrid, or they would have been—brash and stubborn and confident to a fault. It makes her beautiful to him, more than her high cheekbones or her lithe body, that window she gives into a world where things are so much less complicated. She touches him, and he leans into it, chasing the simple pleasure, makes a point to give it back, to give it first, give it good—
They do, eventually, end up in the tent. Susceptible as they both are to a dare, neither of them wants to wind up with frostbite on their nethers—at least, neither of them wants to explain how it happened to the healer. One round is enough to prove the point that neither of them is a fragile, delicate lowlander, anyway; anything else can be done in the comfortof the heated tent, pride satisfied, point proven.
In the end, Astrid isn't the only one who's forgotten how this started.
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One hand down his trousers, her other maps the edge of Talin’s sharp-cut cheekbones. The artful way he flutters his eyes makes her laugh, thumb against the corner of his lips, her fingertips combing his hair back. Still: she likes it very much.
“Do you pose like this for all the men and women?” she teases. Another slow drag of her hand, thumb rolling over the head of his cock.
no subject
They do, eventually, end up in the tent. Susceptible as they both are to a dare, neither of them wants to wind up with frostbite on their nethers—at least, neither of them wants to explain how it happened to the healer. One round is enough to prove the point that neither of them is a fragile, delicate lowlander, anyway; anything else can be done in the comfortof the heated tent, pride satisfied, point proven.
In the end, Astrid isn't the only one who's forgotten how this started.
🎀 already a great closer imo