Why is it, that I feel you may just be telling me that to make me not worry?
[ The smile is gentle on her lips as she steps out of her shoes, dropping down to bare flat feet as the stockings follow after. Her many careful pieces that are all laid out neatly and carefully. Her arm crossing over her chest in the barest habit of modesty of a noblewoman. But there was a difference, after all. The place where there was always shared comfort in being naked with each other were bathhouses. It feels almost... familiar to stripping down, humming to herself to let him know where she was as she moved.
When she's finally, at long last, undressed, she comes closer. Gently pulling the shower curtain aside, keeping her eyes lowered so she doesn't peek so vulgar at him. Slow little steps to not slip and keep her manners minded.
No matter how painfully handsome he is. ]
Because I must assure you, I shall do that regardless of how you seek to distract me.
[ Slowly, she came to stand at his back, and then with slow hands, she reached up to his back and closed her eyes. The water in showers was quite remarkable to do with sheer engineering, she supposed, it was very good for people who were not blessed as she was. It would certainly do, if you never knew any better.
But forgive her the pride, but she could do better than any such basic construction, even than what could be found in the Up. Her palms set on his shoulders and breathed in deeply. A faint ripple, almost like power, almost like a careful inevitability of the tide going out and the water began to divert. The falling water that changes its patter, where she coaxes it into a better pressure she prefers for this kind of work. The steam rising thick in the air with the hot water, that in turn she channels, pushes to keep the room warm and filled in that gentle haze, as one by one, in the communal shower, the water turns on all the other tap so she can have enough for what she needs. Manipulating it without thought, only a tilt of a head, as around them, she ribbons the water, to caress him far better.
Then exhales, forming a ball of water in her palms from the falling stream, directs to knead at his skin, his sore muscles, that the water she weaves like a ribbon around his body matches. Massaging them, using the heat to loosen them up. In that way, it is practised, and she has done it often. A learned skill to help ease the heavy days of fishing from family members when her goals in life had been far simpler. Working in patterns, over and over to try and take the ache and the seized feeling from his limbs.
That most especially, strange as it seemed, no water ever touches the wound except where it runs a rivulet around it, to clean any blood away, but never to sting the wound itself. ]
no subject
[ The smile is gentle on her lips as she steps out of her shoes, dropping down to bare flat feet as the stockings follow after. Her many careful pieces that are all laid out neatly and carefully. Her arm crossing over her chest in the barest habit of modesty of a noblewoman. But there was a difference, after all. The place where there was always shared comfort in being naked with each other were bathhouses. It feels almost... familiar to stripping down, humming to herself to let him know where she was as she moved.
When she's finally, at long last, undressed, she comes closer. Gently pulling the shower curtain aside, keeping her eyes lowered so she doesn't peek so vulgar at him. Slow little steps to not slip and keep her manners minded.
No matter how painfully handsome he is. ]
Because I must assure you, I shall do that regardless of how you seek to distract me.
[ Slowly, she came to stand at his back, and then with slow hands, she reached up to his back and closed her eyes. The water in showers was quite remarkable to do with sheer engineering, she supposed, it was very good for people who were not blessed as she was. It would certainly do, if you never knew any better.
But forgive her the pride, but she could do better than any such basic construction, even than what could be found in the Up. Her palms set on his shoulders and breathed in deeply. A faint ripple, almost like power, almost like a careful inevitability of the tide going out and the water began to divert. The falling water that changes its patter, where she coaxes it into a better pressure she prefers for this kind of work. The steam rising thick in the air with the hot water, that in turn she channels, pushes to keep the room warm and filled in that gentle haze, as one by one, in the communal shower, the water turns on all the other tap so she can have enough for what she needs. Manipulating it without thought, only a tilt of a head, as around them, she ribbons the water, to caress him far better.
Then exhales, forming a ball of water in her palms from the falling stream, directs to knead at his skin, his sore muscles, that the water she weaves like a ribbon around his body matches. Massaging them, using the heat to loosen them up. In that way, it is practised, and she has done it often. A learned skill to help ease the heavy days of fishing from family members when her goals in life had been far simpler. Working in patterns, over and over to try and take the ache and the seized feeling from his limbs.
That most especially, strange as it seemed, no water ever touches the wound except where it runs a rivulet around it, to clean any blood away, but never to sting the wound itself. ]