she’s got jumper cable lips
she’s got sunset on her breath. now i inhaled just a little bit, now i’ve got no fear of death
The pensivity leaves the expression of his face easily and replaces itself with something better, in Wishbone’s opinion. She’s heard the stories of Isobell and the others (though their names are quickly fleeing her mind at this moment), of drownings in oceans and rivers, and they had come mostly from Scorch’s mouth. The specifics especially escape her when he reaches in to nip at her shoulder and a blossom of sweetly-intermingled pain and pleasure brings a smirk to her sable mouth against his crest.
He’s moving beside her, a question falling from his rugged mouth, and Wishbone is moving with him. Her own mouth finds the slope where the withers meet the back and she puts pressure there, enough to feel beneath the protection of his scales. Her answer is said along the length of his spine, husky and low. “I fuckin’ hope I’m in danger.” Wishbone lives for the thrill of it — the dances with death and oh, death is now nodding its mangy head in her direction and opening a bloodied hand to invite her closer.
She takes that slender hand, releasing a breathy moan to the sky when his teeth contradict the innocence of his sentence. The cocktail of pain and pleasure draws her closer to sinful drunkenness with each touch of Ivar’s mouth, but the woman will not succumb so easily as the others. They are aligned in opposite yet parallel directions and it gives her the perfect opportunity to do something impulsive.
Wishbone’s head drops below the tobiano’s stomach. Though it is only for a matter of moments, it might certainly feel like longer for Ivar. When her lips trail against the inside of his thigh and back up over the point of his hip, there’s a devilish smile working against her lips. She might be young but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know what men want. She’s reckless though observant.
Finally a reply to his comment drags from his lips, fashioned by the fire of lust. “Then I suppose I’m harmless as well.” Wishbone twines around him, though the action holds perhaps too much pressure than normal given her inexperience, and when she reaches the opposite side of him her face leans upward to mouth at his ear. She is mimicking him, perhaps to learn or perhaps to seduce, and thus there is more tooth than lip as his touches had been. Touches that she has found a great deal of enjoyment in.
wishbone
@[Ivar]