verbrannt | you don't talk to no one, don't you look at nothin'

"Just a little," she agrees with a laugh that sounds more strained than she means it to. Lark takes a deeper breath as Astrid rises and she keeps her eyes, vivid and green, on the other woman as those wonderfully dexterous hands go after her bodice. There's that faint rush of sensation as it comes loose and she swears the color in her face deepens as a warm hand slips beneath fabric to slide over her breast.

She shrugs out of the bodice, leaving it where it falls as she scoots a little closer to the edge of the bed. It is deliriously thrilling to feel Astrid between her legs.

"No," she admits. "I've been with men, though." She's definitely been with men, she isn't entirely a novice at this. And she's thought of women, but that hardly gives her the same experience beyond knowing her own body.

An almost bemused smile curls on her lips. "Well, as I said: allow me to broaden your imagination, hm?"

Blouse sufficiently loosened, Astrid tugs the wide neckline off one shoulder, and lower, finally, to expose one breast. The sight of this sweet young woman, eager and flushed and willing, sends another heated wave of arousal through her own body. Another flash of memory.

She cups Larke gently in her palm, fingertips rolling and fondling until the dusty pink nipple hardens. With a heated flash of her eyes, her mouth descends, and takes her in to take up the work of her fingers with her tongue and teeth instead.

Her heart is already beating faster and she feels an answering throb between her legs as Astrid strokes and squeezes and pinches until she has what she wants. But it isn't until Astrid's mouth replaces her fingers that Lark reaches for her.

She makes a sweet sound, almost a whimper, and her fingers sink into Astrid's hair, holding it back as her teeth and tongue tease her. Even after living and working like this most of her life, Lark still has soft curves, and more of them are revealed as she lets the wide neck of her blouse slide off the other shoulder.

Lark has to remind herself to stop trying to move closer: she'll run out of bed and she doesn't really want to knock both of them to the floor because she can't manage to sit still.

That little sound is what spurs her on, sucking and tonguing and nibbling at that sweet little nub. Lark is surprisingly reticent thus far otherwise, so Astrid resolves to find more ways to pull noises from her; she has plenty of ideas, yet.

She pauses just enough to push the shirt upward, up and off Lark completely. Dark hair tousles downward over her bared chest, lovely breasts on full display. Astrid wastes no time in resuming giving them her full attention with her hands and her mouth, placing hungry kisses between them, over them, fingertips stroking suggestively low on her stomach. She sucks the other nipple to full attention, moaning greedily to feel it respond against her tongue. More kisses, burying her face amidst the softness there before finally setting her teeth against the sweet curve of one breast, and sucks a dark mark into warm skin.

Lark helps get her blouse off and manages not to get tangled in it. Her legs tighten on either side of Astrid and her fingers stroke back into her shorter hair as she takes her other nipple. Every knead and stroke of her hands makes it feel more impossible to stay still and she can't help the moan that escapes her as Astrid's mouth moves to suck a bruise onto her breast.

"Astrid," she gasps out, but rather than saying anything else, Lark's hands move to try and relieve Astrid of her clothes. She tries not to be impatient with the lace holding Astrid's bodice closed and she manages to get it loose without getting in Astrid's way. Her fingers tug and pluck until the lace is gone completely. Her hands slide beneath the other woman's blouse, over her shoulders and down her back as far as Lark can reach. And in doing so, she pushes herself against Astrid's mouth.

Lark pushes at her clothes, her hands slipping beneath to touch skin, and Astrid nearly arches away on reflex; there are more scars on her body, more than than the ones Lark sees every day, and there's a moment where she nearly stops her.

The desire thrumming through her body quickly overrides any hesitation. It's nothing worse than what she's already seen on her face, or her neck, or the tattoos on her arms. Lark knows better than to ask by now, and the eagerness she feels in her only spurs her forward.

Astrid does pull back, but only enough to get back to her feet and push Lark back onto the bed. She stalks after her, shedding bodice and blouse and even her skirt, pulled hastily up over her head. Lark's dark hair is a beautiful spread across pale sheets, and Astrid curls a hand in it, leans in to capture her lips with her own again.

"You're beautiful," she purrs between kisses, pressing a knee between Lark's legs. "You're so beautiful, and I want to taste your sweet cunt."

Lark doesn't ask about the scars, but neither does she treat them like something to avoid unless Astrid asks her to.

She laughs breathlessly as she's pushed onto the bed. Lark moves higher along the mattress, her eyes still intent on Astrid as the other woman gets out of her clothes. She's still smiling when she's pulled into a kiss. Her hands caress over Astrid's cheeks and down her neck and she breathes in sharply as Astrid's knee pushes between her legs. The promise of pressure makes her ache and she thinks she'd rub herself off against Astrid's leg if that's what she wanted.

"Please," she murmurs, voice warmer and heavier as arousal floods her. Even as Astrid makes that declaration, Lark leans closer to press a kiss between Astrid's breasts as she hovers over her.

For a brief moment, the tender touch flashes another memory to the front of her mind, so strong and visceral that Astrid nearly turns to look for someone else behind her. Her chest clenches for the space of a heartbeat before the pain passes; it's been well over a decade since it's ever been more than one person with her like this.

She fights the memory back once more, grinding her knee against the heat between Lark's legs and tugging a little at her hair just to feel the tension in it. Her other hand is already shifting skirts out of the way, already too impatient to find the ties or clasps to loosen them and instead trailing fingertips along a soft, inner thigh. Gods, when was the last time she had gotten to do this?

Her hand eventually replaces her knee, exploring, rubbing, watching and listening hungrily for the sounds loosed from Lark's pretty lips. She should have done this weeks ago.

you don't talk to no one, don't you look at nothin'

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