"Close your eyes?" Fenix waits dutifully, needled pupils pinned on the blond sitting in front of her. It had been a story a long time ago, regaling the other of holiday's on distant earth, filling details where history lessons only told so much. Somewhere around this time, give or take some room for error was another, something entertained for a lift of mood, a tinge of nostalgia. Today she regards the scars and twisted flesh with little more than a gentle brush, how often she'd spend on them when he allowed.
Today she drapes a fabric over him, softly ribbed in places as deft fingers work along. As red as his coat, underlaid with black detail, gold latches. She makes a noise to alert him of her finish, taking but a step back with a click of talons on the hard floor, gaze sweeping over her handiwork of a hand worked corset. The stare could be considered ardent, the gold in her eyes honey warm when they lift to his face again.
it's crimmas ! crimmas asks for vash , @breathofcosmos
a chuckle escapes him ; soft & low in the early hours of dawn. there’s an amused glint alighting those gentle azures of his as he regards her. the edge of his lips litting up at their corners. “why’s that sound more like a question than —” he doesn’t get the chance to finish his amicable jesting when sure hands heft him to turn. a breath is sucked in between his teeth as he wills himself to still beneath her vice. letting her poke & prod & adjust at her leisure, save for the way his head continues to sway back & forth. bobbing with unreleased energy.
normally, he’d shy away from the eyes of others in his undress ; but with her —- with fen, it was another story. she knew too well the sort of stories his scars told. knew well enough that she had her own, that wove stories akin to his own.
she chirrups & he stirs. blinking once as his chin drops to meet the apex of his collar ; blinking owlishly at his shadow spanning the not so distant wall across the room.
it’s snug. in a way that does more to alleviate the sore joints of his flesh & bone. knitting him back together ; cradled by the craftsmanship & dedication poured into it. smoothing a hand down the front panel. calloused fingers brushing over the ribbed fabric. trailing, curling under the hem to toy at it. thoroughly enjoying the contrast between his marred skin & the smooth expanse of satin & cotton.
his vision blurs ; emotion sufficiently rises to strangle him. his throat works as some of the constant ache bleeds off. as if the hold of this garment had acted akin to a siphon. draining & soothing it away. a shuddering breath rips from his throat, uneven & wet as those eyes ; brighter than they had before - enough so that her petite countenance alights with the luminance emanating from them. marking her. “i don’t.” it's garbled & strained & vash audibly swallows & scuffs a hand over his face, to the back of his neck as he shivers — shudders once more. “thank you, it’s —- everything.”