Sunset ^beta

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There's only one person on the Boiling Isles who can make the Owl Lady blush, and they're deftly unwrapping her like she's a box of shockolate troubles topped with a bow.

("Time for dessert," Raine whispered in her ear after dinner, and Eda instantly became as red as the toemato soup they'd just finished.)

She shouldn't be embarrassed, she shouldn't — it's her, it's Raine — but once they remove that last bit of lace, she automatically hides her (still ginger) curls.

But Raine's eyes crinkle and look at her with such tender want, and — cheeks still burning — Eda moves her hand.

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Raine's always performed best for an audience of one. Eda, specifically. And they're ready to show her — once again — just how clever their tongue and mouth and fingers can be.

(Though they're not expecting chords and arpeggios to come out of this particular instrument — there's some chance of a trill, but moans and keens are a little more likely.)

Raine gently nuzzles Eda's legs apart. A shy hand threads through their (greying) hair as Raine's fingers twist around flaming curls.

Eyes closed, they breathe her in.

Hungrily, Raine presses a kiss to a (trembling) inner thigh before lips meet lips.

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There are benefits to having a musician as a lover.

Raine's tongue starts soft, piano — enough to tease, excite. (Forceful comes later.)

A skilled finger enters into play, strumming her just so even as Raine takes advantage of their lung capacity and doesn't pause to breathe.

(When Raine eventually rests and tastes a (now wet) finger, Eda's heart responds by increasing the tempo.)

As the crescendo builds to its climax, Eda's voice joins the song as a counter-melody.

And then she shudders — a struck gong that continues to vibrate. Raine eases her through the diminuendo, and finally she stills.

"Encore?"