You'll be amazed at the secrets I keep
Title: Poet Laureate
Characters: Isolde/Atton
'Verse: Knights of the Old Republic
Rating: PG-13
She's lying on her stomach next to him, eyes shut, but he knows her well enough to know that she's not asleep-her breath isn't heavy and deep just yet. His eyes sweep over the bare skin available to him, her back completely exposed to him, the sheet covering her bunched up around her waist.
“Atton,” she mumbles, stirring beneath him as his lips trace over her hot skin.
“Hm?” His mouth is on her shoulder, and he catches her eye-opened now-through her hair.
“Aren't you tired?” Isolde says it as though she is exhausted, but he can hear how awake she is now, the low thrill of excitement in her voice that she's having trouble hiding.
He takes a moment before answering her, forehead resting on her shoulder blade. “You're the one lying in my bed without clothes. It's too distracting.”
Her head ducks further into the bed, her words muffled while she speaks. “I was not aware that you were part droid, Atton.”
“Yeah, I happen to like self-loathing insults, if you hadn't noticed,” he snorts, his fingers trailing down along her spine. She arches, shivering under his touch. A smirk plants itself firmly on his face, even if she can't see it.
She remains quiet, and he realizes with a sharp pang of guilt that she's taking him seriously when she reaches for his other hand, lips pressing to each fingertip in soft kisses.
Atton traces absent figures on her skin, loving each little sigh she expels. With his finger, he writes epics on her back, meaningless tales with no beginnings and no ends until she moves under him, turning so that his old canvas is gone and a fresh one replaces it.
He writes with his mouth and his teeth and his tongue on this one, until his muse dissolves in satisfaction of his work.
Characters: Isolde/Atton
'Verse: Knights of the Old Republic
Rating: PG-13
She's lying on her stomach next to him, eyes shut, but he knows her well enough to know that she's not asleep-her breath isn't heavy and deep just yet. His eyes sweep over the bare skin available to him, her back completely exposed to him, the sheet covering her bunched up around her waist.
“Atton,” she mumbles, stirring beneath him as his lips trace over her hot skin.
“Hm?” His mouth is on her shoulder, and he catches her eye-opened now-through her hair.
“Aren't you tired?” Isolde says it as though she is exhausted, but he can hear how awake she is now, the low thrill of excitement in her voice that she's having trouble hiding.
He takes a moment before answering her, forehead resting on her shoulder blade. “You're the one lying in my bed without clothes. It's too distracting.”
Her head ducks further into the bed, her words muffled while she speaks. “I was not aware that you were part droid, Atton.”
“Yeah, I happen to like self-loathing insults, if you hadn't noticed,” he snorts, his fingers trailing down along her spine. She arches, shivering under his touch. A smirk plants itself firmly on his face, even if she can't see it.
She remains quiet, and he realizes with a sharp pang of guilt that she's taking him seriously when she reaches for his other hand, lips pressing to each fingertip in soft kisses.
Atton traces absent figures on her skin, loving each little sigh she expels. With his finger, he writes epics on her back, meaningless tales with no beginnings and no ends until she moves under him, turning so that his old canvas is gone and a fresh one replaces it.
He writes with his mouth and his teeth and his tongue on this one, until his muse dissolves in satisfaction of his work.