M - her disappearing theme

[Luz Cresceno]

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Ee! Goodness me. Also, please forgive temporary extreme god-moding; whatever's not okay can and will be fixed. Also, Gotta Have You by the Weepies is blasting in my brain right now. Egads! Delight. I'll let you be the judge of if/when an 'm' might need to make its way to the title. JUST EXCEPTIONALLY BAD AT SAYING WHEN "Oh, what luck," she whispered, dark-eyed, low-lidded, empirically pleased if certain betrayals of the mouth can be believed. There was an acrobratic shift of her limbs, hand-flutters, heart-beats. Suddenly Luz Cresceno was astride the object of her affection, and suddenly, she was entirely unsure of herself. But such exposures are the flaws of other beasts; she looked utterly herself, her shoulders slack, her head tilted sideways, her mouth slanted. Luz Cresceno was fashioned for such moments. "Do you know," she began, a finger (so like a silver sliver) beginning slow geometries across the confessor's chest, avoiding the most obvious locations, turning to a flat palm and back to a single roving point at intervals its owner could not even predict. Her eyes slid with it, wedding senses, snapping her logic. "I've wanted you, before Italy, before that entire continent. I wanted you," and the exploration ceased for a moment, "the very first time I saw your eyebrows waggle?" It began again as suddenly as it had ceased. She grinned, excavating years from bone and back, for such a smile was more of an inside joke than a facial orchestration. "Not forever," she agreed, suspiciously sensible, leaning foreward so that her lips were scant inches from a certain set of dark ears, "but perhaps..." Her hands (both, even the left sister) pinched what might be named the most sensitive portions of the breasts, in a motion somehow abrupt and gentle, without so much as a gnat's breath to give warning. "Perhaps tonight?" she asked, earnestly, her eyes so wide, so open, unguarded by their usual coy slant and the matte-black eyelashes. To share it, she eased backwards, sliding her hands into flat palms on the ground. Here! Another naked moment, far more than an intimation. There she was, faulty, fickle Luz Cresceno, who loved a babyface wanderer and couldn't quite say so, not now, not yet.

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