Disclaimer: I do not own Vindictus or the characters in it.
She opens her mouth to speak but a pair of lips falls to hers, soft and tender, silencing any plea from ever being said. It was like this sometimes; the strawberry blond woman would slip in bed with the ex-hunter, and curl up close to the other woman, quietly murmuring something about being cold and wanting to just share body heat with another. The almost 'then go to Brynn, I know you want to.' always nearly slips from the red-headed woman but she stays quiet about it, feeling an inner bitterness for even thinking about it. The woman at her side – more correctly, straddling her and undressing her – was her friend and it was horrid to even feel jealous over things…
But people such as Brynn fluttered out of her line of thought as soft delicate hands work the pajama bottoms down and brush against a thigh and then over wet folds, a playful smile on the younger woman's lips as she murmurs something into the other woman's ear, saying not to worry about Fergus, the person always barging in, and that a small sleep pill in his earlier brandy would keep them safe from the blacksmith from ever waking up.
Fingers skate against tanned skin, brushing alongside the curve of breasts and a tongue flicks over one now perked and hard nipple, getting a sharp intake of breath from the fighter. Her toned body wriggles beneath an explorative tongue and hands, a pair of fingers delving inside of her body, working their way in and out, curling and brushing a hot spot as hot breath is breathed over her center, a tongue rolling over the clit again and again.
It makes Kirstie whimper and bite back a cry. Even if Fergus was asleep there were the others. What would they think about finding the two girls together, one going down and lapping at wet folds and urging the other girl to a peak of pleasure with fingers? She had no thoughts of wanting to know.
Not now.
Not ever.
"Tieve," she whispers, the other woman's name as a soft moan in the air of the room and her body rocks up to a tongue and fingers. Her body is plummeting through air and clouds and oceans, rolling and tumbling, breaking and burning. Her toes curl and her fingers dig deep against the bed sheets. It's every single good feeling a person can feel with an orgasm.
When it's all over the oracle scoots herself back up beside her friend (and lover?) and places a small peck against the older woman's lips, before squealing softly as she finds herself pinned before a delicately muscled and toned body. A playful grin on the others lips and fiery eyes dancing just as mischievous as those blue ones she loves so much.
A softly cooed, "your turn," from the girl on top before the nightgown is eased off and over her head and the act that had just been played is replayed, only more gingerly and sweetly. Only the best for her sweet and not-so-innocent Innkeeper.