Sex with Aerith is a one-sided fuck.
She'll take down her hair and you'll drop your pants and she'll scissor her fingers without any lube. There's never any playing, just red, raw thrusting; impersonal down to the dainty, pink dress she won't ever take off.
I don't ask her why; we don't really talk; I'm just naked in her lap and I'm just getting poked and I'm just not with Maleficent, so it's all very fine.
Acid doesn't taste as good, even with its clothes off.
Aerith isn't a toucher. She doesn't want and doesn't like and doesn't do more than you tell her.
"Hit the Moulin Rouge if you wanna see tit," Aerith told me quite sternly when my hand wanted her breast. We were already done, so she wasn't so mad, but it's clear that business is business and I'm not to get attached.
And I'm not, but it's queer, 'cause I dream in pink: dream of the broad who sits in a chair and lets her hair fall and works you inside 'til you come.
everything disclaimed.
seme.Aerith!uke.Riku
ftw.