To her regret, Zelsys was certain that the linen which bound her chest would share the same fate. Soaked in blood and sweat, caked in all possible forms of dirt, covered in holes and torn up to the very edge of just falling apart. She would’ve been a liar if she had said that she could go with her breasts bound all day every day. It was certainly a great relief to be free of the pressure, and yet she still intended to continue binding them - she was certain that they would’ve sustained far more than a couple scrapes and cuts had she not secured them in this manner.
She heard an ever so shaky breath and sigh from Zefaris. “What kind of joke is sticking your hand down my pants and then giving me a shock?!” she burst out with an audible mixture of flustered and confusion. Even she didn’t know how she felt about it.
Zel couldn’t blame her considering that, “Sure sounded like you liked it.”
“N-no, you just startled me,” the blonde refused, though even she didn’t sound like she really meant it. Once more, silence. Zelsys had to painstakingly pull the wrappings free of her blood-crusted skin, the puncture wounds that dotted the sides of her torso opening up again briefly.
“Startled you? Didn’t know you get off on fear,” Zel chuckled teasingly, pulling off her trousers and underwear in one motion. Wisps of white Fog rose from the fabric as it returned to its natural, non-stretched out shape.
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Dead Ones, that woman drove her mad. It was like she knew exactly which buttons to push and how to push them, even ones Zefaris didn’t know she had. Zelsys was the one missing an arm here, the one with fractures and numerous wounds, and yet she still maintained that electrifying, primal presence that had drawn Zefaris to her in the first place.
“Startled you? Didn’t know you get off on fear,” she mocked again. Zefaris knew what it really meant, it was about as forward an invitation as was possible without saying it outright.
Zefaris tossed the last of her garments onto a pile on the ground and got up, momentarily looking herself over in the mirror on the wall. The beige-brown muck of travel and brownish-red of blood from scrapes and cuts contrasted all the more brightly against her snow-white skin - much in the same way as the reddish-pink blush which had flooded her face. She really didn’t care now. The decision had been made for her in the depths of the lizard brain.
A towel from the bedside cabinet, held in the hand. There was no point to conceal from her counterpart that which had been explored and that which would be explored again. Not in privacy, at least.
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She walked towards the bedroom door, taking a breath. Without even thinking about it, she opened her left eye, awoke the right eye, and stopped next to a cross-legged Zel. It was for no purpose other than to look down at Zelsys and brazenly drink in every drop of what could be seen.
It was a real struggle, taking her eyes off that musclebound bronze form. All the wounds and muck of combat did nothing to conceal her lover’s absolute beauty, if anything they only exemplified it. But then, she was as biased as was possible.
A few seconds were drawn out far beyond reason by the influx of visual stimuli from both her eyes combined - her focus constantly jumped from the whole to single, small details. Individual scratches, the silver lines that trailed all across Zel’s body, the creases of her musculature, the tiny holes between her ribs, and her glistening, heaving breasts, so impossibly perfect despite small wounds, so entrancing to look at… And all throughout, Zefaris felt Zelsys’s eyes doing the very same to her, until their eyes met.
The predatory stare, the toothy half-grin, the relaxed posture that hid naught but the absolute barest minimum, just enough to be even more of a tease. Before it had been a matter of releasing tension, purely an act of instinct. No more meaningful than a shaken-up cider bottle spraying all over the place when the cork is removed. It was different now, now that they’d had some more time to simply exist in one another’s presence, now that they’d faced and conquered mortal threats together.
“You know I don’t get off on fear,” Zefaris said, closing her left eye and contracting the right one’s twin pupils. She walked to the door. Click. Creak. Before she crossed the precipice she added: “I’m not a coward.”
Across the hallway and into the bathroom.
Bare feet on varnished wood.
Click. Creak. Water splashing into a bathtub.
Bare feet on ceramic tile.
The bathtub was half-full. Zefaris walked over and closed the tap, and her mind dwelt not on what was within her sight or what she did, but on every other sense. The sound of bare feet on varnished wood, then ceramic tile. Creak. Click.
She continued as if nothing were amiss, straightening her posture, turning, hanging the towel on one of the exposed copper pipes that ran horizontally across the wall.
An intangible voltage filled the air. Before she knew it, Zefaris felt Zel’s bosom pressing into her back, she felt Zel’s heartbeat through her skin and her breath on the back of her neck. Silver wisps of Fog clouded her peripheral vision, goosebumps ran down her back, and an electric buzz flooded forth wherever Zel’s body met hers.
It was like every tiny touch sensation echoed thrice over, it took her breath away and made her heart pound even more than it already was. She felt Zel’s lips press against her neck as her arm wrapped around her chest, playful fingers dancing across her breasts, fondling and caressing, teasing her with a maddeningly slow pace.
Zefaris managed to turn around. That was the extent of control she exerted before Zel plucked it from her grasp again, grabbing eye contact and refusing to let go while her hand worked its way downwards.