[There exist very few compliments on visual appearance than can genuinely flatter a shapeshifter. After all… At any given time, they may be wearing a shape that is not their “natural” one, but instead one they had chosen or crafted, detail by meticulous detail. What vain pleasure might be gained from being told that the body or the face that you had constructed to be beautiful… was? A compliment of skill, yes, it could be taken that way, but to feel it in the heart, that warm little flutter of being sincerely called “beautiful”…
In self-aware shifters, such feelings died.
But Kiritsubo’s ink, which outside of genuine need for infiltration or disguise she never changed no matter how she shifted her outside form from male to female, short to tall, petite to large, young to old… That was how that feeling of being flattered came to be. Her smile warms, softens slightly, fingertips dragging gently over some of the expanse of honeycomb along her breast, dipping down to brush the peony blooming on her lower belly as she teases them both, watching though heavy lashes as he takes an elegant knee. (It suited him- Funny, that the last unicorn she knew had also been a knight. That must suit them.)]
Thank you.
[That comes first, simple and pleased. But with his offer just there, the two of them poised to meet at the foot of his bed… Kiritsubo releases the robe she had been primed to remove herself in order to reach forward and cup the large man’s cheek in her soft hand, admiring how the flush of desire stood out so blatantly on his pale features. He’d like to feel and taste rather than simply look?]
I’d like that very… very much.
[There is no need to rush. Following the pace and the guiding touch of his strong hands she slowly arches and dips, pulling first one arm and then the other from the captivity of cloth, revealing in the process a crane and turtle, symbols of long life and a love both tender and doomed, on her upper arms. And when she shifts to help facilitate peeling the garment fully away, turning her hips and resting her weight on an opposite hand upon the mattress so that it might be tugged free from beneath her…
A blade glistens down her spine, pierced through another crimson peony. As opposed to the simpler, more abstract one upon her belly, this one overflows with life, each petal lovingly curled and painstakingly shaded. The shape of it, curving in at the top… it’s almost like a heart.
And her own is thrumming heavy, her pulse a steady presence beneath Concord’s palms as she looks over her now bare shoulder at him, desire and invitation in her eyes. That, and a slightly playful,]
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In self-aware shifters, such feelings died.
But Kiritsubo’s ink, which outside of genuine need for infiltration or disguise she never changed no matter how she shifted her outside form from male to female, short to tall, petite to large, young to old… That was how that feeling of being flattered came to be. Her smile warms, softens slightly, fingertips dragging gently over some of the expanse of honeycomb along her breast, dipping down to brush the peony blooming on her lower belly as she teases them both, watching though heavy lashes as he takes an elegant knee. (It suited him- Funny, that the last unicorn she knew had also been a knight. That must suit them.)]
Thank you.
[That comes first, simple and pleased. But with his offer just there, the two of them poised to meet at the foot of his bed… Kiritsubo releases the robe she had been primed to remove herself in order to reach forward and cup the large man’s cheek in her soft hand, admiring how the flush of desire stood out so blatantly on his pale features. He’d like to feel and taste rather than simply look?]
I’d like that very… very much.
[There is no need to rush. Following the pace and the guiding touch of his strong hands she slowly arches and dips, pulling first one arm and then the other from the captivity of cloth, revealing in the process a crane and turtle, symbols of long life and a love both tender and doomed, on her upper arms. And when she shifts to help facilitate peeling the garment fully away, turning her hips and resting her weight on an opposite hand upon the mattress so that it might be tugged free from beneath her…
A blade glistens down her spine, pierced through another crimson peony. As opposed to the simpler, more abstract one upon her belly, this one overflows with life, each petal lovingly curled and painstakingly shaded. The shape of it, curving in at the top… it’s almost like a heart.
And her own is thrumming heavy, her pulse a steady presence beneath Concord’s palms as she looks over her now bare shoulder at him, desire and invitation in her eyes. That, and a slightly playful,]
Don’t worry. It’s not sharp for someone like you.