Sunspire Mountains all the butterflies have turned to vultures in my stomach

"hold still or i'll have you twice more, fille"

the memory forged esme into a gargoyle; a gothic aspect transmorgifying her normal architecture into some grotesque masonry, lips frozen only until rainwater would grant her back her voice. she stared vacantly at the ground, holding still as he'd bade her, slack-jawed and insensate to the struggling mill of his hips.

devoted as he was to the cause of lifting his little soldier's spirits, it was a most unprosperous expenditure of his energy and riley would likely awaken tomorrow to carpet burn on his nether regions from the friction. her own dehydrated mouth-in-the-south was already getting quite crotchety about this lame ass twinkie insisting (quite aggressively) that she taste his cream, when all she'd sent for a corndog and would not settle for less than a goddamned corndog.

the woman's eyes blinked languorously, as if she was coming to from a daydream. drool dumbly wetted her lips, which she wicked away with her tongue. abruptly, mid-stroke, she ripped herself out from under him and whirled on her heels, the skin of her nose ruched in a grimace. "guess i just don't do it for you, sweetling," she said in a tone that implied it was not her performance that was unsatisfactory. she'd gotten him quite revved up, had she not? 

"and don't you dare tell me what to do like that again," a resentful, flametailed meteor flashed across her gaze.

she straightened and looked away airily, "perhaps this donovan would be more to my liking?" her nose aloft, she let her eyes drift back to see riley's reaction.