[ It's true. It doesn't take much to get her blood running, not after a few drinks too many and a body so strong and big it could punch volcanic boulders into submission. (Whether he told her as a joke or imagined it herself will remain a mystery.) She couldn't describe how she took the actions leading to this, but the sergeant had stopped thinking at some point and relied on her instinct, which told her Chris is someone she could trust like a brother on the battlefield. That, to her, is a hefty degree of confidence.
Though just as fit as the BSA captain, Lightning is slender, fair-coloured, and fine-featured. Her spirit possesses the edges of a sword while her body the curves of a goddess. She seems tiny beneath him, but there is an undeniable power to her, a physical control that comes from years of strict training regiments, and a relentlessness that comes from a fighter of cruel fate, the ominous arrow-pierced tattoo at the centre of her chest a testament of her trials.
Heat radiates off her skin as she grinds and groans and grabs at this man—Chris Redfield—he gave her the name earlier tonight, but she noted it again on his uniform before yanking the fabric off his chest. Everything is off her except her necklace, the bolt-shaped pendant somewhere behind her and coldly pressing into her shoulder as she rocks under him.
Truth is her vision is a haze, but her nerves tingle with every pump of his hand. Soon she'll be squelching, her hips bucking up to him and and legs trembling around him, uncertain whether to spread them wider or fold them over his back. Lightning breaks their kiss for breath, a moan dragging out of her lungs with his tongue, and she runs a hand up the side of his face, fingers clenching into short, damp hair. She's bad at words, but her eyes speak for her as she points a focuses and electric blue gaze upon him, sighs tumbling from swelling pink lips. ]
disregard that previous tag hurr
Though just as fit as the BSA captain, Lightning is slender, fair-coloured, and fine-featured. Her spirit possesses the edges of a sword while her body the curves of a goddess. She seems tiny beneath him, but there is an undeniable power to her, a physical control that comes from years of strict training regiments, and a relentlessness that comes from a fighter of cruel fate, the ominous arrow-pierced tattoo at the centre of her chest a testament of her trials.
Heat radiates off her skin as she grinds and groans and grabs at this man—Chris Redfield—he gave her the name earlier tonight, but she noted it again on his uniform before yanking the fabric off his chest. Everything is off her except her necklace, the bolt-shaped pendant somewhere behind her and coldly pressing into her shoulder as she rocks under him.
Truth is her vision is a haze, but her nerves tingle with every pump of his hand. Soon she'll be squelching, her hips bucking up to him and and legs trembling around him, uncertain whether to spread them wider or fold them over his back. Lightning breaks their kiss for breath, a moan dragging out of her lungs with his tongue, and she runs a hand up the side of his face, fingers clenching into short, damp hair. She's bad at words, but her eyes speak for her as she points a focuses and electric blue gaze upon him, sighs tumbling from swelling pink lips. ]