[Shiro has a lot of traits and sometimes some of them serve him better than others. Right now however, his attention to detail and his utter thoroughness are riding him hard. There's not an inch of her he intends to leave untouched, not a single square of her skin that he doesn't intend to worship and claim again, back from the cold that's held her so long, back from the half-life she's been dreamwalking through. She's his Hana and, damn it, he knows she's needed time to recover, hasn't resented that but he hates seeing the lack of spark and life in her beautiful eyes. If his touch now brings it back, if anything he's doing at all in these moments brings the heat back to her skin and the life back to her eyes, than he's not going to stop until her entire body is flush with it and she's herself again, even if only for a little while.
So her shirt is lifted higher and higher as he slowly works his way up her body, until finally its carefully tugged free over her head entirely and her bra comes next because that keeps him from some of her scars as well. From the subtle curve of her hips upward she has all of his touch and attention, teeth, lips, tongue, the suck of his mouth, the drag of his hands. He follows the wind and curve of every scar, shifts himself around to follow the ridge across her back and lets his hands drag up the front of her, stroking, fingers digging, kneading. Gets his feet under him again so that he can slowly move upward, shoulderblades, curve of her spine, nips and slow drags of his tongue and open mouthed kisses, up over her shoulder, along her neck and then back down across her collar bone, the swell of her breasts, her sides. Every inch, every trace and his hands slip down to cup the curves of her backside, lifting and holding her close, support if she needs it as his mouth finally slips back up her throat, leaves marks on her there against the cold and then slants, just as hot, just as hungry over her mouth again. And one of his hands shifts, tugs in unspoken question at the hem of her pants.]
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So her shirt is lifted higher and higher as he slowly works his way up her body, until finally its carefully tugged free over her head entirely and her bra comes next because that keeps him from some of her scars as well. From the subtle curve of her hips upward she has all of his touch and attention, teeth, lips, tongue, the suck of his mouth, the drag of his hands. He follows the wind and curve of every scar, shifts himself around to follow the ridge across her back and lets his hands drag up the front of her, stroking, fingers digging, kneading. Gets his feet under him again so that he can slowly move upward, shoulderblades, curve of her spine, nips and slow drags of his tongue and open mouthed kisses, up over her shoulder, along her neck and then back down across her collar bone, the swell of her breasts, her sides. Every inch, every trace and his hands slip down to cup the curves of her backside, lifting and holding her close, support if she needs it as his mouth finally slips back up her throat, leaves marks on her there against the cold and then slants, just as hot, just as hungry over her mouth again. And one of his hands shifts, tugs in unspoken question at the hem of her pants.]