Atthis sits on the edge of the bed and fiddles with her bag, fixing the buckles over and over. She wonders if Ryker can see her cheeks flushing through her curtain of fiery red hair. He stands in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame as he watches her. Atthis' heart beats faster with every moment spent in awkward silence.

Eventually ( Read more... )

Atthis purrs as Sappho's fingers explore her pale, freckled skin, drawing intricate patterns for her to retrace later with her tongue. Atthis twists her hands helplessly in her bonds. She wants nothing more than to return the touches, to twine her fingers in Sappho's long, dark hair, to dig her short nails into Sappho's skin.

'Sappho, for the love ( Read more... )

This is what to do with overactive teenage hormones.

Sappho is sitting at her desk when Atthis comes in, sweating and a little dirty from training with the Praetorians. Her dusty leather armour is dented in some places from the repeated impact of swords smashing against it, and there are a few fresh cuts on her arms. She looks a little short of ( Read more... )