[attr="class","isratalk"]

His eagerness does nothing to scare her off, it encourages, emboldens. He'll know what she likes by the end of the night, she does not shy from it, eager to be pleased and to please in return. A hand begins to drift over skin, lightly, barely there, looking for the places he likes best. She wants to find the waves cold enough to put a chill up his spine. She is slight and tantalizing, exploiting his want.

When their eyes meet he'll find something he's never seen before. The porcelain face belies the fire, the intensity so rarely found in the day to day is nearly all consuming in the gold of her eyes. It has eaten away at the blank apathy he's used to seeing, tonight they are alive as she thrives beneath his touch. He has found one of two things that makes her feel alive in a world she does not belong to.

He does not surprise her, she does not resist him.

Already they prove a fitting match be that for better or worse. Worse she decides, though the thought is fleeting. Quickly drowned by efforts she is eager to appreciate and accept. She does not need to think he will earn his keep when he is proving that he will. Worse. When the tide rises the shore is powerless to stop it, it's only choice is to flow with the waters, let it take the grains of its sands and do what it will. Isra is no different. Despite the stubbornness they both so readily share she knows he will get to her. is getting to her. and she enjoys it.

Eyes meet again. The intensity has not diminished, it won't.

She grins. Watching him move, taking in what she sees of him. So unlike what she expects.

"Not dirty enough, you're still talking."

She realizes as she speaks it's like a storm in her chest and it makes her grin wider. It's the only urging she needs to reach for him, seeking to pull the waves back to shore. The eagerness of the kiss hides the agenda, it's her turn to push and the motion to swap places is done with a deftness he might not have expected before tonight. The visage he so often sees is something delicate but feisty, her porcelain skin making her seem like a dressed up doll that could break at any moment. The truth he has found hidden beneath the lace and layers tells a very different tale. She hides a well kept body, athletic and baring its own set of scars, though they lack the dramatics of his own they hide a story he's yet to find. It is a fact that is neither here nor there.

Sand becomes waves and waves become sand. She is assertive in returning what has been given, she will not be put in a place of owing. Eyes are on him, looking for the tell tale signs of the shore eroding beneath the waves. She's no more of a stranger to the ways of the shore than he is, eager to shape it into something that can come crashing down when the tide roles in. It shows in every shift of the tide, and every insistence.

FERNANDO SILPH