Bella clamps a hand under Ember's jaw before she can add anymore words to what should be a silent display of pyrotechnics. She feels her chest squish against Ember's back as she leans forward, warm skin pressing against a cool jacket. Her stomach clenches; hair tumbles over her shoulder and down Ember's face. Her finger press up as her neck and shoulders curl down, and their mouths meet in the middle. 

There is a struggle, at the start. Startled grunts melt into moans and the strain she feels against her arms lasts only a moment or two before all of that weight is sinking into her, instead. kiss is burning hot and dripping wet. It tastes of flatbread and cheap wine, and it makes Bella's tail curl at the tip. She pulls away as her injured hand starts to twitch and curl in on itself.

She forces her breathing to stay steady, so that her heart will not flutter and betray her. She forces her jaw to stay loose, so that her teeth will not clench and give her away. She forces her eyes to stay shut, so that Ember can't look into them and see all of the conflict and pain that is welling up inside her chest like a storm. When they part she turns and watches the fireworks, pulling Ember inside of her jacket. Her good hand presses two claws on the inside of Ember's thigh, and traces them softly up and down. Her lips curl upward, though they don't quite manage a smile.

"Moron," she says, "What good's your threat now?"

All the answer she gets is a flush of warmth, a flustered giggle that's fighting with a sigh, and the thumping of a tail. But there is tension in both bodies that cannot be willed or massaged away. The air is filled with intoxicating musk tinged through with bitter sweats and salts that scream nerves. Fuck. It's just not good enough. 

Bella pulls Ember closer against her body, wrapping her with both arms tight enough to prevent movement. No food, no drink, no anything but sitting and watching and feeling their breathing slowly sync. It's... wrong. To steal her like this. But watching Ember's golden hair grow increasingly messy, she can't help but think it. Mosaic turned out to have pretty good taste.

"Hey." Bella's voice cuts through the silence, "Do you think... I'm the only one of me? Forget about the demigod thing for a second. I am still a Servitor. Do you think my species was discontinued? Am I what's left? I'd just, mmmrn. It'd be nice to know what home looks like. Or family for that matter. All I've ever had is what I could scrape together for myself. It's not like you and your pack. Even where I came from, nobody had my face. I mean... whatever. 

"How'd you get these things so quiet, anyway? I've never been able to get this close before."

Bella unhooks an arm so she can reach for her glass. She picks it up between three fingers, swirls the glass and sniffs. See, Ember? Like this. The vintage is bland by her standards, but the taste was never the point of asking for it in the first place.