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Added 2021-03-06 10:05:03 +0000 UTCFirst: https://www.patreon.com/posts/47945226
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Hands pressed on her shoulders. Strong hands, supported by the mass of the giantess.
“Oof.” Her lungs exhaled. “I always forget how big your hands are.”
“I know.” Tris said.
“It’s almost as if the boys are still here.” She said. A forbidden subject by culture, but she couldn’t help but state the obvious. The sky was blue, and the men were dead.
Tris feathered up and down her back. She closed her eyes, listening to the static of fur against fur. The fingers let her ignore the world around her, lost in a fog of playing pretend. As if the heat that sunk into her cared for her. Like she could embrace it, press herself against it, and give in.
The hands upon her failed to give her the pressure she requested. They pet her in long, heavy strokes, gentle rolls to prepare the muscles for what would come. She knew the pattern, a gradual increase of pressure from soft to hard to spare her the inconvenience of sudden pressure, but impatience to rush to the end pricked at her.
The even push of hands rose and fell with her breath. Tris cradled her shoulders in smooth strokes, easing out the resistance put up by her flesh. Palms rolled against her shoulders, sifting underneath her hair to the nape of her neck, relieving a soreness she’d ignored long enough to forget about.
“I miss them too.” Tris said.
