#* kurenai

Sleep was a strange beast for the warrior of light, she’d curbed her nocturnal tendencies for the sake of her diurnal companions but slipping back into old habits was easier than she’d like to admit - Especially when she was presented with such proper and comfortable bedchambers as their new Sharlayan residence provided. Much as she was accustomed to (and generally happy with) nights outdoors and makeshift beds within forest canopies or ramshackled lodgings.. The allure of a clean, soft bed and pillow set was more than she could resist.

She doesn’t want comfort from anyone, especially if she’s feeling something as vulnerable as fear. She’s supposed to be the unshakable rock for everyone else, letting anyone else see past that puts that status at risk.. She also does not want the pity that comes with it.

Kurenai had been of the mind she was in for a scolding with the way he had dragged her off.. It would have been deserved given her intent to run simple errands then returning looking as if she had just had an unpleasant altercation with a coeurl and (most importantly) without any of what she had left to procure in the first place. It was the usual weaving of the warrior of light being in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with people in harms way that she couldn’t simply ignore. A story likely not lost on G’raha, but one he didn’t seem keen on acknowledging as he tugged her along, grip firm, and ears pinned back. A moment of attempted explanation is all she gives before taking note of the agitation in his features and going quiet. That being said, once behind closed doors and told to sit (which she does, at the edge of the bed, with a rather guilty puppy look about her,) the miqo’te is entirely caught off guard when her partner bends a knee between her own. Her eyes glued to his countenance as he takes (gentle) hold of her ankle, inspecting the new gashes upon her calve and leg. A moment of silent deliberation (as she thinks it best to not interrupt) before his fingers work under the chains of her dancers garb wrapped around her feet and legs, pulling them off carefully as he lowers himself. Turning her leg carefully in his hand to press his lips against the freshly marred skin and old scars in turn. Immediately her pupils dilate, the fur of her tail and ears standing on end as his lips trail up her leg, palm skimming along the skin to pull at what little of her attire would get in his way (free arm following suit on her other leg before it’s hitched over his shoulder.) Him taking initiative was rare. Not for lack of wanting, she was sure, she just had a habit of pouncing on him before he had the chance to try anything himself. By the time he’s made his way to her thigh, her gaze has grown lidded, a quiet rumbling from her throat as she reaches out - Fingers brushing through his bangs, gripping them softly to turn his attention upwards, eyes locking onto his.