[ An offended exclamation is her first response– she nearly reaches for Akeha's hand to stop her. Her pride is what makes her so good at this: serving her partners was more for herself than it was for them (because she felt most comfortable serving the needs of others, and because there is a power in someone needing you in such a way).

Her pride is what makes her, occasionally insufferable as well.

But she stops short of disturbing Akeha while she is in the act, less by choice and more so because she is transfixed by the sight of her– flushed skin, fluttering eyelashes, lips parted, coming together only to make inaudible sounds.

Her throat is dry when Akeha brings her fingers to Artoria's mouth, and she sucks on them like a woman who has been deprived drink for weeks. The warm, salty wetness she manages to suckle from her skin renews her spirit, and when Akeha guides her hand she obliges.

Her fingers climb Akeha's thigh and navigate between lacey cloth and wet skin, finding their target easily. Her thumb circles slowly. ]

I think she would serve her bride happily.

[ Artoria leans down, peppering languid kisses across Akeha's exposed skin. She speaks her words across the red flush of Akeha's chest. ]

But she despite their shared restlessness.. she would take her time and relish this moment. After all, it is rare that her bride would let her eagerness be so readily apparent.

[ She looks up, face all but resting between Akeha's breasts. Her hand moves faster, thumb pressing just a bit harder.

There's a glimmer of something almost arrogant in her eyes. ]

Do you remember the first time? When we were practically children? You were so cute then.. so shy.. so encouraging.