And in the center, there is a clearing of sand, flat and square, with a small circle of rocks at each corner. And in the center, there is a woman, lit...pale white by the moon. An entirely naked woman. A woman intent on some deep purpose.She opens her front door and steps through, bumping it closed behind her. She drops her work satchel down and begins to undress, her clothes falling at her now bare feet. She stretches up her long, thin naked body, her hands reaching for the sky and holds. Turning around."I don't know why you are here, but maybe you can help me out?!" Washu took a moment to visibly blush, realizing it was a character on TV. A kind of animated anthropomorphised butterfly, with a shock of equally impossible red hair."Boy, I wish I still had all my legs!" The butterfly which Washu seemed to recall was named Beatrice, (LIKE SHE CARED!) was sighing."Then I could learn the secret dance!"The self professed 'greatest scientific genius in the universe' grimaced shaking. His hands and then his lips touching her skin. When she felt his fingers at the snap of her jeans, loosening them, then pulling the flaps apart, loosening the fabric enough to begin to lower them, she struggled a bit, as if to stop him. His low growl forced her back into compliance, and as she felt the fabric lower, she felt the heat rise up again. Even hotter. This was so wrong. And so ... good.More and more skin became exposed as the kissed, nipped, sucked, and licked his way over Izzy’s. ‘Xander, I’m sorry,’ I muttered, as his shadow fell over me, ‘I know I said I wouldn’t but…SHE WAS OUR DAUGHTER, goddamn it!’ ‘Come on, then,’ he said gently, coming down the stairs to meet me. He took my hand and led me down the last two steps into the root cellar. He was nude and smelled of mint, having just showered, this glorious man for whom I’d long ago given up my so-called life in New York and come out to the flat plains of the Midwest. I touched the tribal tattoo on his chest, looked.
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