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[diarists]

[bruce is sitting regally, nobly, the posturing echoed by shauna’s aloof pose, even though she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move from the feel of saber’s mouth over the scar on her throat. it feels like before, feels like the coal of anger shauna knows will never, never go out. she lets out a sigh and the coyote’s amber-sharp eyes soften, going warm and honeyed when they rest on the tiger.]

Yeah. [hard to tell if it’s an acknowledgement of his words or in response to his tongue, lips, hands coming to grab her, pull her into his lap. her legs spread, willing, hungry, wondering if that’s part of it too – die, come back with every need sharpened to a point, honed into a spear.

shauna huffs out a laugh, shakes her head, hands creeping around, grabbing at saber’s shirt to tug it upwards, knees nudging inward at his hips. bruce’s tail thumps on the ground, a thudthudthud shauna doesn’t hear.] No, just – it was kinda.

I don’t know. [she doesn’t feel remade, reborn, that’d be impossible. but everything weighs a bit less, for the moment.] Like waking up from finally sleeping on a real bed. [one hand slips up into his hair, drags her nails through it, settles at the back of his head, cradling.] Or – coming up from being underwater. I feel awake.

[shauna shifts her hips, exhales shuddery –] Do you?