Assassin's Creed: Mary Read/Anne Bonny | WIP

[kidder]

As much as the smell of salt and the sound of waves against creaking wood is home to Mary, there's something she loves about coming into port for some handful of nights. Most especially with Anne Bonny at her side. They while away the hours in a tavern somewhere, chugging rum like it's water, playing card games, telling stories loud and lively, arm wrestle the men about that think themselves tough shit, sometimes dancing to no music but the laughter and cheers in the room. And when they stumble out to find somewhere comfortable to lay out, they're a pair connected at the hip, arms tossed over each others shoulders as the find an inn, getting a scowl from the keeper who thinks they're some rambuncious boy and his wench off for some rampant debauchery. And in a sense, she's right, though said debauchery is probably not exactly as she'd imagine it.

The door is pushed closed behind them, and immediately those hands move from shoulders to neck to cheeks, Mary framing Anne's soft face between calloused, work worn hands as her lips come to hers - awkward and fumbled and interrupted with giggles and snickers, but the joy still thrives between them, morphing to an eager kind of passion. Mary's heavy coat is pushed from her shoulders, and there's no immediate hurry to pull her bandana off and rid her of the typical appearance, because to Anne, she's Mary either way. How she's dressed makes little difference, and what you might call a disguise is really just a part of her - who she's always been and who she'll be for a long while later. If others take it to be James Kidd, then that's their own issue, but to Anne, she's the best friend and lover she knows so intimately regardless of whether her lips happen to be red or plain for the moment.

They half sit, half trip onto the stiff mattress in their rented room, and there's another eruption of laughter as elbows poke sides and limbs get tangled in the mess. It's all part of it and it quickly fades to hands moving to weave into hair and tug at clothes, pulling lacing loose and pushing fabric from shoulders and hips, letting it be tossed or dropped aside.

Anne's all the things in life Mary wishes the world had more of. The open sense of adventure, the unapologetic joy, the thirst for life and thrill, and the ability to give a wide, fuck-it-all grin even in the worst of times. Anne's laughter is as beautiful as her singing voice - full of music and emotion and completely free. There's carefree liberty in all she does, and compassion and deep care in how she handles her friends and those that've become her family. More than anything, she is her own. Anne is exactly what she wants to be in a way others only wish they could do. She is the only one who tells herself who to be.

She's such a contrast to Mary, in so many things but most obvious physically. Anne is all curves and ample, soft shapes; everything about her warm and inviting and comfortable. Whereas Mary is a tall, slender thing, all flat and sharp angles and squarish. It's a benefit for what she disguises herself as, and sometimes she wonders if she grew this way due to making herself a man for so long, if it was fate, or just odd coincidence. There's muscle there and tone from years upon years of hard work and keeping up with the men around her just as well, if not better. Anne is everything that a perfect woman is thought to be and so much more. She redefines it, makes it her own. Perhaps you thought you knew what your ideal woman would be, but once you meet Anne, it slowly shifts to be all that she is, and suddenly that picture in your head isn't what you thought it was. For a moment, Mary has to still herself, pressed bare against the warm body beneath her, and she's breathless for a moment, still lightheaded from the spirits, but in awe of the woman she's with. Anne gives a lopsided smile, asking what she's lookin' at, and Mary only shakes her head, telling her you, before pressing a lips to hers again.

Kisses are trailed over her skin, along her jaw and down her neck, paying special attentions to the lightly raised collar bones and the gentle curve of her shoulders, partly like she's exploring Anne all over again, and another part like paying loving reverance to every inch of her. Hands are steady and firm, but with a soft care over her sides, brushing along her stomach, and cupping a breast to massage, tease at, find all the place she knows sends a unique shiver through Anne's body and lights up her nerves with sensation. Lips travel lower, leaving opened mouth kisses and playful nips in their wake, _______ at the buds of her breasts, before taking the path down the center of her chest to her stomach, finding all the sensitive places of her that pull sweet sounds from Anne's lips, and cause the fingers clasped around Mary's arms and woven in her hair to flex involuntarily.

Long, lithe fingers find the warm folds at the crux of Anne's legs, brushing ever so lightly over her, pausing here and there at particularly points that have the muscles in her lover's legs and stomach twitch. For a moment, Mary waits, lying her cheek against Anne's hip and watches her own hand idly exploring her friend's body, drifting away to trace light circles at the inside of her thighs, along the joint of her leg and hip, before returning to caress and massage over her, parting her slightly on occasion to feel the warm dampness closer to her entrance, yet not breeching her. As a hand comes to Mary's hair, brushing ink black strands back, the pirate shifts to look up at Anne, a crocked smile on her lips. There's such a vulnerable tenderness in Anne's eyes and in the way her colored lips pull to form a smile Mary likes to think she only shows to her.