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Beau is not religious - she doesn’t worship a god, she’s never placed much weight into a deity even in her time at the Cobalt Soul. But now, with Yasha beneath her - her fingers coaxing out whimpers as sinful as they are angelic, she thinks she could be; here between Yasha’s legs, it’s the closest she’s ever felt to pious.
Every kiss across pale skin, every fingertip brushed across chiseled muscle, every caught breath weighs heavy with absolution. As if she could kiss away every mistake she’s ever made, just being in the presence of an angel. Beau feels it settle in her deeper than any meditation could. Who needs stillness of mind when you’re kneeling at the altar of Yasha, Yasha, Yasha.
“Beau.”
It’s Yasha’s turn for reverence.
She’s moaning Beau’s name, light and breathy, as her hands scrape for purchase on skin, in fabric, in hair. Red scratches bloom across Beau’s back already, a pair of wings to rival an angel’s. Her angel’s. She smiles up at Yasha, a smirk just this side of devious at the sight of tousled hair and arrant desire behind hooded eyes. Yet Yasha's gazing down at her like she’s divinity incarnate with her kiss-swollen bottom lip worried between her teeth, and Beau can’t help but let out a moan of her own. It only serves to darken Yasha’s eyes more.
Keeping her eyes trained on Yasha’s, Beau leans down to take her clit back into her mouth, smiling around it as those darkened mismatched eyes roll back and Yasha gasps.
“Beau, baby.”
Beau can feel heat radiating between her own legs, the slick ache only settles her deeper into focus as she curls two fingers into Yasha, humming around her clit. Yasha’s legs are quivering, the way they get when she’s close, and Beau can feel a strong hand gripping into her hair as her girlfriend chokes out a sob above her. And while Beau would love to stay right where she is, pulling more gasps and moans from Yasha as she trembles beneath her, she’d much rather watch that beautiful face crumple as she falls apart from her touch. Beau pulls back with the smallest pop, replacing her mouth with her thumb as her fingers keep curling.
She takes only a moment to sit back and watch Yasha - painted pink from her face to her chest, stuttering sobs leaving her as she writhes against Beau’s hand, chasing her own pleasure. She’s glowing golden with a sheen of sweat and lust, angel-blooded through and through. The sight has every synapse in Beau’s body alight, she’s vibrating with a high that no amount of suude could match.
“Yasha,” she breathes out. A one-word prayer. She surges up to kiss her, pulling away just long enough to kiss down her jaw to her ear and back again.
Every kiss, an offering.
“You’re so beautiful,” Beau murmurs when she pulls away a second time, just enough to look into Yasha’s mesmerizing eyes. They're all pupil now. “Come for me, baby. Let me take care of you.” She’s answered with a wrecked whimper.
If every kiss is an offering, then every orgasm must be a tithe.
It only takes one more curl of her fingers, a single brush of her thumb against her clit before Yasha is breaking beneath her. Head thrown back, pinky-pale skin littered in kissed bruises, back arched - in her pleasure, Yasha’s never looked more heavenly.
With the broken moans leaving her, a strangled chant of “Beau, Beau, Beau,” she’s never sounded more heavenly, either.
Once she’s come down, Beau curls into her with a gentle kiss to her collarbone.
“Good?"
Yasha laughs, still a little breathless. It’s another sacred sound all the same.
“So good, baby. Holy shit."
Beau grins.
Yeah, she thinks, laying here with Yasha, with nothing but their shared afterglow keeping them warm, holy’s one word for it.