The moment she pushed Zef through that door, she was hit by a wave of hot air and a sort-of ephemeral, flowery, earthy, otherworldly smell, one that would’ve escaped any description even if she had had a mind to try grasping it. Despite having been left alone for months, perhaps years, the strange flowers that filled the greenhouse plots were not overgrown in the slightest. A slight haze of blue pollen hung in the air, and inhaling it brought on a subtle heady feeling. Perhaps one third of the floorspace was taken up by spacy walkways with rush sitting mats at intersections.
Zelsys continued her advance, continuously lessening the gap between them until she had Zef up against a wall. Left arm around the back and right under one leg, she lifted the blonde and just… Stared into her eyes, grinning.
“Caught you.”
Drawn in by that overwhelming magnetism, enveloped in the aura of static, Zefaris craned her neck and pressed her lips to Zel’s.
Zel’s tongue slithered into her mouth and the back of her throat, by some property of the subtle current which is exuded shutting down her gag reflex, somehow leaving a tiny channel just wide enough for her to not suffocate. Even as she felt her breath snatched away by that lustful flesh-serpent, Zefaris grabbed for the edge of her lover’s panties and pulled upwards. The enchanted fabric stretched and resisted, only to soon give under the influence of its wearer’s mental state, sliding and rubbing between her lower lips. She stopped pulling, and the moment they slid back into place, she pulled again. It was the exact opposite of difficult to discern that Zel enjoyed what she was doing by the subtle gyrations of the bronze monster-woman’s hips.
A single moment stretched out into infinity only for Zel to pull away, her tongue slithering back into her mouth in a single motion that left Zef gasping for air as she was let back down on the ground.
Before she could even think to question why stop, Zel said, “There’s a bathhouse down the street. We can continue this there.”
She wasn’t sure of the reason to go that far only to make her wait high and not altogether dry just to go to a bathhouse, but at this point, with what burned her up from the inside having far superseded any summer heat, Zefaris didn’t care.
There was no deeper reason for Zel’s decision to take things to the bathhouse. She didn’t even know - or care - if they would be able to gain appropriate privacy there. In only a few moments she pulled her boots and trousers out of storage and put them on, deriving great amusement from the palpable aura of animalistic sexual frustration that Zefaris radiated… Even if she herself was in no different a state. Something about this, though, something appealed to her. Something about this made things more fun.
Zel made no real attempt to conceal anything as they walked down the street, her right hand planted squarely on Zef’s rear. While the blonde’s left arm remained wrapped squirrely around Zel’s waist, as if in retaliation, she incessantly - and nearly invisibly - pressed and rubbed her ring and middle fingers across a spot below her lowest pair of abs, just above where her belt would buckle. The feeling was strange, just a half-step short of overt pleasure, almost like stoking what fire was already there rather than adding more fuel, forcing the beast-slayer to put actual effort into maintaining her composure in public. During that short walk Zelsys was thoroughly reminded of the fact that, total body control or not, she had weak points even she wasn’t aware of.
Arriving at the bathhouse proved the old guard right - it looked like it had been built out of the exact same parts as the other sect buildings, even though it was clearly separated and outright had a sign stating that its owner had no affiliation with the Black Horse Family. It had a single front room with a front desk in the middle and two curtained-off doorways to either side behind said front desk. An old woman in archaic, foreign dress and makeup sat behind it, idly writing something in a ledger. Even as her orange eyes shifted lazily up to meet the two, she kept writing. She smirked, but neither of the lovebirds noticed it, or cared enough to notice.
It had been a while since a pair like this came in. This was good. This was a sign that things were getting back to normal. She’d seen these sorts many times, even when the bathhouse was exclusive to Black Horse Family members, some two and a half centuries back. Both of them exuded an aura emblematic of early-stage cultivators, stirred up into a frothing rage by the sort of sexual tension only those who live amidst combat can muster. She’d of course seen stranger pairs than this, considering the extremity of bodily changes brought on by certain cultivation paths, but that tall one still stood out. Never before had she seen someone with so many different inherited traits, even if they were superficial.
Without a word spoken, she gave them a questioning look and pointed with her pen at the board that listed services and prices in metallic chalk. A couple gelt each at most, but everything beyond the most basic of basics was not exactly cheap by workmen’s standards, as intended.
The nicer pools - the private ones - were for these sorts. Beast-slayers. Mercenaries. Cultivators. Adventurers.
Being built of leftover materials from the main sect building, the bathhouse was one of the most durable and well-warded structures in the city, even its semi-public pools offering privacy beyond that of some less reputable tavern rooms. The rooms containing the private pools were all but soundproof.
Even before they picked, she had already written down what she thought it would be… And was satisfied to find that her predictions still turned out true. Private pool for four hours, extra towels, and a set of bath salts. How entirely unsurprising.
The huge foreigner with weird hair just pulled out a custom assistant Tablet and made it pour the payment in silver gelts onto the counter.
Moments later, she had handed over the extras and they had disappeared into one of the curtained hallways, and once more, the front desk was at peace.
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