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Helena Wells-Quinzel is H.G. Wells (indelibleink) wrote in makebelievelog,

Myka of course had every right to have a fear that Helena was using her. After all, the Victorian woman had done just that once all ready. But Helena wasn't playing Myka. No, she was being completely honest and open about how she felt about Myka, and it did feel good. Helena didn't want to lose this, she wouldn't be able to handle it if she lost Myka now. Not after everything she'd been through. The pain of loss wasn't something she could shoulder any longer. So she would hold onto Myka, to this happiness that she'd waited her entire extended life to have.

All ready Helena could tell she would never tire of kissing Myka. The kiss was like the breath of life to her. She could feel her heart and soul reviving within her the more she was in contact with Myka now. She savored the kiss, matching the depth of the kiss when Myka deepened it. When Myka broke it, Helena licked her lips and gazed at Myka. She, too, began to feel the effects of the emotional onslaught. It had been ages since she'd unleashed her emotions in such a fashion. So when Myka made the comment about it being time for bed, Helena arched an eyebrow, wondering what context she meant that in. And Myka taking off her shirt didn't help support the just sleeping interpretation. As such, when Myka turned back to her, Helena's eyes were sliding over Myka's newly exposed skin. Yes, she'd been able to see it before but now it was completely free of the shirt, leaving Myka in only her bra. As such, she looked back up at Myka, her eyebrow still arched in curiosity.

"Just what type of sleep are you referring to, love?" The switch to calling Myka love was subtle, but it was a powerful one, at least for Helena. Christina had been the only other person she'd called by that term of endearment. And now Myka had earned it.