When she glides the trousers over the young woman's hips, there's near to no effort in the gesture, though she angles her face and blinks once as if in curious study of Aeryn's observation.  She opens her mouth as if to speak, then seems to think better of it, and laying the garment aside begins to work insistently, head dipped low, at the other leg's tired muscle.  She allows her gaze to roam like her hands, studying-- memorizing, it seems, every shadowy contour, each gentle curve and taut angle, even boldly studying the human girl's undergarment as she kneads and massages each thigh in turn.  Her lingering fingers leave tingling chill-trails on the inside of the thigh, the undersides near the swell of her rear, the touch firm and steady to avert ticklishness.  The touch then lightens, becomes exploratory, questioning, before going firm again for a long, smooth stroke down the leg to ease and relax the muscles there.<br/><br/>Xen speaks now, as if the thought had to ripen before she gave it voice.  "I'm not powerful," she says softly, her clipped native accent subdued by care.  "I may have strong arms, fast feet... but I lack much."  She blinks then, the meager light causing her eyes to glimmer like a cat's.  "It is the price of my freedom, Aeryn.  I have chosen a war that I will lose."  She has switched legs, and her strong hands are working their way up Aeryn's calf.  "I have wanted little else until now.  But... things may be different..." she trails off again, her hands go still, but she then resumes the rub-down, seeming intent on keeping her own silence this time.<br/><br/>At the young human woman's hips, the elf rests her gaze upon Aeryn's eyes and steadies herself on the cot, positioning her hips so that she sits erect, like one rising in the morning and studying a sleeping lover in her bed.  She then stands.  "Do you really find me graceful..?"  There's a clicking and creaking of leather and tack, and the armored leather jacket and epaulettes hangs loose.  She drops it-- padding, gauntlets, and all-- aside the bed to where Aeryn's leggings lay.  Having the gauntlets tied to the hip and no longer worn seems to have sapped away the unnatural edge of her strength, but she still imposes with the slightest touch like a man twice her size.  Her small breasts are taut against the soft wrapped cloth covering them, with small peaks from the bold pressure beneath.  Her boots follow, the greaves also, and the bared elf's meager wrappings are less than modest.<br/><br/>Her coppery skin is riddled with faded brown-red markings-- peaks and moons and stars that trail the angles of her form.  She stands straight and tall, then, her legs slightly apart, one foot before the next, and pulls back her shoulders.  Her body is lithe and hard like something carved from stained wood.  Then, with no further ceremony, she leans closer and lays her upper body along Aeryn's, encircling her head with her arms and gently laying her head at Aeryn's throat to plant a tentative, exploring kiss.