Warm breath spills over Senna's throat as Fallon's breath vacates in a barely controlled sigh, like birds flushed from the heath at the ringing of the young half-elf's kiss.  Languidly, her cheek brushes the artificer's and her parted lips graze her with the warm electricity of kisses tenderly withheld.<i>Click</i>, the hasps of the armor come free one by one like the slow ratcheting of her inhibitions from her form,<i>click</i>.  Her arms and shoulders are laid bare from the heavy steel, the tightly-strapped armor padding beneath, cotton and leather, smelling subtly of the wood elf's musky, clean scent.<i>Click,</i>, the latches under the arm, which she'd crafted herself, yield eagerly to Senna's deft fingers, and Fallon leans back onto arms like wrought copper-- they are feminine, but muscular and lean, like something feral shaped like a girl.<br/><br/>Her palms rest on the blanket by her hips, then slide back as she begins to recline more and more as more of the armor is relieved.<i>Click</i>, and her shoulders arch back and her breasts thrust subtly up, invitingly.  Her eyes implore Senna to continue, pry into her like the boring of searing blades, seek her desires and threaten to ignite the young woman's need like tinder.<i>Click</i>, then the reward-- the loose chain sings softly, and Fallon watches for Senna to lift it away-- the heavy chain cuirass loosed and lifted from her body to reveal a bosom that rises and falls with anticipating breath.<br/><br/>The scintillation of being so carefully pored over glimmers in her eyes, shows in the flush at the tops of her breasts, the slight darkening of her coppery cheeks.  "You may indeed need a demonstration," she says in a husky voice, rising with a supine determination to sit up and crush her body against Senna, pressing her flesh-- hot in the cool air, hungry for contact-- against the half-elf's sleek, duskier body.  She almost snarls in frustration at the presence of so much armor still-- Senna's chain shirt, her own padding-- with a lusciously suggestive groan she wriggles her torso and tugs at the buttons of the material until it is open to her navel, then she presses her half-bared body against Senna's, hissing subtly at the rough pressure of chain.<br/><br/>She stands then, backing away with a libidinous succor in her movements, and peels the leather and cloth from her body casually, like in some ritualistic dance.  Her serpentine movements shed inches at a time, baring the flare of her hips, the shadowy well of her navel, the valley of her abdomen, the crest of a pert, delicate nipple-- in a matter of agonizingly drawn out moments, she stands bare, every inch golden and smooth, hairless but for the arrowhead of copper some hand's span below her navel, toned and statuesque, and obviously aroused.  "Now," she folds her arms over her breasts, twists her hips to one side to jut her ass out, but hide her sex, "It's your turn to demonstrate... and I'll be watching."  In the eerie glow of white, sulfrous light, she stares at Senna hungrily.