memeliscious (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
memeliscious) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2014-01-13 06:30 pm
memeliscious) wrote in bakerstreet2014-01-13 06:30 pm
Morning after meme
the morning after
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ a meme
→ COMMENT WITH YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME, FANDOM, AND PREFERENCE.
→ PICK A CHARACTER YOU WANT TO TAG AND HIT UP RNG (01-10), OR CHOOSE A SCENE OF YOUR OWN.
→ PLAY NICE; NO WANK, FLAMES, OR GENERAL HUMBUGGERY.
→ PICK A CHARACTER YOU WANT TO TAG AND HIT UP RNG (01-10), OR CHOOSE A SCENE OF YOUR OWN.
→ PLAY NICE; NO WANK, FLAMES, OR GENERAL HUMBUGGERY.
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ the scenarios
① BREAKFAST IN BED: YOUR PARTNER'S UP AND ABOUT -- MAYBE DRESSED, MAYBE NOT -- AND IN THE KITCHEN. WHAT ARE THEY MAKING YOU? COULD IT BE... GRILLED CHEESE?
② HIT ME BABY: THEY'RE SUCH A PEACEFUL SLEEPER. A PEACEFUL, SEXY SLEEPER. ACTUALLY THERE'S TOO MUCH OF THAT SLEEPING HAPPENING. WHY DON'T YOU WAKE THEM UP, WORLD'S KINDEST ALARM?
③ ESCAPE FROM AZKABED: YOU WAKE UP TO FIND THEY'RE RUMMAGING ABOUT FOR THEIR CLOTHES, ABOUT TO LEAVE. WHY THE RUSH, AND CAN YOU CONVINCE THEM TO STAY?
④ THE AFTERNOON AFTER: AND THE EVENING, MAYBE EVEN THE MORNING AFTER AFTER... HOURS HAVE PASSED BUT YOU JUST CAN'T LEAVE EACH OTHER! OR MAYBE ONE OF YOU JUST WON'T...
⑤ HANGOVER FROM HELL: THERE'S A TIGER IN THE CLOSET, A BABY IN THE BATHROOM, AND A TOTAL STRANGER CURLED UP BESIDE YOU. WHO IS THIS PERSON BESIDE YOU SMELLING OF TEQUILA AND REGRET? DO THEY KNOW ANY MORE ABOUT WHAT, OR WHO, WENT DOWN THAN YOU DO?
⑥ WET AND WILD: DON'T FEEL TOO LONELY WAKING UP BY YOURSELF -- THE SHOWER'S ON AND THE SOUND OF WATER FALLING IS MIGHTY INVITING. WHY DON'T YOU GET CLEANED UP -- OR DOWN AND DIRTY ALL OVER AGAIN?
⑦ I'LL SLEEP WHEN I DIE: SLEEP? WHAT IS THIS SLEEP THING YOU SPEAK OF? DAWN'S BREAKING AND NEITHER OF YOU HAVE GOTTEN A WINK, OR WANT ONE. WHO'S READY FOR ROUND asjldkjl?
⑧ A BITTER PILL: TURNS OUT THE REASON YOU SCORED WASN'T YOUR SPARKLING WIT AND MAGNETIC CONFIDENCE. YOUR PARTNER HAD AN ULTERIOR MOTIVE -- THEY ALREADY KNEW IT, AND YOU'RE ABOUT TO. RECON? REVENGE? REBOUND? TAG AND FIND OUT, IF YOU CAN HANDLE THE TRUTH!
⑨ THIS ISN'T MINE: THAT SLEEPY PERSON IN YOUR LIVING ROOM HAD A GREAT NIGHT -- WITH YOUR ROOMMATE. WELL, MIGHT AS WELL GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER WHILE YOU'RE BOTH THERE, RIGHT? ... RIGHT?
⑩ WILD CARD: ROLL MORE THAN ONCE AND COMBINE SCENARIOS, CHOOSE YOUR FAVOURITE, OR MAKE UP YOUR OWN!
Stolen from here.
① BREAKFAST IN BED: YOUR PARTNER'S UP AND ABOUT -- MAYBE DRESSED, MAYBE NOT -- AND IN THE KITCHEN. WHAT ARE THEY MAKING YOU? COULD IT BE... GRILLED CHEESE?
② HIT ME BABY: THEY'RE SUCH A PEACEFUL SLEEPER. A PEACEFUL, SEXY SLEEPER. ACTUALLY THERE'S TOO MUCH OF THAT SLEEPING HAPPENING. WHY DON'T YOU WAKE THEM UP, WORLD'S KINDEST ALARM?
③ ESCAPE FROM AZKABED: YOU WAKE UP TO FIND THEY'RE RUMMAGING ABOUT FOR THEIR CLOTHES, ABOUT TO LEAVE. WHY THE RUSH, AND CAN YOU CONVINCE THEM TO STAY?
④ THE AFTERNOON AFTER: AND THE EVENING, MAYBE EVEN THE MORNING AFTER AFTER... HOURS HAVE PASSED BUT YOU JUST CAN'T LEAVE EACH OTHER! OR MAYBE ONE OF YOU JUST WON'T...
⑤ HANGOVER FROM HELL: THERE'S A TIGER IN THE CLOSET, A BABY IN THE BATHROOM, AND A TOTAL STRANGER CURLED UP BESIDE YOU. WHO IS THIS PERSON BESIDE YOU SMELLING OF TEQUILA AND REGRET? DO THEY KNOW ANY MORE ABOUT WHAT, OR WHO, WENT DOWN THAN YOU DO?
⑥ WET AND WILD: DON'T FEEL TOO LONELY WAKING UP BY YOURSELF -- THE SHOWER'S ON AND THE SOUND OF WATER FALLING IS MIGHTY INVITING. WHY DON'T YOU GET CLEANED UP -- OR DOWN AND DIRTY ALL OVER AGAIN?
⑦ I'LL SLEEP WHEN I DIE: SLEEP? WHAT IS THIS SLEEP THING YOU SPEAK OF? DAWN'S BREAKING AND NEITHER OF YOU HAVE GOTTEN A WINK, OR WANT ONE. WHO'S READY FOR ROUND asjldkjl?
⑧ A BITTER PILL: TURNS OUT THE REASON YOU SCORED WASN'T YOUR SPARKLING WIT AND MAGNETIC CONFIDENCE. YOUR PARTNER HAD AN ULTERIOR MOTIVE -- THEY ALREADY KNEW IT, AND YOU'RE ABOUT TO. RECON? REVENGE? REBOUND? TAG AND FIND OUT, IF YOU CAN HANDLE THE TRUTH!
⑨ THIS ISN'T MINE: THAT SLEEPY PERSON IN YOUR LIVING ROOM HAD A GREAT NIGHT -- WITH YOUR ROOMMATE. WELL, MIGHT AS WELL GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER WHILE YOU'RE BOTH THERE, RIGHT? ... RIGHT?
⑩ WILD CARD: ROLL MORE THAN ONCE AND COMBINE SCENARIOS, CHOOSE YOUR FAVOURITE, OR MAKE UP YOUR OWN!
Stolen from here.
irene adler ♕ bbc's sherlock
Oh I am so never a het person but, hello, woman. 3, escape from Azkabed? Unless you'd rather another
He's focused instead on just getting out while he can. This is damage control.
It's not that he was, as rumors might have claimed, a virgin prior to this night. As with every other thing beneath the sun that was capable of being made into an experiment, he had experimented here as well. Those days were behind him. There was no need for further experimentation; he'd tried everything - or so he'd thought before last night. Indeed, he at one time had said aloud that he had never even once begged for mercy and it had been true, but that was no longer the case.
He's not waiting around to be drawn into it again.
He's half naked and moving as quietly as he can about the room, looking for his clothes. He's got his purple dress shirt on but it's undone and he's looking for his pants before he pulls on his trousers, and he can only see one of his shoes...]
((ooc: Setting this prior to s3e3, no spoilers.))
oh, wonderful, hello! i'm so happy to have you and this is great!
all things considered, however, she might have expected this.
when she rolled over in the bed, propping herself up on one hand, hair in her face, she had wanted to hope that he was just getting a drink of water (albeit suspiciously quietly). no such luck, and she almost kicked herself for being so foolish and for that little sliver of hurt that invaded her mind. ridiculous. she'd never expected him to stay, however... ]
I never measured you as one to slink out in the early morning light.
[ her voice was husky, goading, and she swung her legs over the side of the bed, standing without care for her nakedness (or his, for that matter). she reaches out and snags his pants from halfway under the bed where she'd likely tossed them last night after pulling them off with her teeth (fun move, that). she hangs them off one delicate finger, smirking slightly. ]
Looking for these? I have half a mind to make you earn them.
[ anything she might have fantasized certainly didn't include the morning after - and for good reason, it seemed. he hadn't seemed the 'cuddling in bed' type, and she certainly wasn't the sort to make breakfast. so, they were at an impasse in a remarkably similar position - her nude, him caught off guard. ]
I very much agree! Feel free to PM me if you'd like to talk ooc
He looked a little the worse for wear, though the night had erased some of the color she had left on him. His hair was wild and obvious, his lips still kiss-bruised. He didn't feel like himself. He needed a shower and distance, needed a cigarette and to be alone in his mind.
He'd long since determined that deny as she might, she had feelings for him. That was part of why he had tried to leave without a word. Not because it was easier than facing her in the cold light of morning with disinterest, but because he wasn't entirely certain how the events of the previous night had changed him, or if they had at all.]
I hope you didn't expect me to stay.
[But she's smarter than that. That's why he likes her, why they get on as they do. It's probably how she was able to play him as she had last night, aware of what he wanted, what he needed when even he could not have articulated as much.
His attention is drawn to his pants that she has dangling from a fingertip. He's doing a rather impressive job of ignoring her nudity, as well as his own. But then, she already knows that just because he isn't looking doesn't mean he can't see, isn't taking notice.]
If I haven't earned them already, I'd hate to see what it would take to.
[He doesn't sound amused, though he recognizes her smirk as an attempt at perhaps another round, so to speak.
The truth is, he's not disinterested in her suggestion. That's perhaps the most alarming thing of all.]
no subject
he looked like a man well shagged and she wanted to commit that image to memory, even if he was intent on walking out that door and never seeing her again.
irene moves a touch closer as he speaks, still holding his pants just out of reach - if he makes a go for them, she'll pull away quickly, surprisingly awake considering the hour. she doesn't make any move to touch him, but neither does she attempt to hide her interest in him, eyes sweeping over him and lingering on certain places - places she'd marked him, places she remembered from the night before. ]
Of course not. You can't.
[ and even if he had, she wouldn't have wanted him to. whatever this was, it was nothing conventional with cuddling and kisses in the morning, lazing around the flat during the day and then perhaps going out to dinner at night. but, she can't say she wasn't sorry to see him go, either. ]
It doesn't always have to be like that. It can be different. Perhaps I want you that way, as well.
[ slower. more careful. she wasn't certain she (or he) would want it that way, but it was worth hazarding a guess and studying his response. the idea of him holding her close as they moved together, whispering things to her - it was equally arousing as it was ludicrous.
it might not be what she liked, but it might occasionally be what she needed.
in truth, she wanted to have him in all the ways that she could think of, and a few more that she had yet to dream up. and that was more frightening than the idea of him leaving without saying goodbye. ]
no subject
Sherlock put forth effort to come off as asexual in his own real life. It made it easier to actively discourage interest and advances when he knew how it would end. The sex wasn’t a problem, that he could manage. It was everything that came after. It was the expectations that went hand in hand with it. The expectation to stay, to hold, to feel. It wasn’t something he was capable of. Or at least it wasn’t something he’d ever been capable of in the past.
But the sex wasn’t necessary for him, so he rarely put himself through the rest just for the sake of it. Not since he was young and had gone through his bout of experimentation. He told himself he didn’t crave it like most people did, like ordinary people did. Or, if he did (and he did, though he wouldn’t admit it), he could control it, lock it away beneath the steel trap of his intellect. He was insensible to his own sexual hunger the way he often was insensible to hunger physical hunger when he was on a case or between them, dying for the next.
He hadn’t really been deluded enough to think that she was as capable of separating the sex from the rest as she was with her other clients, because he wasn’t a client. He’d always been different, and he knew it, had figured it out that night with fingertips against her wrist when her racing pulse had given her away. That was why he had tried to slip out, so he wouldn’t have to deal with this moment right here.
He didn’t expect her to suggest it, however, especially knowing how he was. In the wake of her tentative suggestion - tentative enough that he couldn’t quite tell if it was something she sincerely wanted - he fell silent. It was as complete as if a spell had been cast over him, and he looked utterly lost. He was no longer looking at the pants she held outstretched, nor passively noting her nudity and the few marks he’d managed to leave on her ivory skin.
His eyes were half-glazed over as he worked through it in his mind. She was sincere. No, no that’s wrong. She was careful. Which meant she wasn’t sure, not just how he would react, but if she really meant it.]
You know I… I can’t- I mean, I’m not…
[He fell silent again. He meant to have said he’s not like that, not the sort of person who lingers in the morning curled together, saying sentimental things. What’s more, neither is she. He knows he’s not wrong about her, she’s just as terrified as he is, and she’s the one that said it.]
no subject
[ her response is firm as he trails off, and she searches his eyes for a long moment, the battle over his pants long forgotten.
it had hardly been an invitation for him to stay forever; they couldn't have anything like a normal relationship. but she couldn't allow him to be a specter in the night, either, only there for a few hours before vanishing. she liked to think of this as a learning experience, but learning could be uncomfortable and she had to force him out of his comfort zone. that, and for her own peace of mind - he couldn't just drop in and out of her life, not without some discussion beforehand. if that was how it was, then she'd accept it, but it took two to tango (as they'd proved the night before).
whatever he might think, however, he was far from a disappointment. she knew what she was getting herself into the moment they'd come together in a frenzy of teeth and tearing at clothes the night before; she couldn't expect him to be anyone other than himself. in equal turn, he couldn't expect her to be anything more or less than herself, and she wasn't the sort to let him out of this so easily.
abandoning his pants to the floor again, she leaned in against him and tugged at the lapel of his shirt, pulling him down so that she could whisper in his ear. the proximity was enough to have her pupils dilating, pulse racing a bit; pity, that, it made her so obvious. ]
You don't have to be. [ under the circumstances, giving him permission to be himself felt less cliche and more .. necessary. would she have slept with him if she'd wanted sweet nothings in the morning? that wasn't what interested her. ] Now come back to bed and show me exactly how not sentimental you are.
[ ever the dramatic, she couldn't help but nip at the sensitive skin below his ear, her breath warm against his neck as she presses one hand just over his heart - feeling for a sign rather than waiting for one from him. ]
no subject
Still, when she says she knows, he wonders if she does, really. Can she possibly understand why? That the distance he keeps is as deliberate as any of her own secrets? It’s a protection as sure as her phone’s contents had been.
He tracks the fall of his pants to the floor. It’s another reaffirmation that she’s not letting him off easy here. She’s moving in close, but she hasn’t even touched him again yet and she’s already giving herself away. She gives herself away every time they touch, her body betraying a weight to the moves she goes through, a meaning that’s there that they’ve tried to ignore.
Yet, when she draws him close, he doesn’t try and pull away from her. He lets his head rest against hers, almost as if he’s trying to hide against her. He wonders briefly what he was thinking in coming here. It didn’t take a mind like his to know that things would go like this. He’d even planned for it, giving a false name so that when he arrived he could witness her first reaction to realizing it was him and why he’d come. Yet there was still a part of him that wished he could have come to her like any other client and just put himself in her hands, paid her to take him outside of himself for a few hours, given him another kind of high.
The permission she grants him doesn’t seem false or facetious. It should be freeing, but it’s feels dangerous. He should pull away from her, but he doesn’t. Maybe he can’t. He doesn’t want to think about why.]
You are wicked…
[He breathes the words in the wake of her pointed nip below his ear, using what she knew of his body to tempt him, to undo him. That was part of the danger of letting someone in, but especially in letting her in; he left himself vulnerable to being played like an instrument. It made him vulnerable, and vulnerable wasn’t something he dealt with well.
Another part of the danger in getting close was the risk of betrayal by his own skin. The small hand pressed to his chest felt a quickened beat, too immediate a reaction to check, and a subtle heat beneath his skin.
His eyes shut and he half-shook his head, turning his face more into hers, the kind of move that’s a private grimace you might make as you turn away, reflecting on something embarrassing you’ve done, something that you regret, that’s made you look foolish. But there’s no taking back the betrayal of his skin, and she wasn’t asking for him to be what he wasn’t.
That, he took at face value, trusting her sincerity.
He takes a breath as though he needs it to steel himself or reassure himself that this isn’t another in a long line of mistakes that started last night. It seemed to have the desired effect, because in the next moment he had lifted her up and carried her the short distance back to the unmade bed before letting her fall and following her down.
Sherlock is nothing if not a surprising man. For someone who goes to great pains to paint himself asexual, he’s astonishingly sexual when opportunity arises, and once they’ve hit the bed it’s like it was last night, a battle for the upper hand in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. He knows her preference and likes to push against it, just for the simple pleasure of the struggle.
He mimics her move as he’s trying to pin her to the bed - her neck is similarly sensitive, but for her it’s a calculated drag of his teeth that hints at a bite that won’t come - and his long-fingered hands caressing along her arms, showing off at how easily he catches her wrists as he tries to maneuver his legs to catch hers. He knows that despite his size and strength, she’s more than capable of stealing control back from him, of upending this and leaving him breathless beneath her and wondering just what the mistake was that he’d made.]
no subject
her breath catches as her hips bump into his upper thigh, and she loses control of her focus for one blissful moment, heat spreading from the spot of contact through her entire body. his words interrupted her reverie and she chuckled slightly, the sound feeling surprisingly loud in a quiet room. ]
Isn't that what you like about me?
[ teasing him felt more natural than anything that had gone on before, though her retort was mostly to hide the shiver that ran up her spine and she relaxes as his face turns towards her. gently, the hand on his chest slides up to his cheek, running a soft thumb pad over his cheekbone and brushing her fingers against his lips. being able to touch him this way was a privilege, one she didn't want to give away so easily as letting him walk out that door.
he caught her by surprise however, as her feet left the ground and she was scooped into his arms. growling low in her throat, she flung her arms around his neck for the short distance, laughing in truth as her back hit her cotton sheets. as soon as his body covered hers, she dragged her nails down the nape of his neck, back arching to press herself fully against his chest, a barely covered moan escaping at his almost bite. her wrists hit the mattress easily and she cants up against him, her hips rocking as she twined her legs around his and pulled him down hard. he might very well want to pin her against the mattress, but she wasn't giving up all of her control. ]
H-How bold of you, Mister Holmes.
[ she might be breathless, but he hadn't managed to shut her up yet - that would be a feat worth writing home about. arching again to brush against him, she fought his hold enough to make it believable, though not enough to actually pull free. she was more curious to see what he would do with the upper hand; that said more about him than anything else -- and he hadn't exactly had a chance to show her, last night. it'd been too much of a confusion, a jumble of limbs and a mad dash to bed ... and then she'd taken over. ]
Will you make me regret my words?
no subject
He liked this too, how she brought him against her hard with those long legs (stealing a sound from him that was a small victory in itself), liked how she refused to give up her grasp of control over the situation. She never did let down her guard, not even last night, not even in the middle of it all, the mad scrabble for the bed with their clothes falling down around them. He wanted to know why, but he had a sense that he knew why she couldn’t let go, that it was the same reason that he kept his distance.
She, hungry as she is for anything like a read on how he really felt, can’t help but notice how and where his eyes linger when he looks at her. Her hair is splayed around her head like a dark halo. He wouldn’t admit to it, but he likes her best like this, makeup slept-in (though they hadn’t slept much) and hair undone. She looked less severe and more human, and Sherlock of all people shouldn’t prefer that.
She shifts, arching, pressing against his chest, and she’s not fighting hard enough. If she wanted to, he knew she could get away from this. Which meant this was where she wanted to be, and that was interesting because it meant she wanted him to take the control, at least some of it, at least for the moment. It was all he needed to know.]
Probably, [Maybe it’s a promise, maybe it’s his admittance that he doesn’t know what he’s doing any more than she does.
What he does know is that this is, for better or worse, exactly where he wants to be, too. Later, he would deal with the consequences, but right now? Now he was going to try and make her regret her words, because the alternative was far too dangerous.
He ghosts over her neck with his lips and catches that place on her skin that craves it, gives it a glancing bite and moves to her collar bone, the barest hint of stubble grazing her soft skin.]
Do you trust me?
[The question is softly spoken as he reaches back, pushing her legs free from around him, and he’s letting her wrists free at the same time. Pinning her down was never the point, because there’s more than one way to take control, and judging by the look in his eyes as he spoke, the question absolutely has one correct answer.
No, he’s not to be trusted, and it doesn’t matter what she says in response. It’s a question for his own purposes, gauging her response to it the same as he gauges the response of her body, the racing of her pulse or the dilation of her pupils. He’s waiting to see if she hesitates, to hear the tone of her voice, as much as he wants to know what she will say.
He’s looking up at her expectantly as he moves, teasing his way down the landscape of her body, laying kisses like he intends to lay claim, paying attention to her body where he knows it will earn him a reward; nipples, breasts and the valley between them.]
no subject
if she hadn't been so focused at the moment, she might have actually felt a touch of insecurity - did he dislike the way her hair curled when it wasn't carefully pinned up? did she have mascara smeared from her eyes to her chin? was she not what he liked; and if she wasn't, what did he like? for a moment, her breath visibly caught and she stared in return, not with interest, not with aim to please, but .. .vulnerably.
and then the moment is past and his lips are on her neck, tugging and nipping and for a moment she forgets not to fight him and does in earnest, demanding to be able to press her hands into his hair, to run one down his back and drag her nails across his skin in encouragement. ]
Do I--?
[ she lets him push her away, her hands still resting on the mattress. that was unexpected; out of anyone else, she might have thought it a tactic, to get her riled up and then ask her questions to see if her guard will fall. no, she's thinking, but for once she's unable to come up with a reason to dissemble.
trusting him was seductive. the idea of being able to trust him with her secrets, her past, her life .. irene wasn't completely comfortable with it, but it felt easy. it felt as though she could open her heart and just share things with him, things she'd never told anyone else before. the idea of having someone like that ...
she's hesitated long enough, which at least told him she was thinking about the question in earnest. once his lips close around one perked nipple, her breath hitches and she's forced to reply, forced to say something to smother the moan that threatened to give her away. ]
No.. And yes. [ she breathes, finally winding her hands in his hair, touching him in an attempt to distract him from what she knew her body must be telling him. pulse, elevated; pupils almost fully dilated, despite the early morning light. ]
I would explain but .. you're making it very difficult to think.
no subject
There’s a low, seductive hum of his voice in lieu of a nod that he’d heard her, and his eyes cast up along the length of her body.
He doesn’t want her trust. He doesn’t want her close, doesn’t want inside the shell she’d erected around herself to stay safe. He’ll just bring that all crashing down, or she will around him. That’s the danger in proximity; when two houses are very near each other and one begins to fall, it may not bring the second down with it, but it almost certainly does damage to the foundation. And Sherlock’s foundation is cracked to begin with; he can’t afford the risk.
But still, he’d wanted to know. Selfish. Heartless. He hardly cares. She’d asked him to prove to her just how not sentimental he was, and here he is, mouth laving a trail down her body with a clear destination.
What’s his plan? Keep alternating caress and conversation until she slips and lets something out that she regrets? Or push, provoke, make this feel dangerous enough that she finally takes the upper hand, really takes it…?
Last night, in truth, he’d come to silence his mind. The sex, as much a frantic mess as it had been, had quieted him for a time, but he’d come to her for a reason… he’d come to her for the services that she provided to men and women who needed something more than a tumble into the sheets.
And now that he’d had a taste for the tumbling, he wanted a great deal more from her than just the mental silence that pain at her hand provided him. He wanted her, her softness with smudged makeup and messy hair, and all the hardness and harshness of her profession stealing all the wild frenzy from his troubled mind.]
Am I…? [he’s sure he was making it hard to think. That’s his aim, anyway.
His mouth made its way down until he nuzzled at the apex of her thighs, and he breathed her in, hands skimming along the outside of her thighs as he moved lower still, tongue dragging slow and deliberate over her clit.
No, he hasn’t done much with sex in his life. He hasn’t done this, that’s for sure. He’d experimented in university, briefly, but it quickly became too much a hassle to keep up the relationships that were required to get to the experiments. But Sherlock was confident that if what he was doing wasn’t satisfactory, that she would correct him.
And oh, did he hope she would correct him.]
no subject
she wanted to trust that he wouldn’t hurt her, purposefully. and she needed to trust that her walls were now high enough and strong enough to never allow him the opportunity to do so again. she’d learned her lesson well the first time; she didn’t have any wish to end up where she had been all those months ago.
and the way he was looking at her, touching her, speaking to her was threatening to put her right back where she started.
if he asked later, she definitely had a snappy retort - but the moment his breath touched the inside of her thighs, she lost most coherent thought. she was still sensitive from the night before and the many rounds then; it made for a heightened sensation when his tongue finally laved over her clit. her back arched all the way off the mattress and she keened, low in her throat, biting back an even louder noise of pleasure, as her hands tightened in his hair, pulling almost a bit painfully. she wasn’t hurting him on purpose, this time; it was an unconscious reaction to pleasure. ]
You .. [ when she was finally able to manage something other than a pathetic mewling, she draped one leg over his shoulder, her voice a little more than breathless. ] Don’t be .. contrary. It doesn’t suit you.
[ but god, glancing down and seeing him in between her thighs, that definitely did. that wasn’t anything she would care to forget anytime soon. ]
no subject
It's in her secrets.
He's unaware of the beautiful. He's said as much before. She has surface and depth, angles and softness, she has contrast and shadow and that's where his interest lies.
Underneath and in between the layers.
He's watching her. Cataloging detail as he learns her stops and starts, informed by some combination of research and observation. He knew what ought to work and saw what did, what brought her from the bed, back arched, what drew sound from her, what caused her to try and muffle her cries. What earned him hands fisting the curls of his dark hair.
His hand follows her thigh as she drapes it over his shoulder, tugging it into place as he settles close.
He knows he's contrary, but mercifully for him, he doesn't stop to answer her. He just hums.
A low rumble of sound against her slick folds.]
no subject
the hum was almost her undoing and she arched a bit more, her back protesting as she sough to shift and press herself further into his mouth, a desperate moan punctuating the air. her fingers flexed in his hair and then she forced herself to loosen her grip, lest she actually hurt him.
how was he so good at this already? damned man. ]
Taking my words to .. heart.. are we?
[ she managed in between quiet gasps, hips rocking slightly. show me how not sentimental you are. if there was a wicked one between them, it was certainly him at this exact moment. ]