bakerstreet | Saturday’s traditional Smut Pictures

( mavis sucks him down with a long, slow pull that might've done irreparable damage to his sanity.

this might be the most intimate thing he's ever experienced that hasn't involved some kind of bloodshed.

but the pacing, though? the pacing is all wrong.

when she dives down this time, he pushes forward, hard and rough and without warning. )

[ a wet, startled noise comes out of the back of her throat. the head of his cock pressing into the back of her throat makes her gag and retch, trying to recoil from the sudden force. she coughs and her tongue tries to push him out of her mouth, failingly.

suddenly, it feels very much like she isn't the one in control of this at all. like she hasn't won the right to back him into a corner and undo him, but like she is the one being taken and used. he flips the switch so easily, so readily, and leaves her scrambling. ]

Edited (because i can) 2023-01-11 23:54 (UTC)

( when mavis tries to pull back, he wastes no time in reeling her back in — holding her rather than just jamming her mouth back down for now. it puts her more or less level with his groin, of course. his erection looking red and utterly furious at having been denied its new playground. )

I thought you wanted this, ( in that level, reasoned tone than means that he's a hair's breadth away from doing something they might both regret. ) Or have you really just been all talk?

[ her pride stings. that he would suggest she isn't strong enough to handle it. that he had somehow pushed her too far, broken her. even though she had been overwhelmed, too new to this. she doesn't want that to be true. she wants to be able to take it. ]

I'm not weak.

[ it's foolish to be this stubborn right now, with him holding her like this. she tries to move her head from his grip, but she doesn't have the leverage for it. instead, she beats her fist against his thigh.

she wants to whine and stomp her feet, wants to insist that she just wants to finish too. but it would be more humiliating to need to be given that, to not be able to take it from him.

she swats at his hand, tries to shove his forearm to make him break his grip on her hair, tries to push to her feet so she can actually properly fight him for control over this. ]

This isn't about you being weak. Nobody that kills one venator and maims another is ever weak. ( flatly matter-of-fact. this is quickly becoming less about getting off and more about something else entirely.

so the grip on her hair stays. they're an even match for stubbornness, to the shock of absolutely no one, so while she can probably wrench her way out from his grip eventually, she'll be doing it at the risk of losing a sizeable chunk of hair. ) What you are is a brat. One that needs a serious lesson in discipline.

Edited 2023-01-12 21:02 (UTC)

[ failing, she drops back to her knees with a gasp.

discipline certainly suggests that he thinks himself above her, the arbiter of rules and order. and in a way, maybe that's not above so much as a complementary facet. he is the order to her chaos, reining her in.

she bares her teeth, snarling up at him like a wild thing. and then she does something incredibly stupid: she grips his balls in her fist. if he can steer her around by her hair, certainly she can do the same like this. ]

( there's something almost admirable in her audacity. nobody could ever call mavis a coward, certainly not after this ㅡ there are other, better words for someone this recklessly stupid.

muscles pull rigid. the grip on her hair remains tight as ever, but that might just be reflex. thought his thoughts are already shifting toward retaliation, raising and then dismissing options as they present themselves.

he sucks in a breath through his teeth, the air whistling in the quiet of the room. )

Let go.

( no attempts to coax or cajole, now. it had been a mistake to do anything but give orders, before. a mistake he plans to never make again. )

You first.

[ they are at an impasse, as she sees it. the memory of his ability to paralyze her with a thought is still at the forefront of her mind — that immobilization, the utter powerlessness of it, is impossible to forget.

she says, you first, but what she really means is make me. some part of her craves it. being made that way. after a lifetime of counting on her own capability, her own resilient fighter's spirit, it might, she thinks, be the only way for her to permit herself to lose. ]

( he narrows his eyes and weighs up his answer. giving her what she wants, even indirectly, feels like sacrificing ground. sure, he could reclaim it later but it'd be long and tedious and, frankly, the way she's looking at him right now is making the edges of his vision tint red.

so, plan b.

the fingers pressed against her scalp are points of contact. not ideal, certainly, but the proximity to the skull and brain is enough to compensate, probably.

she'll recognize this move from the alleyway in mirth. not the relief but the pain that had followed as he'd dialled up her mental reception until her skull had felt like a pane of glass shattering. except that this time there's more than a little desperation to it. she has his balls quite literally in that tight little fist so controlling for the usual variables might have been shoved aside in favour of just wrenching the dial up hard and vicious. )

[ the pain builds and builds until it is too much to stand. she cries out, releases her grip to drop her palm instead to the floor, trying to steady herself as it leaves her dizzy and nauseous and disoriented.

if she were in less pain, she might think to swat his hand away. if she were in less pain, she might have squeezed tighter instead of letting go. but it's all she can do to keep herself upright. tears leak out the corners of her eyes, running freely down her face without permission. she gasps for each breath, and it scrapes and wheezes through her throat.

when she tries to make a sound, beg him to stop, surrender, she can only croak. ]

Are we done now?

( a rhetorical question. it's impressive that mavis is able to keep herself upright, frankly. most would have buckled by now. )

You ready to behave?

[ she can barely hear him. it's like trying to listen to someone whisper over the sound of a storm. but when she realizes that the pain is not going anywhere, she nods. it doesn't matter what he said. she'd agree to anything to make the pain stop. ]

Good girl.

( in a was that so hard tone.

the pain recedes, a wave rolling back from the shore. aristaeus brushes his fingers across her forehead, through the fine sheen of sweat gathering there. )

Now finish what you started. I'll tell you when to stop.

[ there's a little resentment in her gaze as her eyes drift back up towards him. as she catches her breath. she picks herself back up, then raises one trembling hand to grip his cock.

as she takes him into her mouth, she keeps her other hand braced on his thigh. she tells herself that this might keep him from seizing control of the situation and gagging her on it, but she knows that's not really true. all she has to do is try to control herself when it happens.

but she gives him what he wants. the warm, wet pressure of her lips and tongue surrounding him. ]

( her unsteady fingers fan out against his skin, the touch chilly in contrast to the heat engulfing him. )

Such a perfect mouth.

( the hand not caught in her hair comes to settle at her jaw, steadying her. ) This might be my new favourite thing.

[ the small praise makes her cheeks and shoulders hot. it confuses her, this reaction, that he could offer such open praise at the same time as beating her down. as if she had not lost, as if that meant nothing to his estimation of her. it is a seductive thing, to realize that her greatest value is not the strength of her back, but the softness of her lips.

her eyes drift closed as she slowly sinks into the act, the wet schlacking sound of his cock hitting the back of her throat filling the silences between them. saliva runs down her chin and her cheeks are tight with dried tears, but she doesn't let it slow her down as she finds a manageable rhythm and persists. ]

( it's remarkable what a little bit of well-placed praise can accomplish. how she blossoms under it. he'll have to give the matter some thought, later — when the coil of heat in the pit of his stomach isn't cinching tighter and tighter. when he can spare a moment to unpick everything that's happened, scrutinize it thoroughly, because he has never felt quite so exhilarated and unsure of himself. )

See? ( he breathes, a laboured sound. it's going to take a monumental force of will, he realizes, to make her stop. ) It's not so hard to be good.

[ it isn't.

it is, in fact, humiliatingly easy. perhaps she has never been much of a kuruko, if she is so willing to surrender, so predisposed.

the rough edges of her nails dig into the meat of his thighs. a sharp bite of pain to remind him that she is not so cowed. she wants to withdraw, wants to demand more of him, but his instructions were clear. he would tell her when to stop. she wouldn't do it before that. ]

( mavis digs her nails into his skin; the pain is a reminder rather than a threat. what fascinates him is how even her surrender is tinted with frustration — not at him, not really, but rather at herself.

the corner of his mouth lifts. it's not a full smile, but the corners of his eyes are crinkling, suggesting he's amused rather than angry.

endeared, even. )

Give me five more. Make them count. I want to feel how much you want this.

[ how much she wants this? what about how much he does, while he bends her to earn it? she holds him there, deep in her throat, glaring stubbornly up at him for this demand. as if she had to prove her wanting when she had already been the one to challenge him, when she had already waited for him on her knees.

he tiptoes dangerously close to asking too much of her. the dig of her nails as her fingers flex warn him of as much.

but it is such a simple thing, in the end, and she has found a rhythm, so she gives him what he asks for. five bobs of her head. five instinctive clenchings of the muscles in her throat as she tries to keep from choking on him.

when she pulls back, gasping, spit clinging to his cock and her lips, face red, she gulps down just enough air that she can lean back in and bite hard into his upper thigh. ]

( his whole body spasms, air hissing across his teeth. the pain is sharp and immediate — a red, vivid splash of sensation that tells him she's probably broken skin.

the audacity.

his fingers move over her face and grip her chin and cheek. she looks as wrecked as he feels. she looks downright feral, in fact, with those shining eyes and bloody teeth.

for a moment, it looks like he might say something. are you pleased with yourself? or and just when i thought we were understanding each other. but rather than say any of those things, he tilts her chin just as he dips his head, slanting their mouths together. )

[ the kiss tastes like iron and salt. he hauls her up to meet him, and she consequently almost loses her balance, not yet able to brace herself for the force of it, the intensity.

but after only a moment, she meets him in kind — arms winding around his neck, teeth biting into his lower lip, crushing her bare form against him.

the cold has seeped into them both, but his shirt is still warmer to her than the air. at least, his chest beneath it is. and she wants very desperately to see and feel that skin directly, so she grabs a fistful of the back of his collar and whines into his mouth, demanding. ]

( mavis kisses like she fights — brutal and hungry and utterly filthy. it's the kind of kiss that leaves behind teeth marks.

he growls. it's a low, rumbling sound that seems to come from somewhere deep within his chest. a sound that's felt more than heard. it's exhilarating and terrifying how much he wants her. how quickly and easily he's breaking his rules for her. )

Bed, now.

( but rather than letting her drift too far from him, he's lifting her up against his chest, intending to take her there himself. )

[ his hands get under her thighs and she's climbing him, wrapping around him like her life depends on it. this is a command she can comply with, this is a demand that gets her precisely what she wants.

it becomes unwieldy to kiss him and fumble through the apartment, so she bites his ear, his jaw, his neck, messy and uneven, barely tugging the skin away from bone and tendon and muscle. ]

Edited 2023-01-25 01:08 (UTC)

( it's a short, stumbling walk to the cot, which is probably a good thing with mavis being such a distraction. he hopes that the marks linger, that people can see and know that he is hers as much as she is his.

— but, the cot.

the metal frame groans in protest as they settle: mavis with her back pressed to the mattress, aristaeus curled over her, shielding her bodily against the cold. )

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telepathy - 2023-01-27 22:11 (UTC) - Expand

Saturday’s traditional Smut Pictures

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tries to remember where everyone's hands are

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