noun 1. The fine art of making love to a vagina/vulva with your mouth and tongue.
2. The act of using the mouth to stimulate the female genitalia. This can include sucking or licking the outer and inner areas of the vagina, and most often involves direct stimulation of the clitoris
Some women find cunnilingus to be the most satisfying sexual act. Indeed, a great number of women report that oral sex is the only way they can achieve orgasm. The mouth can create a uniquely intense range of sensations which many find unrivaled. Any woman you learn to do it right for will appreciate you all the more for it.
Going down. Eating out. Muff diving. Eating pussy. Carpet munching. Dining at the Y. Whatever you call it, it's an act that is sometimes misunderstood and very often woefully under-practiced, be it in real life or in porn - or in smut RP.
No longer. This meme is for all your cunnilingus needs, from giving to receiving and from a loving gesture to rough hatesex. The situation is up to you; the act is up to your character's tongue.
HOW TO PLAY
Comment with your character & your preferences. Female characters, be sure to specify whether you're down with giving or receiving, though some preferences will make that obvious. Male characters, just bring your mouth.
[Hmmm, let's go with temporary traveling buddies, Holga took on an escort quest to make some quick gold, and if Eligre wants to pass the time at camp that way, who's she to say no?]
A simple job, requiring simple company to carry out. Standard "wizard seeks bruiser" type work, as the posting had described it. When you lived the kind of life that Eligre Kaivodulin had, sometimes it was best to travel with the kind of muscle that doesn't ask too many questions beyond how much to be paid upfront and how much when the Lady Crow (as she called herself) safely reached her destination.
She hadn't been expecting Holga specifically, but she can't say she was at all disappointed. The woman was taciturn and had the kind of body that told a story of her strength and willingness to fight. She took the coin and the promise of a new mount (Eligre always preferred to travel with fresh, healthy horses) without any nosy questions. An excellent quality to have in a hired merc. And she was as, Eligre noted the first time they had stopped for the night, extremely handsome in the gilding of the firelight. By the third night, she had developed a curiosity about Holga Kilgore and her curiosity once aroused was almost impossible to satisfy.
The third night they had to stop early as it was pissing down rain, thunder rumbling intermittently high above the pines. They took shelter amongst some standing stones of a bygone age, easy to tether the ropes of the she-elf's expansive tent to without having to worry overmuch about the mud, though mud there had plenty of. Holga might be fine in her leathers and sturdy boots, but as soon as they're inside the tent and out of the elements, the witch had laughed at the lamentable state of her long velvet robes and stripped down to her black silk chemise and stockings, hanging the robes to drip by the door.
The shelter is, as befitting the tent of a spell-caster is both more expansive within and lavishly appointed. Eligre throws herself into a pile of cushions in gaily-colored Chultan silks. She lights a little copper brazier that seems to give off no smoke but makes the little room quite cozy.
"Come on, take your boots off and get comfortable. I don't think we're going anywhere for a while." Eligre invites, beginning to unbraid her long black hair, soaked through and clinging to her pale skin like rivulets of ink.
Make no mistake, Holga wasn't a big fan of nobles. She'd come to terms with civilized folk in general, cities didn't even bother her that much anymore, but the idea of someone being special and having that much wealth and power still rankled her. That distaste was something she could swallow down, though, when really needed to, and in the situation she was in, she could swallow it pretty damn easily. Dead broke, getting hungrier, and without any contacts, she was willing to do a lot of things to stay above water, so taking a job to escort some elf wizard noble from one city to another for an impressively bulbous sack of gold and a horse on top of it all was something she didn't even hesitate to jump on.
All things considered, she could have had a worse traveling companion. For all her ethereal beauty and fancy silk robes, she seemed like a decent enough person. Still a noble, and still a damn elf with the ability to make taking a piss seem graceful, but a decent person nonetheless. A woman of few words, Holga was more or less content to ride in silence toward their destination, but whatever questions Lady Crow had for her, she answered, bluntly and without much of a filter to speak of.
If only the weather had held up and they'd kept up their intended pace, Holga might very well have called this a flawless job. She didn't have to do much until that third night, her physique and battle axe alone were enough to deter any bandits, and luck was on their side when it came to hungry creatures prowling the road. Where luck was not on their side was in the gathering clouds that third day, and by the time she smelled rain coming, Holga knew they were going to have to cut the day short.
The bad luck continued in it taking a while to find some shelter, and by the time they'd gotten the tent up and secured the horses out of the rain, Holga through. So, she saw after entering their magic tent, was Eligre, and while she'd thought the elf was as pretty as any other up until this point, it was seeing her down to the silky undergarments that finally got that fire in her chest starting to build up some heat.
"Sorry about your robe." Holga clears her throat after she doffs her boots, and as she steps closer toward that magical fire, suddenly she feels a little out of place. Part of her wants to ask how expensive all this is, but, well... she probably doesn't want to know. "Heavy as those clouds are, we probably won't make it out until noon tomorrow."
Taking a seat opposite Eligre around the brazier, she looks at her, and it's definitely a look. It's not fair that someone can look this pretty, even after a good soaking. "So, should probably mention I'm not wearing anything under this," she goes on to say with the smallest smirk and a tap to her leathers. "Think your little fire-thing here can dry me out like this?"
She shrugs. "The robe will dry and then I'll brush the mud off. Or take it to a laundress when I get where I'm going. I travel a great deal, it's not the first time it's gotten mud on it." Or worse. She continues unwinding her long hair, which she kept braided tightly along the top and back of her head in order to best showcase her pointed ears, which jingled with both fine and bewitched jewelry when she moved her head. She keeps her large green eyes on Holga as she does this, unfazed by her remark.
"I'm hardly such a prude that I would demand you stay in your wet clothes just for my sake." She says, with a bland smile. "If you would be more comfortable hanging them to dry, I think I'll manage. I'd loan you a robe or something but I'm afraid it wouldn't withstand all those lovely muscles that led me to hire you in the first place. But please, I'm hardly concerned with modesty." She says, gesturing to her own state of undress. The way she's sitting, the chemise has ridden up her leg, exposing the top of her stocking-- tied with a green velvet ribbon the same striking color as her eyes-- and just a touch of soft, bare thigh.
She has to say, she's impressed. Nobles, and elves especially, always strike her as the prissy types that feel absolute despair if they get soaking wet and caked in mud. Eligre not only getting over it fast but being willing to strip down in front of her is going to make her reevaluate her opinion of the lady, much to her annoyance. Being ambivalent is so much easier than actually liking someone, especially when they've got curves and lovely, lovely hair.
"Well, hell. I'm not sitting around in wet clothes if I don't have to, then." Matching the elf, smile for smile, she sets to undoing straps and tugging open her leathers. As she works, she doesn't make it blindingly obvious that she's watching Eligre the whole time, thoroughly enjoying those smooth, stocking-clad legs as she wrestles her top up over her head. The padding's on the inside, there's no need for small clothes, and so she stands, bare-breasted, scars and tattoos on display for her companion to see. Modesty is not a virtue Holga can boast, but neither does she intend to flout herself... not ordinarily. Right now, she very much does want to see how Eligre reacts to a half-exposed barbarian in her midst.
The look Eligre gives her is probably as approving as she was hoping for, the she-elf's green eyes raking over Holga's body. What she sees brings a hungry, cat-like smile to her dark lips.
"There you go. Well on your way to making yourself at home." She purrs, shaking her hair out of its final twists. Loose like this, it falls to well below her hips and in this state of undress she's no longer a buttoned-up sorceress but something more wanton and unrestrained.
"Shall I pour us something to drink? We've little to pass the time but lie around, I'm afraid." She offers, rolling over amongst the cushions to crawl towards a mismatched scattering of chests, trunks and satchels that contain her possessions, all carefully and in some cases magically packed for her journey in deceptively small boxes. She hadn't intended to disturb them until she got where she was going but tonight seemed reason enough to be a little indulgent (in all things, she hopes). She opens one of the trunks and begins to rummage, looking for a bottle and some crystal glasses tucked in amongst seemingly endless layers of velvets, silks and furs, all black as the night sky.
"Ah-ha! There you are." She holds up a dark bottle, the label elegantly gilded, and makes her way back over to Holga, smiling a feral smile in the brazier's low light.
"Elderberry mead." She explains, pouring them each a glass and offering one to the other woman.
That is not a look Holga is unfamiliar with, if not from someone so damn pretty. The damn elf looks like a porcelain figure, like she'd break her if she handled her, but she knows not to underestimate her. That smile is not something a weak woman makes.
"Feeling better already." The long leather tunic more or less covers her bottoms, so for now, she leaves those where they are, but the tunic itself and her boots go in a pile beside the brazier, shortly before Holga herself flops down beside it opposite Eligre. The heat does feel pretty damn good after being in the freezing rain, and while she certainly doesn't want to think she's going soft, she does have to admit, she could get used to this level of comfort. Having an elf all but openly eyeing up her tits is a small price to pay.
The offer of a drink brings a smirk to her lips. "If I ever say no to alcohol, something's seriously wrong." It does feel like it's cheating, somehow, for someone to bring this much stuff on a traveling expedition, but Holga can't complain. Not when it's her turn to watch the elf move around in her skivvies, shaking and wiggling in all the right ways while she searches those boxes. When the bottle finally is found and proffered, a part of her actually feels disappointed, but only for the split second it takes before she mentions what's in there.
"Hope you got more bottles of this stuff." She takes her glass with a nod of thanks and, without so much as a by your leave, raises it to her mouth to take a gulp. It only occurs to her after the sweet liquid is halfway down her throat that there's probably a more elegant way to drink the elf may prefer, but hell, she knew what she was getting when she hired her. Good manners and proper etiquette are things that just get in the way of getting to the real good stuff.
Eligre is accustomed to the rough company of soldiers and sellswords and if Holga's lack of restraint troubles her, it doesn't show on her cat-like face. No, instead she laughs and raises her own glass in a jesting toast.
"Cheers, darling." She giggles, tipping her own head back to swallow down the sweet wine. Baring the elegant white column of her throat as she drains the glass.
"Mmm, that's the good stuff." She purrs, licking the dark smears of wine off her lips and refilling her glass, setting the bottle between them where Holga can reach it.
She maintains that same lazy, feline smile as she shifts herself across the space between them and stretches herself out across the cushions. Reclining her head rather brazenly on Holga's thigh.
"You don't mind, do you?" She asks, in a warm tone that suggests she doesn't think so. She daintily crosses her legs and sips her mead, well aware that this posture gives Holga ample vantage to look down her chemise at the marble swells of her breasts, soft and pale and lined with gray-green veins, flecked with green scales as delicate and small as freckles.
The Honey Pot was a labour of love, and both Cassandra and Vex had made certain that it was kitted out just the way they envisioned. It’s warm, and inviting, with a layer of debauchery hidden beneath the light and warmth. Part of that vision had included plenty of comfortable seating areas and secluded corners. Not that matters, after hours. No, after hours there’s no need for seclusion. Not as much, anyway. The curtains are drawn, and the outermost lanterns are dimmed.
And Cassandra is very much taking advantage of this. She’s perched on the edge of the bar, the skirt of her dark blue dress hitched up around her thighs from her ascent to the bartop, and she’s kissing Eadwulf fervently, one hand fisted into his shirt, the fingers of her other hand splayed along his jaw.
Eadwulf rather likes this place. He's found steady work in the back, baking. Not because he needs to work, but because he wants to. Because he doesn't honestly know what to do with himself if he's not busy. He needs to keep busy. A sword can never be idle. It must always stay sharp, even if it's with things like making bearclaws or lifting one of his bosses onto the bar to kiss her after hours.
This is part of the payment after all. Some thumos exchange. But it's more than just a simple business deal. He rather enjoys this. He enjoys the feel of her, the way she kisses his back, the way her thighs grip around his middle as he presses into her. He likes the way she touches him, never afraid to touch his scars. Just as he's never afraid to touch her.
He wonders if she'd let him inside her, here on the bar. But he knows the sort of mess that would make. He doesn't want to give her anything more to clean than she already has to. So instead, he already knows what he wants to give her. He's of the right height that if he sinks to his knees, his face will land in that perfect spot right between her knees. But he's not going to go directly there.
She is a lady though. She deserves to be showered in kisses. He lingers on her lips, hands already going to undo fasteners on her top.
Oh, Cassandra would very much let him inside her, here on the bar. And anywhere else, quite frankly. Mess isn’t much of an issue with prestidigitation at hand. Nor does she mind a mess when it comes to him. When it comes to the two of them. It’s worth it. And this is her place, with Vex. If anyone can do such things on the bar, or in a booth, or in the back rooms, it’s the two of them. Owners’ prerogative.
It's moments like this that she enjoys most. Just the two of them. Able to touch so openly. Without worrying about propriety and offending the locals. His hands are working to undo the fasteners on her top. Anticipation sings through her, and the moment he’s gotten them all undone she is slipping out of the top half of her dress and immediately moving back to touch him, shifting closer to him still kissing him.
He has her top off but doesn't immediately go to her chest. He likes kissing her. He pressing searing, hungry kisses to her mouth as his hands find themselves busy rucking up her skirts to expose her below. So that he can press the bulge at the front of his trousers against her without all that dress in the way. It's not what he's going to give her tonight. Tonight, he wants to pleasure her without thought of himself getting off. He wants her to moan and writhe. He wants to fill this bar with the sounds of her.
His kisses do slowly start on the move. He's careful of where he goes. What spots he nips and licks. Where his mouth lingers on her flesh. He's seen the marks on her neck. He won't touch those. He might not understand completely, but he's certain it would not be welcome to feel a mouth against that part of her. Instead, he'll head down as much as he can bend without kneeling. He will do that, but not yet. Kissing her sternum while one hand goes to play with her breast while the pets and squeezes at her thigh.
[ in a rare turn of luck, the double rooms they've secured for the night are all the way down the hall, bigger ones with a decent sized bed enough to fit two people comfortably. meryl tells them those are the only ones left that haven't already been booked, but honestly, beggars can't be choosers and far be it for nick to complain about it.
it's a nice bed, firm mattress with a sturdy headboard even if the sheets are thin and threadbare. they make do though (they always have, even with less), and nick has vash flushed and pliant on top of him before long, sipping his sweet moans and sighs right from his mouth. but there are other things nick wants to taste, and he pulls away to trail his lips across vash's jaw to his ear, setting his hands on his hips to haul him up the mattress towards nick's face. ]
( let's be real honest here — vash isn't about to complain about anything, even if their accommodations leave something to be desired; a room with four walls and a bed beats shivering through a cold desert night with not enough body heat to share to make a difference, and if there's running water? seriously, what could there be to complain about?
not … that anything like that is on his mind once they're safely behind a closed, locked door and nick is pulling him in to take kisses from his mouth like he might just die if he doesn't. the man always knows what he wants and knowing vash will give it to him without any question at all makes him far less likely to keep those wants to himself. case in point —
vash thinks to himself half-jokingly that he must have been a magician in some previous life with how easily he always gets him down to his bare skin these days, all thoughts of being so self-conscious about his scars practically flung out the nearest window and forgotten the second he looks at him like that. like he could devour him down to the bone and it still wouldn't be enough.
still, he breathes out a soft laugh as he's pulled up, reaching to solicit the help of the headboard to pull himself the rest of the way up until he's straddling nick's shoulders. and peering down at him with a quirked brow and a sharp little grin. )
Anybody reminded you you're kinda bossy lately?
( vash. please. ) What's the magic word? ( boy if you do not sit on this man's face immediately.)
[ it should be a little concerning how quickly he's become addicted to vash in such a short amount of time. sometimes even his cigarettes aren't enough to curb the craving, finding relief only in vash's lips and his incredible body. but perhaps what's even more addicting is how comfortable vash has gotten with him after they've started doing this, no longer shying away from nick's gaze and touch at first. he seeks him out now just as much as nick does him, and it stirs something within his blackened chest cavity that he thought was incapable of such emotion.
that soft laugh coaxes one of his own, his hands shifting down to vash's thighs and palming the curve of his ass to tilt his hips up and forward. he looks up the length of vash's body to his face, taking in those bright eyes and sharp grin, and... well. there's no helping it, he guesses.
he shimmies down the bed just enough to get his mouth closer, licking a broad stripe up through vash's folds with his own brow quirked. there's the hint of an amused smirk hidden behind the shape of vash's cunt, but he's sure the blond can likely see it. ]
( it's the sweetest sort of conditioning, whether he thinks about it as such or not; he's always kept everyone at arm's length, because everyone he's ever cared for so deeply has left him — rem, nai — or they get hurt, and with everything nick has already been through, he can't stand the thought of him ending up another tick-mark in the column that reads something like the casualties of vash.
but it's nice to be wanted. nice to feel needed and he'll lose himself to it over and over and over again, until nick has devoured him and licked his bones clean. not the worst way to go.
of course, one ( 1 ) nicholas d. wolfwood has always been able to call his bluff and this — this shouldn't be any exception, not with the predatory light in his eyes and the shape of his mouth so close to where he wants to be, where vash is, admittedly, aching to have him. he can't look away even though his cheeks are already dusted pink with heat, and that first sweep of his tongue is enough to have the fingers of both hands curling over the edge of the headboard and a sigh of pleasure betraying him. )
[ maybe it's because of everything he's already been through that makes this work, that makes him still want and need vash despite everything. vash always sees past his bullshit to the heart of him—when he'd looked at nick that day in the worm and said i can see it in his eyes, he'd changed the entire trajectory of nick's life. and in the face of all of that, maybe this was inevitable.
nick would devour him, the urge to keep him safe inside and free from all the pain and suffering he's had to endure (and has yet to endure) a familiar and fleeting feeling. but vash doesn't realize that he's already consumed nick, pulled him into his orbit with no other choice but to stay. ]
You complainin'? [ he chuckles, right up against his slick folds, reaffirming his grip on vash's ass. he tongues his clit, flicking it like he would his earring. ] Is that why you're so wet already?
( vash has always been a believer in the notion that some things are meant to happen for a reason, but also that one's future is what one makes of it; of course he's gone above and beyond and too far out of his way to be good to people, even if they aren't good to him in return, and if he were the sort to think in such terms …
he might just think that being able to know nick at all is some kind of reparation for giving himself away so freely before. to get something back for a change, and if you think for a moment that he wouldn't willingly give anything in possession over to him without him even having to ask. well. you don't know him all that well at all, do you?
he jolts when the other's tongue flicks against him, something so simple sending heat streaking through him like lightning, fingers flexing against the headboard, breath catching on a stuttered a-ah that already sounds a bit too high-pitched. a bit too needy. ) Not complaining, no. ( his thigh muscles tense, like he's trying to prepare himself for whatever that mouth has planned for him next.
spoilers: he's never as prepared as he wants to be. ) M'not that wet … ( oh, honey. that's cute.
the insides of your thighs are about a handful of seconds away from being drenched, and you know it. )
[ he's well aware that vash would give him anything and everything he has, and the knowledge of that is at once reassuring and uncomfortable. he'd always been taught to take before being taken from, to hurt before getting hurt, and the fact that vash would do the exact opposite makes him want to give back even more.
and so it goes—nick latching on to him like a man on a mission, so focused in giving this pleasure to vash, something good and soft he can keep for himself.
this close, nick can smell him: so fragrant and sweet with a hint of tartness beneath that makes his mouth go dry. he lifts his head a little more to get even closer, lapping at the fluid already leaking from vash's entrance, giving firmer strokes of his tongue to brush his piercing along all that slick and sensitive skin. ]
Seem pretty wet to me. [ he punctuates this with another long lick, from the base of his cunt up to his clit. ] Why don't you let me clean you up?
( he doesn't know any other way to be, because there's never been any other way for him to be; rem had told him, when he and his brother were both still very young, that what made him special was that he had a good heart. a good soul and maybe he hadn't fully understood it then, but he thinks after so long, he might be starting to grasp it.
being good to people doesn't mean you expect anything back from them. it isn't the sun giving light to the moon and waiting for some kind of favor in return, but the self-satisfaction of having done something kind in the first place, of helping someone in need, or just giving a smile for the sake of having one on reserve.
what he has with nick, the back and forth, the give and take — he's never had anything like that before, and he'll never have anything like it again.
vash shivers as he laps at him, thighs parting just a little more of their own accord, bringing the heat of his arousal even closer to the others' mouth; the slide of his piercing from his entrance to the hard, sensitive bud of his clit brings the next sound out of him as a gasp-moan-whine, and he tries to swallow around it to dial back some of its harshness, but there is no way around it. no hiding it.
god, this man is a walking sin — ) Y— … yeah, okay, yeah—
Please.( oh. you've got him asking so nicely already. you really are good at this, aren't you? )
[ vash has a heart and soul too good for this world, anyone can agree with that. even the ones that try (and have tried) to take advantage of him, that try (and have tried) to hurt him. but that's why they do it, isn't it? nick was one of them too, after all. he still is. but vash always makes him want to be better, to be good, even when he'd given up on being those things a long time ago.
he doesn't think he can be. not completely, not like vash. but he'll be damned if he doesn't try.
vash shivers against him and the low, pleased rumble from nick comes almost unbidden, tightening his grip on vash's ass and thighs to pull him down fully over his mouth. and even if nick wasn't already prepared to give him what he wants, it's impossible to deny him now, that soft and sweet plea going straight to his cock. ]
You don't gotta beg, sweetheart. [ he fits his lips around vash's entrance, pressing sloppy, sucking kisses over it as he runs his tongue along the rim, just shy of dipping inside. ] I got you.
( when he'd looked at nick that day in the worm, having only known him for how long, at that point? a few hours, at the most? he'd had him pegged for a good guy regardless of what he'd said, regardless of what he'd done, because he'd ended up showing later that he did things for a reason. protection is his primary instinct, and sometimes … you do what you can, no matter what that is, just to ensure you'll be able to ask yourself on the other side —
did i do everything i could?
this is a journey they're going to make together, as far as their paths lead, isn't it? nick doesn't think of himself as cut out for certain things, the things vash does without thinking, but it's a learning process. there's a learning curve, and he'll get him through it.
nick pulls him down even more, fully fitting him over the sinful heat of his mouth and he does whine this time, high and sharp and so fucking sweet that there is no mistaking what it does to him. he takes in a shaky breath, something that catches on the back of his tongue and presses against his teeth as nick's own tongue teases against his entrance. ) I know— ( he gasps, already just shy of panting, hips giving the smallest bucks against his lips, his tongue. )I know.
( but is he going to end up begging by the end of it, anyway? probably. )
[ it’s a learning process, figuring out the things that vash likes: how he likes to be held and touched; how he likes to be taken apart so sweetly and put back together again. wolfwood isn’t normally sweet—hasn’t had to be for a long, long time, but he re-learns it; digs up the memory buried somewhere deep down of downy feathers and fragile bones, warmth cupped gently in the palms of his hands.
protection is his primary instinct, his sole purpose of doing the things he did. he’d always known that this is all he’s good for, killing as the price he has to pay to keep the one place he calls home safe. it’s easy to believe he’s incapable of being anything else. but he listens to the sweet lilting of vash’s voice, feels the gentle rock of his hips as he pushes his cunt further against nick’s lips and tongue, and he thinks maybe there’s some truth to it after all.
maybe vash is the one who’s the magician here. or maybe nick had just been too cowardly to change.
he hums against vash, sliding one hand over his hip to thumb over vash’s clit while he presses his tongue into his entrance. he curls it inside, piercing sliding along vash’s inner muscles as he gives languid thrusts of his tongue, immediately going as deep as he can to press against all the spots he knows vash likes.
he's probably playing a little dirty, but he doubts vash will complain. not when he's content to stay with his face buried in vash's cunt for as long as he wants him to be, feeling him come apart on his lips and tongue alone. ]
( vash knows what those hands are capable of, has seen it up close and personally so many times now that he's probably lost track, if he cared to keep it in the first place, but he'll also be the first to remind nicholas that his hands are never going to be good for just one thing. there's so much more to him, even now, than he gives himself credit for, and he's sure there's more still that he hasn't let him see yet.
he only hopes that he does, one of these days. that he trusts him enough to bare the parts of himself that he would rather keep in the dark, hidden and tucked away and safe but maybe … he'll accept that vash is one of those safe things, too, and he'll guard those hidden parts of him with everything in him.
he's never known how to take, especially not as much as he is now with even the smallest, greedy downward rolls of his hips against the other's mouth and surely, surely that means there's a learning curve they both have yet to understand; that there is still softness in wolfwood, and there is greed in vash, and neither of them have to be as bad or as good as they've been branded up to now.
two pieces of a whole neither of them knew could exist, coming together so perfectly and so completely that his chest aches with it.
he jolts when that touch comes to his clit, light and teasing as it is, a sharp little ah! breaking in pitch before that breath leaves in entirely, and if he sounds like he might already be so close to falling apart for him, it's because he most definitely is; the press of his piercing as deep as he's able to go brings a full-body shiver to the surface, heat trickling down from the highest points of his cheeks in a flush that paints him in the prettiest shade of pink all the way down to the rise of his collarbones.
the fingers of both hands curl even more tightly against the headboard, and it creaks beneath the pressure of his prosthetic. ) Ni— Nico, mm … fu—
( ah … so close. just a little bit more and narration is sure you'll get that curse out of him. )
[ vash has never known how to take and nick has never known how to give, not really, but even now he’s not entirely sure if this is giving either. he’s not so altruistic to do this for only vash’s benefit—he’s taking as much enjoyment out of this as vash is, and perhaps a part of him is pleased by the fact that he can enjoy it at all. but maybe in the end it doesn’t matter anyway. his entire focus is narrowed to this room, this bed; to vash perched on his face, close to falling apart over his mouth.
the creak of the headboard makes him look up, taking in the pink flush on vash’s face down to his collarbones, the full-body shiver that makes him tighten his grip on vash’s hip to steady him. nick has never been more certain of god’s existence than in this moment, laid between the thighs of one of his angels; his name falling from his lips like the sweetest hymn, the gentle chime of a bell. he's a vision nick doesn't deserve to see, doesn't deserve to worship, but he continues anyway—fitting his lips to vash's entrance and swallowing deep, rolling his clit beneath his thumb in gentle circles.
idolatry has already been tacked onto his long list of damning offenses since he first laid eyes on vash, but if his soul could ever be redeemed, he thinks vash might be the one to lead him there.
he sucks another worshipful kiss to flushed skin in penance; closes his eyes again and devotes himself to it, to him. ]
( maybe. maybe it would mean even more, what vash gets out of his if he knew there was some selfishness on nick's part involved in giving him this level of pleasure, to know he's getting something out of it, too —
it would make him feel better for being so selfish himself, for taking the slick, sweet heat the other's lips and tongue offer him so willingly and drinking it down like a man parched, a man dying and brought back to the surface to take a shaky, life-giving breath. sometimes that's where his mind goes when they fall together like this, that it's all right to live in the moment and take both pleasure and pride in doing so, because at the end of everything … it isn't as though you can take any of it with you, right?
might as well enjoy it while you can. vash has difficulty remembering that part of mortality more often than he doesn't, but keeping close company with humanity when they let him drives it back home as though it had never left, and sometimes … sometimes, he revels in it. he really does.
and he revels in this, too, nick's mouth fit against him like he could drink from him for the rest of his life and be left wanting for nothing else, the way the other himself seems to revel in it, lose himself in both vash's pleasure and being able to give it to him in the first place and that's humbling on the latter's part, for reasons he's not currently willingly to divulge, but it has a whole lot to do with having always thought that he would never feel so wanted. so needed, even if it's just like this.
his own eyes are closed so he doesn't see nick looking up the length of his body to look at him, to drink him in as he does but of course he feels the way he rolls his clit beneath his thumb, the way he drinks from his very center and he melts and tightens in equal measure, inner muscles fluttering with every flick of that tongue against him and yeah, yeah it's been building slowly as it always does, warm like the distant roll of thunder approaching —
but then it's crashing down around his ears all at once, thighs tensing on either side of nick's head and a sharp inhale marking the beginning of it, heat flooding from the width of his hips outward and the tensing of his thighs turning to shaking as that heat floods through him, plant markings flaring brighter with every pulse that makes its way through him and it's so much, it's so. )
Fuck—
( he's falling apart, shaking apart above nick's mouth and there is some part of him still that finds humility in it, because this is such an intimate thing, and he's never let anyone before nick see him like this that it still leaves him reeling. spiraling down, and down, and down further still into the consuming heat that curls around him, licks at all the darkened corners of him, pulls him into the light that his presence offers. )
Nico.
(oh god, oh god, oh god.
he'd never really believed in it before, a higher power that watches over them all, that waits for their penance when it's called for, that gives so freely —
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bakerstreet2023-06-06 08:53 pm
holga kilgore | dungeons and dragons | f/f
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DM me if anything wants changed 💖
She hadn't been expecting Holga specifically, but she can't say she was at all disappointed. The woman was taciturn and had the kind of body that told a story of her strength and willingness to fight. She took the coin and the promise of a new mount (Eligre always preferred to travel with fresh, healthy horses) without any nosy questions. An excellent quality to have in a hired merc.
And she was as, Eligre noted the first time they had stopped for the night, extremely handsome in the gilding of the firelight. By the third night, she had developed a curiosity about Holga Kilgore and her curiosity once aroused was almost impossible to satisfy.
The third night they had to stop early as it was pissing down rain, thunder rumbling intermittently high above the pines. They took shelter amongst some standing stones of a bygone age, easy to tether the ropes of the she-elf's expansive tent to without having to worry overmuch about the mud, though mud there had plenty of. Holga might be fine in her leathers and sturdy boots, but as soon as they're inside the tent and out of the elements, the witch had laughed at the lamentable state of her long velvet robes and stripped down to her black silk chemise and stockings, hanging the robes to drip by the door.
The shelter is, as befitting the tent of a spell-caster is both more expansive within and lavishly appointed. Eligre throws herself into a pile of cushions in gaily-colored Chultan silks. She lights a little copper brazier that seems to give off no smoke but makes the little room quite cozy.
"Come on, take your boots off and get comfortable. I don't think we're going anywhere for a while." Eligre invites, beginning to unbraid her long black hair, soaked through and clinging to her pale skin like rivulets of ink.
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All things considered, she could have had a worse traveling companion. For all her ethereal beauty and fancy silk robes, she seemed like a decent enough person. Still a noble, and still a damn elf with the ability to make taking a piss seem graceful, but a decent person nonetheless. A woman of few words, Holga was more or less content to ride in silence toward their destination, but whatever questions Lady Crow had for her, she answered, bluntly and without much of a filter to speak of.
If only the weather had held up and they'd kept up their intended pace, Holga might very well have called this a flawless job. She didn't have to do much until that third night, her physique and battle axe alone were enough to deter any bandits, and luck was on their side when it came to hungry creatures prowling the road. Where luck was not on their side was in the gathering clouds that third day, and by the time she smelled rain coming, Holga knew they were going to have to cut the day short.
The bad luck continued in it taking a while to find some shelter, and by the time they'd gotten the tent up and secured the horses out of the rain, Holga through. So, she saw after entering their magic tent, was Eligre, and while she'd thought the elf was as pretty as any other up until this point, it was seeing her down to the silky undergarments that finally got that fire in her chest starting to build up some heat.
"Sorry about your robe." Holga clears her throat after she doffs her boots, and as she steps closer toward that magical fire, suddenly she feels a little out of place. Part of her wants to ask how expensive all this is, but, well... she probably doesn't want to know. "Heavy as those clouds are, we probably won't make it out until noon tomorrow."
Taking a seat opposite Eligre around the brazier, she looks at her, and it's definitely a look. It's not fair that someone can look this pretty, even after a good soaking. "So, should probably mention I'm not wearing anything under this," she goes on to say with the smallest smirk and a tap to her leathers. "Think your little fire-thing here can dry me out like this?"
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"I'm hardly such a prude that I would demand you stay in your wet clothes just for my sake." She says, with a bland smile. "If you would be more comfortable hanging them to dry, I think I'll manage. I'd loan you a robe or something but I'm afraid it wouldn't withstand all those lovely muscles that led me to hire you in the first place. But please, I'm hardly concerned with modesty." She says, gesturing to her own state of undress. The way she's sitting, the chemise has ridden up her leg, exposing the top of her stocking-- tied with a green velvet ribbon the same striking color as her eyes-- and just a touch of soft, bare thigh.
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She has to say, she's impressed. Nobles, and elves especially, always strike her as the prissy types that feel absolute despair if they get soaking wet and caked in mud. Eligre not only getting over it fast but being willing to strip down in front of her is going to make her reevaluate her opinion of the lady, much to her annoyance. Being ambivalent is so much easier than actually liking someone, especially when they've got curves and lovely, lovely hair.
"Well, hell. I'm not sitting around in wet clothes if I don't have to, then." Matching the elf, smile for smile, she sets to undoing straps and tugging open her leathers. As she works, she doesn't make it blindingly obvious that she's watching Eligre the whole time, thoroughly enjoying those smooth, stocking-clad legs as she wrestles her top up over her head. The padding's on the inside, there's no need for small clothes, and so she stands, bare-breasted, scars and tattoos on display for her companion to see. Modesty is not a virtue Holga can boast, but neither does she intend to flout herself... not ordinarily. Right now, she very much does want to see how Eligre reacts to a half-exposed barbarian in her midst.
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"There you go. Well on your way to making yourself at home." She purrs, shaking her hair out of its final twists. Loose like this, it falls to well below her hips and in this state of undress she's no longer a buttoned-up sorceress but something more wanton and unrestrained.
"Shall I pour us something to drink? We've little to pass the time but lie around, I'm afraid." She offers, rolling over amongst the cushions to crawl towards a mismatched scattering of chests, trunks and satchels that contain her possessions, all carefully and in some cases magically packed for her journey in deceptively small boxes. She hadn't intended to disturb them until she got where she was going but tonight seemed reason enough to be a little indulgent (in all things, she hopes). She opens one of the trunks and begins to rummage, looking for a bottle and some crystal glasses tucked in amongst seemingly endless layers of velvets, silks and furs, all black as the night sky.
"Ah-ha! There you are." She holds up a dark bottle, the label elegantly gilded, and makes her way back over to Holga, smiling a feral smile in the brazier's low light.
"Elderberry mead." She explains, pouring them each a glass and offering one to the other woman.
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"Feeling better already." The long leather tunic more or less covers her bottoms, so for now, she leaves those where they are, but the tunic itself and her boots go in a pile beside the brazier, shortly before Holga herself flops down beside it opposite Eligre. The heat does feel pretty damn good after being in the freezing rain, and while she certainly doesn't want to think she's going soft, she does have to admit, she could get used to this level of comfort. Having an elf all but openly eyeing up her tits is a small price to pay.
The offer of a drink brings a smirk to her lips. "If I ever say no to alcohol, something's seriously wrong." It does feel like it's cheating, somehow, for someone to bring this much stuff on a traveling expedition, but Holga can't complain. Not when it's her turn to watch the elf move around in her skivvies, shaking and wiggling in all the right ways while she searches those boxes. When the bottle finally is found and proffered, a part of her actually feels disappointed, but only for the split second it takes before she mentions what's in there.
"Hope you got more bottles of this stuff." She takes her glass with a nod of thanks and, without so much as a by your leave, raises it to her mouth to take a gulp. It only occurs to her after the sweet liquid is halfway down her throat that there's probably a more elegant way to drink the elf may prefer, but hell, she knew what she was getting when she hired her. Good manners and proper etiquette are things that just get in the way of getting to the real good stuff.
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"Cheers, darling." She giggles, tipping her own head back to swallow down the sweet wine. Baring the elegant white column of her throat as she drains the glass.
"Mmm, that's the good stuff." She purrs, licking the dark smears of wine off her lips and refilling her glass, setting the bottle between them where Holga can reach it.
She maintains that same lazy, feline smile as she shifts herself across the space between them and stretches herself out across the cushions. Reclining her head rather brazenly on Holga's thigh.
"You don't mind, do you?" She asks, in a warm tone that suggests she doesn't think so. She daintily crosses her legs and sips her mead, well aware that this posture gives Holga ample vantage to look down her chemise at the marble swells of her breasts, soft and pale and lined with gray-green veins, flecked with green scales as delicate and small as freckles.
vi | arcane | f/f
Eadwulf Grieve | Critical Role | OTA
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Ton!verse for the win, then!
And Cassandra is very much taking advantage of this. She’s perched on the edge of the bar, the skirt of her dark blue dress hitched up around her thighs from her ascent to the bartop, and she’s kissing Eadwulf fervently, one hand fisted into his shirt, the fingers of her other hand splayed along his jaw.
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This is part of the payment after all. Some thumos exchange. But it's more than just a simple business deal. He rather enjoys this. He enjoys the feel of her, the way she kisses his back, the way her thighs grip around his middle as he presses into her. He likes the way she touches him, never afraid to touch his scars. Just as he's never afraid to touch her.
He wonders if she'd let him inside her, here on the bar. But he knows the sort of mess that would make. He doesn't want to give her anything more to clean than she already has to. So instead, he already knows what he wants to give her. He's of the right height that if he sinks to his knees, his face will land in that perfect spot right between her knees. But he's not going to go directly there.
She is a lady though. She deserves to be showered in kisses. He lingers on her lips, hands already going to undo fasteners on her top.
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It's moments like this that she enjoys most. Just the two of them. Able to touch so openly. Without worrying about propriety and offending the locals. His hands are working to undo the fasteners on her top. Anticipation sings through her, and the moment he’s gotten them all undone she is slipping out of the top half of her dress and immediately moving back to touch him, shifting closer to him still kissing him.
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His kisses do slowly start on the move. He's careful of where he goes. What spots he nips and licks. Where his mouth lingers on her flesh. He's seen the marks on her neck. He won't touch those. He might not understand completely, but he's certain it would not be welcome to feel a mouth against that part of her. Instead, he'll head down as much as he can bend without kneeling. He will do that, but not yet. Kissing her sternum while one hand goes to play with her breast while the pets and squeezes at her thigh.
Eligre Kaivodulin || High fantasy OC || OTA
Jade "the Prophetess" | Enderal: Forgotten Stories | OTA.
[Info & Permissions.]
al rothstein | dceu
vash ( trigun stampede )
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it's a nice bed, firm mattress with a sturdy headboard even if the sheets are thin and threadbare. they make do though (they always have, even with less), and nick has vash flushed and pliant on top of him before long, sipping his sweet moans and sighs right from his mouth. but there are other things nick wants to taste, and he pulls away to trail his lips across vash's jaw to his ear, setting his hands on his hips to haul him up the mattress towards nick's face. ]
C'mon, sweetheart. You know where I want you.
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not … that anything like that is on his mind once they're safely behind a closed, locked door and nick is pulling him in to take kisses from his mouth like he might just die if he doesn't. the man always knows what he wants and knowing vash will give it to him without any question at all makes him far less likely to keep those wants to himself. case in point —
vash thinks to himself half-jokingly that he must have been a magician in some previous life with how easily he always gets him down to his bare skin these days, all thoughts of being so self-conscious about his scars practically flung out the nearest window and forgotten the second he looks at him like that. like he could devour him down to the bone and it still wouldn't be enough.
still, he breathes out a soft laugh as he's pulled up, reaching to solicit the help of the headboard to pull himself the rest of the way up until he's straddling nick's shoulders. and peering down at him with a quirked brow and a sharp little grin. )
Anybody reminded you you're kinda bossy lately?
( vash. please. ) What's the magic word? ( boy if you do not sit on this man's face immediately. )
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that soft laugh coaxes one of his own, his hands shifting down to vash's thighs and palming the curve of his ass to tilt his hips up and forward. he looks up the length of vash's body to his face, taking in those bright eyes and sharp grin, and... well. there's no helping it, he guesses.
he shimmies down the bed just enough to get his mouth closer, licking a broad stripe up through vash's folds with his own brow quirked. there's the hint of an amused smirk hidden behind the shape of vash's cunt, but he's sure the blond can likely see it. ]
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but it's nice to be wanted. nice to feel needed and he'll lose himself to it over and over and over again, until nick has devoured him and licked his bones clean. not the worst way to go.
of course, one ( 1 ) nicholas d. wolfwood has always been able to call his bluff and this — this shouldn't be any exception, not with the predatory light in his eyes and the shape of his mouth so close to where he wants to be, where vash is, admittedly, aching to have him. he can't look away even though his cheeks are already dusted pink with heat, and that first sweep of his tongue is enough to have the fingers of both hands curling over the edge of the headboard and a sigh of pleasure betraying him. )
Mmnh … cheater.
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nick would devour him, the urge to keep him safe inside and free from all the pain and suffering he's had to endure (and has yet to endure) a familiar and fleeting feeling. but vash doesn't realize that he's already consumed nick, pulled him into his orbit with no other choice but to stay. ]
You complainin'? [ he chuckles, right up against his slick folds, reaffirming his grip on vash's ass. he tongues his clit, flicking it like he would his earring. ] Is that why you're so wet already?
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he might just think that being able to know nick at all is some kind of reparation for giving himself away so freely before. to get something back for a change, and if you think for a moment that he wouldn't willingly give anything in possession over to him without him even having to ask. well. you don't know him all that well at all, do you?
he jolts when the other's tongue flicks against him, something so simple sending heat streaking through him like lightning, fingers flexing against the headboard, breath catching on a stuttered a-ah that already sounds a bit too high-pitched. a bit too needy. ) Not complaining, no. ( his thigh muscles tense, like he's trying to prepare himself for whatever that mouth has planned for him next.
spoilers: he's never as prepared as he wants to be. ) M'not that wet … ( oh, honey. that's cute.
the insides of your thighs are about a handful of seconds away from being drenched, and you know it. )
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and so it goes—nick latching on to him like a man on a mission, so focused in giving this pleasure to vash, something good and soft he can keep for himself.
this close, nick can smell him: so fragrant and sweet with a hint of tartness beneath that makes his mouth go dry. he lifts his head a little more to get even closer, lapping at the fluid already leaking from vash's entrance, giving firmer strokes of his tongue to brush his piercing along all that slick and sensitive skin. ]
Seem pretty wet to me. [ he punctuates this with another long lick, from the base of his cunt up to his clit. ] Why don't you let me clean you up?
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being good to people doesn't mean you expect anything back from them. it isn't the sun giving light to the moon and waiting for some kind of favor in return, but the self-satisfaction of having done something kind in the first place, of helping someone in need, or just giving a smile for the sake of having one on reserve.
what he has with nick, the back and forth, the give and take — he's never had anything like that before, and he'll never have anything like it again.
vash shivers as he laps at him, thighs parting just a little more of their own accord, bringing the heat of his arousal even closer to the others' mouth; the slide of his piercing from his entrance to the hard, sensitive bud of his clit brings the next sound out of him as a gasp-moan-whine, and he tries to swallow around it to dial back some of its harshness, but there is no way around it. no hiding it.
god, this man is a walking sin — ) Y— … yeah, okay, yeah—
Please. ( oh. you've got him asking so nicely already. you really are good at this, aren't you? )
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he doesn't think he can be. not completely, not like vash. but he'll be damned if he doesn't try.
vash shivers against him and the low, pleased rumble from nick comes almost unbidden, tightening his grip on vash's ass and thighs to pull him down fully over his mouth. and even if nick wasn't already prepared to give him what he wants, it's impossible to deny him now, that soft and sweet plea going straight to his cock. ]
You don't gotta beg, sweetheart. [ he fits his lips around vash's entrance, pressing sloppy, sucking kisses over it as he runs his tongue along the rim, just shy of dipping inside. ] I got you.
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did i do everything i could?
this is a journey they're going to make together, as far as their paths lead, isn't it? nick doesn't think of himself as cut out for certain things, the things vash does without thinking, but it's a learning process. there's a learning curve, and he'll get him through it.
nick pulls him down even more, fully fitting him over the sinful heat of his mouth and he does whine this time, high and sharp and so fucking sweet that there is no mistaking what it does to him. he takes in a shaky breath, something that catches on the back of his tongue and presses against his teeth as nick's own tongue teases against his entrance. ) I know— ( he gasps, already just shy of panting, hips giving the smallest bucks against his lips, his tongue. ) I know.
( but is he going to end up begging by the end of it, anyway? probably. )
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protection is his primary instinct, his sole purpose of doing the things he did. he’d always known that this is all he’s good for, killing as the price he has to pay to keep the one place he calls home safe. it’s easy to believe he’s incapable of being anything else. but he listens to the sweet lilting of vash’s voice, feels the gentle rock of his hips as he pushes his cunt further against nick’s lips and tongue, and he thinks maybe there’s some truth to it after all.
maybe vash is the one who’s the magician here. or maybe nick had just been too cowardly to change.
he hums against vash, sliding one hand over his hip to thumb over vash’s clit while he presses his tongue into his entrance. he curls it inside, piercing sliding along vash’s inner muscles as he gives languid thrusts of his tongue, immediately going as deep as he can to press against all the spots he knows vash likes.
he's probably playing a little dirty, but he doubts vash will complain. not when he's content to stay with his face buried in vash's cunt for as long as he wants him to be, feeling him come apart on his lips and tongue alone. ]
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he only hopes that he does, one of these days. that he trusts him enough to bare the parts of himself that he would rather keep in the dark, hidden and tucked away and safe but maybe … he'll accept that vash is one of those safe things, too, and he'll guard those hidden parts of him with everything in him.
he's never known how to take, especially not as much as he is now with even the smallest, greedy downward rolls of his hips against the other's mouth and surely, surely that means there's a learning curve they both have yet to understand; that there is still softness in wolfwood, and there is greed in vash, and neither of them have to be as bad or as good as they've been branded up to now.
two pieces of a whole neither of them knew could exist, coming together so perfectly and so completely that his chest aches with it.
he jolts when that touch comes to his clit, light and teasing as it is, a sharp little ah! breaking in pitch before that breath leaves in entirely, and if he sounds like he might already be so close to falling apart for him, it's because he most definitely is; the press of his piercing as deep as he's able to go brings a full-body shiver to the surface, heat trickling down from the highest points of his cheeks in a flush that paints him in the prettiest shade of pink all the way down to the rise of his collarbones.
the fingers of both hands curl even more tightly against the headboard, and it creaks beneath the pressure of his prosthetic. ) Ni— Nico, mm … fu—
( ah … so close. just a little bit more and narration is sure you'll get that curse out of him. )
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the creak of the headboard makes him look up, taking in the pink flush on vash’s face down to his collarbones, the full-body shiver that makes him tighten his grip on vash’s hip to steady him. nick has never been more certain of god’s existence than in this moment, laid between the thighs of one of his angels; his name falling from his lips like the sweetest hymn, the gentle chime of a bell. he's a vision nick doesn't deserve to see, doesn't deserve to worship, but he continues anyway—fitting his lips to vash's entrance and swallowing deep, rolling his clit beneath his thumb in gentle circles.
idolatry has already been tacked onto his long list of damning offenses since he first laid eyes on vash, but if his soul could ever be redeemed, he thinks vash might be the one to lead him there.
he sucks another worshipful kiss to flushed skin in penance; closes his eyes again and devotes himself to it, to him. ]
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it would make him feel better for being so selfish himself, for taking the slick, sweet heat the other's lips and tongue offer him so willingly and drinking it down like a man parched, a man dying and brought back to the surface to take a shaky, life-giving breath. sometimes that's where his mind goes when they fall together like this, that it's all right to live in the moment and take both pleasure and pride in doing so, because at the end of everything … it isn't as though you can take any of it with you, right?
might as well enjoy it while you can. vash has difficulty remembering that part of mortality more often than he doesn't, but keeping close company with humanity when they let him drives it back home as though it had never left, and sometimes … sometimes, he revels in it. he really does.
and he revels in this, too, nick's mouth fit against him like he could drink from him for the rest of his life and be left wanting for nothing else, the way the other himself seems to revel in it, lose himself in both vash's pleasure and being able to give it to him in the first place and that's humbling on the latter's part, for reasons he's not currently willingly to divulge, but it has a whole lot to do with having always thought that he would never feel so wanted. so needed, even if it's just like this.
his own eyes are closed so he doesn't see nick looking up the length of his body to look at him, to drink him in as he does but of course he feels the way he rolls his clit beneath his thumb, the way he drinks from his very center and he melts and tightens in equal measure, inner muscles fluttering with every flick of that tongue against him and yeah, yeah it's been building slowly as it always does, warm like the distant roll of thunder approaching —
but then it's crashing down around his ears all at once, thighs tensing on either side of nick's head and a sharp inhale marking the beginning of it, heat flooding from the width of his hips outward and the tensing of his thighs turning to shaking as that heat floods through him, plant markings flaring brighter with every pulse that makes its way through him and it's so much, it's so. )
Fuck—
( he's falling apart, shaking apart above nick's mouth and there is some part of him still that finds humility in it, because this is such an intimate thing, and he's never let anyone before nick see him like this that it still leaves him reeling. spiraling down, and down, and down further still into the consuming heat that curls around him, licks at all the darkened corners of him, pulls him into the light that his presence offers. )
Nico.
( oh god, oh god, oh god.
he'd never really believed in it before, a higher power that watches over them all, that waits for their penance when it's called for, that gives so freely —
but he might be seeing your god now, nicholas. )