bakerstreet | Tell them

[ Mantis cups (character’s) hand before she prints it to her forehead. ]

Start at the bottom [ Flushed, she guides new fingers to the base of her antennae. ] and s-stroke.

...really? [Loki is in no way put off, of course, but mildly surprised by the suggestion that this is an erogenous zone.] They look so slender, I was half afraid they're delicate.

How much pressure do you like? [Does she even know that yet? Has anyone done this to her, or is it just something she's done for herself before? Chances are his strokes will start out too light, but he's certainly trying, curling two fingers around the base of one antenna and sliding upwards, only to circle with the pad of his thumb at the glowing end.]

I would never [ Look at the serious face that accompanies the proclamation. Stare into it. Fear for your very soul. ] joke about this. Intimacy is supposed to be serious, Loki.

[ Eh. She thinks? She’s not entirely convinced, though, still hanging on to the notions that a lot about sex sounds…

…disgusting, to be frank. He’s not, of course, the mechanics are.

There’s a wiggle in her frown as he begins; his hand is larger than hers, fingers longer, so the sensation’s different almost immediately. ]

Ah. Just don’t tug on them. That gives me a headache. [ Given that her head’s tilting into his touch, he’s not off to a bad start. The bulb at the top of the stalk his attention is focused on begins to illuminate. ]

They are stronger than you imagine.

It doesn't have to be. [He smiles, a little amused, but also trying to be gentle.] Serious, I mean. You have to take your partner seriously, but sex itself, not so much.

[That quiver in her expression makes him want to kiss her immediately, but he holds back, watching to see how she responds first.] Stroke, but don't tug. Understood.

[His voice is a low purr, something his partners usually find seductive, although whether Mantis responds the same way remains to be seen. She's hard to predict.] So the light...is that an emotional response? I know they glow when you use your abilities.

From intense emotions. [ Whether she's seduced or amused — and, really, aren't those two sides of the same coin? — her expression lightens. Her skin tints pinker, too. Must be the purring. ] On accidents, occasionally. Or from touch.

[ One of her hands falls to her side on its way to rest at his knee, her curled thumb like a tiny insect skittering towards cover. Before she's realized it, her lips part. ]

I assume. I've never had that many people touch me there.

[ Alongside her proclivities to touch, touch, touch, she's had to deal with the emergent exposure to others who might want to do the same in return. ] They glow when I touch them. And when I touch other places.

[As much as he likes the idea of desire weaving a spell, the thought that she might be so enraptured by his touch that she can no longer resist--he knows better. She can be amused and aroused at the same time, and maybe that's the ideal, really, for a lover he'd like to keep.]

Do you think it would feel good for me to kiss or lick them? I'm happy to experiment, you know. Whatever makes you feel good. [Rarely has he said anything more sincere. Neither of them are innocent per se, but this feels sweet, as first times often do, and he's all but radiating uncomplicated contentment.]

We can take as much time as you want.

You think that I'm scared. [ A question? A statement? By the cadence of her voice, it could qualify as either. Her quest-atement accompanies a stare directly into Loki's eyes, unbreaking, open. At this point, maybe he doesn't find the exposed nature of her expressions unnerving.

The black of her eyes, corner to corner without a slice of cool white, could swallow up someone who's not used to it. Tarpits. Inkstains. Gaping pits. So many ugly comparisons you could draw.

Yet, there's the galaxy, the sea at night, sweet sleep all at the same time.

Her entire hand presses against his thigh. Cheek drags cheek. Her forehead bumps his, a precursor to how she dips in to bury her face into the crook of his shoulder. ]

Kiss first. [ Surprisingly sparse wording for her, folded up in an unusual thickness in her tone.

Weight rises in her throat. A hollowing want follows. ]

Edited 2023-12-06 18:12 (UTC)

Actually, no. I don't think you're scared. [Though she has an easier time reading him than he does her, which could be frustrating if he wasn't so used to it by now.]

I think I'm a little scared. [And he's fallen through darkness, been lost in unfeeling space, so he could mean he's scared of those eyes, that depthless black. That's not what he means, though. He's not scared of her. He's scared of himself.] I'm afraid of doing the wrong thing. And I'm afraid that you might not know in advance if I'm about to do the wrong thing, since this is new.

[And he's the king of overthinking things, sex included. But when she leans into him he half-melts, suddenly aching for what this could be. Wanting this to be okay, wanting them both to be happy, wanting them both to feel loved.] I just need a little direction. Please...?

[And since she's given him some, he takes up the task she's suggested and brushes his lips to the center of her forehead first, then against the base of the antenna he hasn't been fondling. Wouldn't do to leave one neglected, after all.]

Don't be afraid. [ Don't be afraid, she repeats in echo, accompanied by the arm that's not sprawled across his leg hooking around his waist. An extended breath and her lungs are filled with the smell of leather and skin and stirring energy, unique to him. It's enough to lull her eyes near-shut.

He holds her like a precious glass thing. Fragile: handle with care. She resents him a little for that, and has never fallen for him harder than she's spiraling now. This contradiction forgets to disturb her. ]

Teach me. [ Both antennae pulse with light under at his focus, the hint of his lips against her sensitive appendages too much for subtly. She shivers, curls forward, against him .] We'll make m-mistakes, but they'll be our mistakes.

[ Fingernails mark tiny indentations into his neck. ] Yours are a part of you [ Whatever they'll do here, any missteps or lapses in judgement, those belong in this moment. ] I love you.

[ Love. At this proximity and with her defenses muddled, Mantis can't stop the ripple effect of her powers. Love. Love. Love.

Loki gets a dose of what it's like to be her when she adores him. ]

[As if 'don't be afraid' has ever been enough to make someone not-afraid. Loki's knee-jerk impulse is to argue, to tell her all the ways he's a disaster, why he's not good enough for her, or probably anyone else--but the words die before they're fully formed, because at this point, she surely knows. She knows he feels unworthy, vicious, wrong. And while he doesn't think of her as delicate, nor even particularly innocent, he worries.

She's right, though. The only way to get over the fear of doing things wrong is by doing them, making mistakes, and working through them to the other side. When she says they'll be our mistakes, something in his chest feels like it cracks and starts to bleed, or weep. Our mistakes. He won't be alone this time.

That's always been a big part of Loki's problem. Affection feels contingent upon good behavior, being what's wanted. He tries, and gets called out for being false. He stops trying and gets thought of as cold or vicious or anti-social. The emotion she's radiating hits him like a wave, pulls him in and threatens to drown him entirely: he is loved, not in spite of his mistakes, but because they're a part of him, and that's what she wants.

He's always hated his own tendency to start crying in moments of intense emotion. Even after Thanos, after all the pain and struggle he's been through, it's still natural to him. He's crying now, already, and if he weren't so wrapped up in her he'd probably be calling himself pathetic in the back of his head somewhere. As it is, it doesn't seem to matter.

He's here. He's himself. She's herself. They love.

He can't speak aloud, halfway due to being choked up, halfway due to the attention he refuses to stop giving her antennae, but they're so closely linked all of a sudden, it's easy to speak in his own mind and let it resonate through them both:]

I love you, too. I want you to be happy. I want to be the thing that makes you happy.

You're amazing.

You already are. [ If you can believe it, she's happy. Happier than she's ever been in her life, because of him, because he's him, and that's reality. The same gravity swings her into the orbit of his face with open palms; waterworks pool at her eyes, too. The ocean of their connected hearts serve as one common spring. His tears. Her cheeks. Whether all of her crying's from empathetic buzz, though, is up for debate.

Mantis doesn't care to argue logistics. She laughs and sobs and draws along the corners of his lips with her thumbs before she takes another breath, as if she's meant to be here, exactly at this spot, in any timeline that could exist within the Multiversal cauldron. Pluck a string of events out. She'd be with Loki. Another? With Loki. All roads lead to her nose buried in his hair. Her index finger drying his face. Her mouth tasting what remains on his skin.

Where else would I be if I wasn't in your arms?

She breaks the chain (I can still hear you sayin' you would never break the chain, the thrum-thrum baseline of her pulse) of contact long enough to bring her fingers up to her mouth, tongue darting out to catch his salt on her own skin. Trade.

But can you barter for what was yours to begin with? ]

Feel. [ In a move that reads as nurturing nestled in other contexts, she'll guide his head to rest on her chest. ] Share with me?

[ A strange question to ask, admittedly: also one she's never vocalized. You would never guess that given the fluidity with which it spills from her. Blood-sweat-tears-this. ]

Be me.

[ Asking's a formality, really. ]

[There is something about being a god that gets missed between glory and responsibility. What is a god but a story someone told, and believed. A face to put upon an element of reality, something more personal than an Infinity gem, less cold, more relatable. Someone you can argue with, or call out to, or blame. When you become the face of something intangible, you feel it. You're a conduit, a messenger, an intercessor between mortal and ethereal, with a foot in either world.

The feeling of sinking into her, her entwining with him, mind to mind and soul to soul, is like that. Her spirit pours through him, singing through his veins, and it could feel like losing himself, but it doesn't. It feels inexpressibly safe, and utterly familiar, like time has ceased to be relevant, they've always been doing this, always touching.

His own nature is different, turbulent, labyrinthine. He's a blizzard, a tempest of desperate, howling hunger smoothed over in perfect crystalline white, but if she looks now she can see each glittering facet of every snowflake, reflecting her. Loki craves love like nothing else, and struggles to accept it every step of the way, but she won't let him refuse.

He all but collapses into her chest, letting himself want what she wants, and whether it's because he's a shapeshifter or because of the mental bond, he can feel the weight of his own head, he can feel the nudge of his chin, the instinctive nuzzle into her sternum he makes, somehow inside both of their bodies at once.

The tears slow a little, dissolving into awed laughter. He's experienced sex magic before, and sharing physical sensation isn't an uncommon side effect, but it's never felt so fluid, so natural.]

You're amazing. Do you know that? I hope you know that. [She can speak aloud, if she wants. He's comfortable with telepathy now, and besides, it frees his mouth. He pulls one of her hands to his lips, kissing her fingertips.]

[ Gods belong to their worshipers. Without them, divinity means nothing — Ego never grasped as much, Mantis didn't assume any less. There's symbiosis. Yet the line dividing who is god and who's supplicant in this particular configuration smudges quickly. Loki praises her in his emotions (purer than thoughts, empathy is the insight telepathy can't muster) while she gazes downward with hooded eyes.

None of these specifics matter. She could be the bastard daughter of a monster or a celestial madonna. He may be the liesmith incarnate, master of tales, or an outcast boy from an unforgiving planet. The song stays the same.

Second verse. Repeat the first. Her teeth catch her bottom lip between top and bottom rows.

She hums in answer to him. Or she just hums, no other reasoning behind the listless note, her knuckles skirting his chin as he takes her hand.

Mantis's affection insists. Perhaps it overwhelms, too, could be far too much as it invades both of their sense with its depths. She's never had anywhere to direct all this...all. Nowhere to pour it. It aches how sadness does, in a way, with no direction.

Currently, its destination is in every direction, filling nooks and crannies with breathless gasps of enough and we and us. There's a universe of adoration within her.

One she doesn't have to rein in. A hum again, this time of harmonious frequencies.

One errant finger wiggles behind his lip and pops into his mouth, should he allow it. She's rocking against him, creating the ghost of friction.

I'm myself. Amazing? Possibly. If that's what it takes. Amazing, gifted, cursed, beautiful, hideous: whatever she claims, in her present, without apology or restraint. She devours.

...she and her father could have a few traits in common.

She crawls forward enough that she's a l m o s t in his lap. ]

[Maybe it's a surprise, how instinctively he understands that feeling, that dam of thwarted affection held back for too long. Asgard was a society that valued warriors, and while the masculine ethos wasn't quite as rigid as humanity's, there were expectations. Loki started out as a soft-hearted child, closer to his mother than anyone else, sheltered behind his brother's vibrant energy. He was too warm, too affectionate, until he learned better and turned too cold. It's hard to say who he'd be now if things had been different, but an outlet for affection and emotion and desire is almost as dearly needed in his case as in hers.

And they crash together, like a river meeting the sea, all foaming whitewater and treacherous eddies dragging them down into the depths. She is hungry and he wants, so very badly, to be worth devouring.

The shock for him is how aware she is of herself. She's spoken of fears she's like her father, he knows that, but to feel now how keenly she knows her own strength is a revelation. What's beautiful, he thinks, is how arrow-focused she's been on being no one but herself. How could he not admire that, when he's fought so hard to conform to others' expectations, and failed, until he just gave up on the battle and charged ahead for himself.

A goddess in her own right, easily, if she wanted to be. Worlds could fall at her feet and leave her unsated. But maybe he can sate her now, if only for a little while.

There's a starburst of pleasure behind his eyes when she slips her finger into his mouth. He licks and suck the tip without a second thought, feeling the shivers run down his spine and into the core of his body, shameless. And when she crawls closer, he pulls her into his lap without hesitation, sinking back onto the bed behind him, hands on her hip and the small of her back to drag her with him, on top of him.

In a different situation, he would be the one pointing out that they can stop if she wants to, any time, just let him know, because he's not about slaking his desires at anyone else's expense. It's patently unnecessary here, though. Ridiculous to bother.]

I want to feel your skin against mine. Clothes are in the way. [Magic can handle that easily enough, and in just a flicker of green-gold, his tunic dissolves, and the linen undershirt, leaving him bare-chested.]

Fuck...can you feel it like this? Can you see the Jotun skin? [That's not fear, it's curiosity. He hasn't stripped the Aesir illusion away, but their minds are so close now. For all he knows she can feel it from the inside out, the faint itch of magic overlaying blue skin, and the thrum of energy in the Jotun ridges, like an extra set of veins at the surface of his body.]

[ No one expected anything of Mantis. That weight crushes differently, although the end result is the same when it comes to searching for a plug to fit that emptiness within. You look to those who defined your status in the first place. You search for meaning through service, purpose, in others. Each acquaintance you make is another mirror to look into, hoping that this plane of glass will be the one that reveals who you are.

That's a solitary life.

Friends are never friends. They can't be. No one could love you with their entirety if you don't have that to offer in kind. Mantis shed that cocoon and, while it's recent, the change in her can't help but blossom at the edges.

She holds nothing back with Loki. By the time his tongue coaxes at her finger — fingers, she's quick to add more — her head's already lolling back by degrees, that insect chitter audible from deep within her chest.

But her attention trickles in full to him again when he 'speaks.' In answer, he gets a shake of her head. ]

I feel only you. [ So. Actually? Yes? By vague strokes, she's aware that Loki masks his natural appearance with a sort of costume-illusion, and it'd be against her nature to not be burning to see what he really looks like. No, however, she understands how silly that'd been.

Loki's Loki. No matter how he appears, he's a singularity.

...keep in mind, her hand explores the texture of his body with renewed curiosity, stare laser-locked along the path her touch takes.

A tendril of excitement wraps around her/his spine at his magical display. Oh! Magnificient! Fantastic! Wow! ]

Could you do that to my clothes, too? [ On the subject of singular entities: Loki and his magic. Her enthusiasm won't allow either to be distinct. Loki'smagicmagic'sLokimagic; he breathes and wonders occur.

Her nose mashes his, she's so integrated into his personal space.

Excuse me. Their space. ]

[ Asura turns around, then leans over so far backwards his head is perfect chair height. Inhuman flexibility has plenty of advantages. His massive tongue slides out and with a dexterous flick, invites his partner closer. Despite it hanging out, his voice is clear- it is a talent. ]

Sit.

[ His gaze grows thicker, darker, yet more inviting. There is a soft husk to his voice. Basim’s hood is lowered but otherwise, he himself is fully dressed. For now. You, however…hm, must change that. ] Undress.

[Her eyes meet his, grey glinting like steel. There is an answering darkness there, an arousal she is making no effort to disguise, but there is a clear challenge, too. Her hands move up to the laces of her bodice, toying with the knot as though seeking to decide - then move away, arms dropping back to her sides.]

[There is a sharpness in her smile, her tongue running along the edge of her teeth.]

Make me.

[ A half smirk creeps along the left edge of his lips as he slowly, purposefully moves to stand directly in front of her, and without averting his gaze, he moves to position her hands back where they were, his own grasping her wrists with enough pressure to move them - if she allowed - back where they were, to press them against the laces, but not roughly. Not yet or unless asked, anyways.

He does use his weight transference to suggest the intention of slowly pushing her backwards against whatever was the nearest surface if she was going to play the game of being difficult. Not that Basim would mind. ]

As you command. [ There is a note of amusement added to that husk from before. ]

[She gives only a brief, token resistance before letting him guide her hands back upward. It does occur to her to make him work harder for it - there is thrill in a struggle, after all - but... no. Not yet, in any case. It is enough, for now, to have him push just a little; to be aware of the strength that makes struggle a possibility, and the heat of him so much closer to her.]

[Not that she's against the idea of him continuing to push closer until her back is to the wall, either. In fact, the thought is definitely contributing to the flush of her cheeks and the slightly unsteady rise and fall of her chest under the laces. She bites her lip, her eyes still fixed on his. As she commands, indeed.]

[This time, she doesn't play with the laces; she makes quick work of the knots, slackening the lacing until her dress hangs loosely from a slender, tautly-muscled form. There is still a shift underneath, but it is fine enough linen that, when she pulls her dress down to her hips and lets it fall, the view is decidedly clearer - fine enough that not only the press of her nipples, but the darker pink of them, is visible through the cloth.]

[She gives him an answering smirk, leaning in a little closer, not quite kissing distance. Her own voice has more than a little husk in it, too, when she whispers half-mockingly:]

You can do the rest yourself, I think.

[Apparently it stings her - always excessive - pride to let him win entirely that easily.]

[ He can work hard for it in other ways. And besides, there is no rule saying they can't switch back and forth in the power dynamic. Basim is here for whatever lets things flow in a collaborative way that encompasses everyone's needs and makes for a fulfilling good time.

He notices each rise and fall, each breath, every glance or change in expression. At the bite of her lip, he allows his gaze to take in the entirity of her form, as he would again when the dress fell, revealing a thinner garment and so much more. ]

I think you are correct.

[ He has only "won" if he can bring her pleasure. Until then, her body is a gift she offers that he has yet to earn. Naturally, he will not waste time, shrugging off his cloak and tossing it aside like it isn't the most important material possession aside from the blade that explains his missing finger (retractible blade already set carefully aside) that he owns, and a massive portion of his current life's identity. ]

It felt restricting. [ He offers an indifferent explanation - as if it was necessary or anyone had asked - before devoting his attention to slowly removing fabric that kept him from viewing Éowyn in her natural majesty, pausing on occasion to tease, tracing his touch where it pleased him.

When there is only one final area of fabric between him and his desire, he kneels, hands firmly on her lower back above her hips, bringing his face close with time for her to push him away if there was any lingering doubt, intending to use his teeth to pull them down, or depending on whim, rip them off entirely. Who knew? Best to always be adaptable. ]

Edited (so sorry, my 'puter keeps omitting entire letters and i cannot have that >:L) 2023-12-06 09:07 (UTC)

[Her usual preference is for wildness, to give no quarter and be given none in return; she is a woman whose blood runs hot, and sex is no exception to her desire for violent immediacy, for things to be raw and rough and combative.]

[That said, there is a different kind of pleasure in this, which is no less intense: slowness, lingering anticipation, the hunger mounting. She sighs her approval as he sheds his shrouding cloak, still far less exposed than she is but now clearer to see; and it is an effort to hold still as his touch trails over her skin, an effort not to give up on all restraint and drag him in closer, wrapping arms and legs around him, demanding more.]

[But she likes to challenge herself, just as much as to challenge him; and she keeps her arms at her sides, her breath shivering unsteadily at the warmth of his hands, her lips parted and her eyes following his every move with undeniable desire.]

[And she is rewarded for it by the sight of him dropping to his knees, his breath brushing warm and then cool against cloth that is already soaked with the evidence that this is working. Her blush is not limited to her high cheekbones; it touches her shoulders, too, and the tops of her small, pert breasts, pink flush clearer than ever on pale skin. His hands are firm, and even kneeling, he does not strike her as submissive; even kneeling, he still feels like the one in control here, and while that might rankle under other circumstances, just now it is unbearably appealing.]

[She does move, then; her hand coming up to his hair, caressing at the nape of his neck, the other reaching back to steady herself against the nearby dresser. She laughs, breathless and low.]

You had better make haste. That feels restricting, too.

[There are times, in private moments like these, when the mask slips, and it is possible to see Éowyn outside of her position and her pride. There are other times where she draws on all the command of a long line of kings, and everything in her bearing and her tone speaks to the unshaking expectation that she will be respected and obeyed.]

[Guess which this is.]

On your knees. Show me how you touch yourself.

[For all he did to help others, Kal-El came from a race of proud and noble people. Perhaps too proud and noble at times. Before this woman though was not one of those times, as he dropped to his knees immediately, freeing himself from his breeches as he began to play with himself to hardness.]

As you say, My Lady.

[His pride, his nobility, his strength, were all part of the appeal of this. There was something wildly arousing about knowing her own power in this situation, in having such a man kneeling before her, hand on his cock, obedient to her without question.]

[She looked down at him, gaze intent and dark, watching wordlessly for a long moment before reaching out with one slender hand, calloused fingertips tracing against the line of his jaw and tilting his face up towards her.]

This is not the first time you have been hard for me. Is it?

[She had no way of knowing for sure. It was more hope than certainty, that he had thought of her alone and touched himself just like this. It was, after all, a very appealing sight, and it fed her pride to believe that he had wanted her before he had her, that he had taken himself in hand alone on other nights, and that she had been the image he brought to mind.]

[He made a sound as her finger trailed along his jaw, one of wanton need and pleasure. She was so beautiful and arousing standing there before him, her frail humanity making her strength all the more impressive. When she ask her question his eyes became downcast for just a moment before looking up. Not out of shame but more at finding a secret he thought hidden was not so.]

It is not.

[He had stolen glances at her, ones he thought were not noticed, and took those images with him to consider more fully when he was alone. Kal-El had imagined her riding him as she did her horses, the strength in her legs rocking against him and her pert breasts bouncing.]

[She had suspected, but not known; and now she knew, and it was hard to doubt the truth of it, when his desire was so evident. For a moment, the sternness slipped. She bit her lip, her cheeks darkening a little in pleasure, and the joy she took in the thought was obvious in her smile.]

[She leans in, pressing a kiss - light, chaste despite the hunger in her eyes and the heat between her thighs - to his cheek, as if to reward him. One foot moved between his legs, nudging them farther apart, encouraging him to offer up a better view.]

[Her tone was level, almost light, and her lips brushed his ear.]

Did you know, then, that I touched myself to thoughts of you, as well?

[She straightened up, and the sternness settled back into her, even as she smiled. Letting her hand fall away from his cheek, she turned away from him entirely, striding over to sit on the edge of the bed, looking at him with that same smouldering intensity. Taking in all of him, from his handsome face to his broad shoulders, down to the hardening cock in his hand.]

[She swept her long hair back over her shoulder, out of the way, and began, without taking her eyes off him, to unfasten her gown.]

Tell me, when you dreamed of me, did you fuck me, or did I fuck you?

Or was it neither? Did you imagine me alone, with my hand between my legs, thinking of you but not needing you?

[Her hand was not between her legs now, despite the throbbing heat there; but it did slide under the neck of her gown, her eyes still fixed on him as she cupped her own breast, her breath catching just a little.]

[He hissed a breath when she kissed him then nudged his legs further apart. Any touch, any attention, was setting him off more strongly than he'd thought possible. She had asked so little of him so far but already he knew that he could resist nothing she demanded of him.]

I had no idea. I imagined you riding me, taking me. Using me. My mouth or my arousal you took your pleasure from me. Sometimes I imagined you bent over so I could take you from behind.

[He watched her with hungry, eager eyes as he stroked himself a bit faster. To watch this woman, this force of nature, touch herself in the ways that he wanted to touch her made him ache all the more.]

I would call your name so loudly when I released I had to muffle myself.

[She shifted where she sat, her thighs rubbing together under her skirt, a vain friction that did nothing to address the growing need there. His admission won a low, throaty sound from her, blatant and inarticulate. It was hard to know which was more arousing: the thought of him in the past, or the sight of him right now, breathless and wanting, at her mercy.]

[Biting her lip, she reached up again, slowly tugging her dress off her shoulders, down to her hips. Her eyes were fixed on him, barely blinking, wanting to watch him watching her, wanting to see his reaction. A part of her had been worried, before they began, about him seeing her naked in truth: about how he might react to the ugly knots of scarring that marred her shield-arm where the Witch-King had struck her down, which robbed her of the untouched beauty she had once had. That part is silent now; she has never felt more certain of her own desirability.]

[And she is beautiful still: slender and tautly-muscled, narrow-hipped and narrow-waisted, small, pert breasts standing to attention as, not looking away, she runs an open palm down over herself, pausing just below her navel, where under the fall of fabric there is a hint of coarse golden hair trailing lower.]

[She smiles at him, eyes heavy-lidded.]

Stop.

Come here. Come and kiss me.

[Kal-El stared at her with such blatant need he would have been ashamed were she not so stunning. The scar that she revealed only made her more so, for the knowledge of what it represented and the strength that it represented. She truly deserved to be obeyed and worshipped and he was desperate to do so. Never before had he seen anything so stunning as her bare torso, pert breasts that made him want to run his hands or mouth on them.

As her hand traveled lower his gaze was transfixed, his own hand stroking himself even faster now. When she told him to stop he gave a desperate cry, even as he obeyed. When she told him to kiss her he did not hesitate, moving forward to kiss her heatedly. His hands moved to cup her face, wanting to feel those strong, delicate features under his own fingers.]

[She toyed with the idea of pushing harder, testing her power: of telling him she had not given him permission yet to touch her, tormenting him a little more with denial. But denial was not her strongest suit, and nor was patience; and his hands were warm and strong and pleasing, and there was no less heat in her answering kiss. She stood to meet him, letting her clothes fall away as she did, so that when she pressed herself against him, one hand fisting roughly in his hair, she did so wholly naked.]

[Her teeth grazed his lip, and she let out a shuddering breath into his mouth - perhaps arousal, perhaps a laugh - at the heat of his cock pressing hard against her hip. Her tongue ran against his, pressing into his mouth, demanding and unyielding.]

[It was with a degree of reluctance that she pulled away - or rather, pulled him away, tugging back on his hair to drag his mouth off hers.]

Do you want me to fuck you, Kal-El?

[Harsh words for a lady of high station, but she said them with no shame, and with the same conviction that she might speak more genteel things. Her eyes bored into his, hungry and heated, merciless in their intensity.]

[She did not wait for a reply. He had made his answer clear enough. Twisting her free hand into the collar of his shirt, she pulled down on both shirt and hair, the message as clear as when she had said it aloud: Kneel.]

[Her eyes shone with unallayed excitement, and for all her regal bearing, her cheeks were flushed, her breathing unsteady. Her tone, though... that, at least, was as steely as ever, even as the smile tugged at her kiss-bruised lips.]

Beg me.

[He hissed in frustration when she pushed him back, though not at being controlled but at being denied more of that which he had desired for so long. The scape of her teeth on his lip and the last of her mouth against his lingered and made him ache for more of that which she was denying him. There was no doubt that in this moment she held the power, Kal-El had already made it clear that he would do whatever she asked without hesitation.

It was why he dropped to his knees so readily again, both because she wished it and that was where he belonged. On his knees, cock hard and exposed for her to command as she wished. Even as he observed the arousal in her expression he knew that she would not waver in her command, nor did he wish her to. It was in part because she so readily commanded him, so readily put him in his place, that he was aroused by her.]

Please. I implore you, My Lady. F- fuck me. Ride my cock as only you can. I am yours if you will have me. Yours to do as you wish. Please fuck me. I will do anything you wish, anything you demand. I need you to fuck me. Do you not see how hard my cock is for you? How it aches for you?

[She saw it: saw, looking down at him, how ready he was to kneel, to plead, to serve. It made the heat in her belly flare into a furnace, knowing how easily and how thoroughly she could make him hers. She could so easily cut to the chase, kneel over him right here and now, take him until they were both blindly panting, ride the swollen cock that she could see standing hard and purpled from his breeches.]

[And that would be sweet, but not quite as sweet as lingering. She has learned, in recent years, that pleasure is a rare thing: she means to let it sit, while she can.]

[And, it must be said, to test him. Not his dedication - that was clear enough in the way he looked up at her, dark-eyed and almost worshipful - but his physicality, to see how far she could push him, whether he might not spill himself even before she mounted him.]

[The hand in his hair loosens, less of a pull and more of a caress, and she sat on the edge of the bed again, spreading her legs apart, letting him take in the sight: coarse blonde hair visibly darkened by wetness, pink folds swollen and gleaming with arousal. Her right hand still held him in place; her left ran slowly over the join of her thigh, fingertips dipping into the wet pool of her cunt. She bit her lip, letting out a low, shuddering sigh.]

Perhaps I will have you. Perhaps I will make you earn it, first.

[Her hand stretched out, slickly wet fingers lingering in front of his mouth, not quite touching his lips. She looked at him expectantly.]

[He let out another moan of despaired desire when she parted her legs. She was wet and slick and beautiful, so ready and yet denying him that which he wanted more than anything in all Arda. Yet still she would not let him give her pleasure, denying it herself to deny him. Kal-El had to marvel at that resolve, the denial not only making him want her more but arousing him further. The need for release was getting deliciously painful and he was not entirely sure he would not release on his own without being inside of her.]

The honor of being with you deserves to be earned, My Lady.

[He could not deny her that right, not when he felt the same. When she offered her slick fingers to him it was difficult not to do all he could to take her immediately. Looking up at her he leaned in and licked along them, eyes closing as he shuddered in pleasure at the taste of her. After a few long licks of her strong fingers he took them in his mouth, sucking them clean with a look of pure bliss on his face.]

[It was a sweet pain, that self-denial. It was hers, hers to choose, and much as that power was intoxicating in the moment, there was a deeper joy to it, too. Shall I always be chosen? she had cried, once; and, no. She would choose. She would not be the one to wait, to hold strength at bay. She would give him what he wanted, eventually - but not yet. Not just yet.]

[And it would be worth it for the look on his face alone. She bit her lip, watching him, his mouth hot and desperate against her hand. It was a strange thing: she would not have thought that this would be so uncomplicatedly arousing. There was an absurdity to it, to her fingers in his mouth, that should have come first - but it did not feel absurd at all. Nothing about this felt absurd.]

[Her other hand came up, caressing his cheek, fingertips raking lightly through his dark hair. If he opened his eyes, he would see an uncharacteristic softness in her expression, her cold grey eyes for once warm, even as that air of command still hung on her.]

[The fingers in his mouth shifted, hooking behind his teeth, tugging him lightly forward before they slipped out from his lips. Éowyn's tongue darted out, wetting her lips; she had shifted, too, as close to the edge of the bed as she could settle herself, her legs spread wider, her slick cunt close to his face.]

Then earn it. Show me what else your mouth can do.

[That tugging at his jaw sent another shiver of pleasure through him, cock twitching with eagerness at her forcing him to do anything. The strength in her body and the lack of hesitation in her movements made her more alluring than ever before. The fact that she wished him to be here with her, Kal-El on his knees and Lady Eowyn with her legs spread out open for him was truly a wonder.

For a brief moment he considered resisting her comment to use his mouth on her sex, wanting her to force his head down. It was clear he was desperate for such a thing but he found the idea of being forced so strongly arousing. He dared not let her think he did not wish to please her though so he really pressed his mouth against her sex. He was unskilled in such things, having never done this before, but that did not mean he was not eager. Long strokes of his tongue ran along her folds as he groaned wantonly at the pleasure of her taste. His body trembled with the need to touch her or himself but he had not been given permission to do so, instead focusing entirely on the pleasure that he could give her with his mouth.]

[Perhaps he did not move her to force him, but there was certainly force in her grip on his hair, both hands dragging him closer against her. This was as new to her as it was to him, truthfully, and she shuddered with the sweet, hot strangeness of it; his tongue wet and firm, his breath at once hot and cold against slickly wet skin. She groaned aloud, bucking her hips up against his mouth, biting hard on her lip.]

[She could feel how he shook against her, the desire running through him. Part of her wondered how much of this he could take, how far she could push him before he could no longer bear it. But she wanted him to touch her, too - more and more so as her need mounted with each lapping stroke of his tongue.]

Give... [Her voice was strained and breathless, command now overcome by a deeper neediness of her own. She gasped, one hand fumbling loose from his hair and reaching for him.] Give me your hand.

[The strength in her grip caused his entire body to flush, the power and dominance she displayed over him thrilling him like nothing else had done so. The way her body pressed against his, her slick pussy grinding against his face, was the most incredible thing.

When she asked for his hand he gave it willingly, ready to do whatever it was she wished of him. His mouth, his hand, his body, his cock were all hers to do with as she pleased. He would refuse her nothing were she to ask or demand it of him. All of him belonged to her.]

[She let out another wanton moan, her eyelids fluttering as his tongue found a sweet spot that sent shockwaves all through her, and gripped his hand tightly, as if anchoring herself. She did feel the need to anchor herself: the way desire battered against her now - seeing him flushed and hard and eager, feeling his mouth against her, knowing that he was hers to command - threatened to sweep her away entirely.]

[She brought one muscular leg up over his shoulder, another way to hold him against her, and moved his hand up to her breast. She was breathing hard and ragged now, lifting her hips almost off the bed, rutting against him with unselfconscious abandon. Her cunt clenched and flexed against his mouth, wetter than she could ever remember it being. She had planned, in her own mind, for this to be only part of it: to have him kneel and pleasure her, to know that she could see him this way, just briefly, before relenting and letting them both have their pleasure - but there is no way that she would stop this now. Not with how good it felt. Not with the mounting, desperate pleasure of it, and the threshold already so close.]

[Letting go of his hand, the better to let him explore her, she grabbed at his upper arm instead, fingers digging against hard muscle. The hand in his hair pulled again, guiding his mouth up to her clit again. No words now, just low, guttural sounds deep in her throat, animal and raw, as she let lust get the better of her, let the heat in her belly suffuse all through her, her thighs trembling against his face.]

[He was desperate to please her, the way she wrapped a leg around him making him groan at the possessiveness and dominance that she showed. The fee of her breast in his hand, fitting there so perfectly, had him squeezing and cupping it even as he continue to taste her cunt so deep and thoroughly. Her taking of him was almost a primal thing now, as if his body was nothing more than a vessel to bring hers to release. She writhed against him and pulled his head back so that his tongue could focus on that spot he had found earlier, the hard nub that had seemed to cause such pleasure in her.

So engrossed was he in all of this that he almost didn’t notice his own pleasure mounting. Certainly he was aware of how his cock ached but she was demanding all of his attention that he did his best to ignore it. Which was why it was almost a surprise when he felt his pleasure build up and release so rapidly without him touching himself. Never before had he come without touching himself but he did so now, his body spasming and hips jerking as he felt the pleasure pulse through him. He spilled his seed on the ground even as he gave a muffled cry against her, cock throbbing and pulsing as he continued to taste her.]

[For her part, Éowyn was too wrapped up in her own building climax to really register his - a thing which she would regret greatly once she came back to herself, since that was something she would have liked to see. As it is, though, she is at the very edge herself when he cries out against her, her fingernails raking against his scalp, her eyes rolled back to the whites and her breath coming in rough, wondering sobs, her head tipped back as she pressed into his hand and mouth.]

[Perhaps it was the sound of his climax that pushed her over the edge of her own, or the heat of his cry against her aching cunt, or the way he trembled; or perhaps it was just chance that she followed him so closely, her whole body shuddering with the force of it, her mouth opening wide in a scream that was almost soundless, caught in her throat. She juddered with the waves of pleasure that ran through her, almost all of her weight on him now, tears in her eyes and sweat beading on her skin; and he would taste it, too, the sharper sweetness of her climax, as she let out a long sound of satisfied pleasure and fell back against the bed, her chest heaving.]

[Her orgasm was as powerful, fierce, and beautiful as she was. Kal-El wished that he could have seen more of it but he was still rewarded with the taste of her coming and the feel of her clenching more tightly around his head and the beautiful cries of pleasure that she gave.

He continued to pleasure her until she collapsed against the bed, momentarily spent enough that he felt he could pull back and look at her. His face was soaked with her wetness as he looked the her satisfied expression and the languid way her body rested against the bed. Despite coming he was still hard, cock aching at the thought of being further commanded, at giving her more pleasure if that was what she wished.]

Did I please you, My Lady?

Mm...

[Her thighs had relaxed, splaying apart in a far less calculated way - although her leg was still hooked over his shoulder. It took her several moments to catch her breath, and her thoughts with it: for a while, she just lay there, lips parted, eyes all but closed, one hand coming up to push her hair back out of her face.]

[At last, still breathing heavily, she made herself sit up. It was an effort; there was a large part of her that just wanted to lie there, languid, in the sweat-soaked afterglow. But he had asked her a question, and no matter how much she might enjoy the power she had over him, she did not intend cruelty.]

[...Much cruelty, anyway.]

[She unwrapped herself from him, shifting back to face him, and reached down with a still-unsteady hand to tilt his face up to her. Her face was flushed, eyes bright, lips still parted; there was a smile on her face that felt unfamiliar in its gentleness.]

You pleased me - you please me - very much. More pleased than I have ever been before.

[Not that she was all that experienced. But she had to imagine that experience would not dull the glow she felt right now, or the satisfaction in seeing a proud man on his knees, his seed spilled so readily for her, her desire slick on his cheeks and lips...]

[She bit her lip, and her hand trailed lower, to the collar of his shirt.]

Undress properly, and come to bed with me. You may please me more, yet.

[He knelt there patiently, waiting for her to regain herself and be ready to use him again if she so wished. Kal-El wondered for a moment if perhaps she would send him away, make him yearn for her that much more after she had used him to pleasure herself, but it seemed as if she was not done with him and the relief was visible in his expression. The smile on her face sent his heart leaping in a way that he had not known was possible, to see her so pleased with his efforts. With him.]

Of course, My Lady. As you wish.

[Standing he finished removing his breeches properly before his shirt followed, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. He stood there before her, naked and hard, on display for her and at her command.]

[She watched him with hunger in her eyes, and if her desire had waned at all, it quickens again soon enough, seeing him obey so readily. There was something to be said for having him still clothed, in disarray and desperation - but there was a lot to be said for this, too, and her eyes ran down over his naked form, drinking in the shape of him, the strength and power that lingered under his meekness, and how hard he still was for her, even with the stains of his first climax still visible.]

[Her breath came in a low, lingering sigh, almost a moan, and she leaned up to grab his hand in hers, pulling him down onto the bed and moving to climb into his lap.]

Kiss me. Let me taste myself.

[Kal-El saw that hunger in her eyes and it made him ache all the more. He was utterly hers and she knew it, knew the control she had over him and how readily he would obey her words. His wants for her and his desire to be commanded by such a strong woman was laid as bare before her as his body now as. As she pulled him to bed he settled his hands on her waist when she climbed into his lap, kissing her deeply so that she might taste all of her that still lingered on his lips and tongue. It was a taste that he hoped she would replace again and again, every time that it began to fade, so addicted was he already to the taste of her.]

[Her hand came up to grasp his hair again, pulling a little as she answered his kiss with hungry, claiming enthusiasm; her tongue tangled with his, thrusting into his mouth, licking the sharp taste of her own arousal off his lips and the inside of his mouth.]

[She had tasted herself before, out of curiosity and as a means of cleaning up after pleasuring herself, but this was different. Tasting herself on him, her own musk pressed into her mouth by his tongue, his cock hard and ready between them as proof of how the taste affected him in turn... that was an unbearably sweet taste.]

[She draws back a fraction of an inch, her breath shuddering in her chest. There was a hunger in her eyes, her hands tracing down the sides of his neck, over his shoulders and chest. For a moment, the mask slips, the cold command giving way to something softer and more gentle.]

I want this always. I may never let you go.

[Her smile was a little rueful. She cleared her throat, tracing his cheek.]

Tell me what you want, Kal-El.

Come over here and help me with my boots.

[Black leather with dozens of silver hooks that go all the way up to her thigh. There are more direct ways she can ask her partners to kneel, but she enjoys this one.]

[ Carrie lifts the rough-hewn hem of her skirt a few centimeters above bony knees. A bruise, already yellowing, peeks out from the underside of one of her legs.

Her finger barely makes the journey to tap the lower part of her left thigh; she second-guesses, quivers, holds her own heart hostage. ]

Kiss me here.

Tell them

mantis | mcu | ota castmates, f/m for crosscanon

well I can't not

🙏

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This tag in my inbox brightened a really shitty two weeks. ;a;

same tbh, holidays are rough

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please forgive the novella

only if you ignore my lateness and tonal whiplash(es)

Kishin Asura 👀 Soul Eater | OTA

basim/loki | assassin’s creed | m/f

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Éowyn | Lord of the Rings | OTA

Just pretending he's an Elf Lord or something...

we'll figure it out as we go c:

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Eligre, the Lady Crow || high fantasy OC || OTA

carrie.