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[corporeity]

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[nightsung]

[ The mistake is a comment off-hand, meant only to encompass fumbles during their time together. Perhaps a reminder of why she's not their leader in efforts of persuasion, as Shadowheart realizes too late what she's evoked, for Gale. His face crumples, and it pains her--tangled strangely with his slips of desire, her hand on his throat, both of them breathless.

And then she realizes she's about to kiss him, to smooth that wrinkle of grief from his brow when he responds to a query she'd promptly forgotten. Her knuckles at his jaw, pressing over the pretty ring of his collar as Shadowheart considers the admission between his words. That Mystra had punished him, when he was hers. Something she'd known implicitly, of course, but now has an image for in her mind's eye, Gale strung up with ropes of light.

He touches her, finally, and for a moment Shadowheart is slow to follow, surprised by the building ache in her, in this quiet space where they're not playing a part. Had foolishly thought, perhaps, that she could remain detached through the night the way she imagines she used to (but doubts, even now).

The railing is cold against the small of her back, and she curls both hands against it, an anchor. Her breath deepening before Gale has sunk to his knees, desire coiling tightly between her legs. He'll find her wet, already, as he had before. ]

Yes. [ The calculations she runs through for their mission are clumsy. The balcony door is not locked, Vlon Agrach Dyrr will eventually come looking for them. But Shadowheart wouldn't be the first to put her slave on his knees for her pleasure, tonight.

She wants to touch him, but keeps her fingers tight around the railing. Shifts her stance, spreading her legs for him, the fabric of her dress pulled taut across her thighs. ]

Show me.

[corporeity]

[ The singular downside of this path is that her affection ceases. He can hardly think to complain, however, when her regard intensifies. He sits back on his haunches, briefly caught up in admiring the picture of her, lit by the purple and blue bioluminescence of the Underdark, so like the hues of the outer planes. A goddess in her own right, though he doesn’t dare say it aloud. Blasphemy twice over, when they’ve sworn themselves to the heavens. His hand wanders, slipping under her thigh, the dark curtain of her gown parting so he retrace his steps from the lounge. A kiss to her calf, the crest of her knee. Teeth scrape up her thigh, his beard dragging over sensitive skin. The hand at her hip tightens, thumb pressing into the slight fabric to find the divot at her hip.

She’s wet. He can see it. Can catch the scent, edging out her perfume. Can feel it on the seam of her panties, two fingers dragging over the damp, palm angling to cup her her sex through the fabric. His mouth parts, but he doesn’t lean forward yet. Drinking the whole of her in, first. Waiting, perhaps, for her to change her mind.

And sighing with relief, when she doesn’t — then with satisfaction, when he tugs the black satin aside and sinks into her, tongue lapping at her folds. Without haste, intent to savour, even with their plans for the night. ]

I wonder, [ regaining some semblance of self, in this familiar ritual. ] if it will surprise you to learn I’ve a talented tongue.

[ Warmth there, that hadn’t been allowed in the presence of others. That he still doesn’t risk voicing aloud, lest they find themselves watched or interrupted. She tastes divine. He knew she would, unable to keep himself from thinking it or humming his approval. ]

[nightsung]

[ It's impossible not to be affected by him, the way he looks at her. Pure devotion, pure longing. Shadowheart understands, suddenly, why his goddess wanted him all to herself--feels a thrill at the fact that he now wants her, even if only for the night.

She can't allow herself to imagine otherwise (desire that stretches beyond the trappings of this mission, even if she's seen it in stray glances, his hand touching hers in thanks after a healing) because it will crack her facade as mistress. Besides, any imagining is soon unspooled by the grounding reality of Gale's teeth pleasingly sharp at her inner thigh, clever fingers rubbing her through her panties. Her leg trembles and then stills, as she grinds her heel into the stone beneath it.

There's a gala they mean to rob on the other side of that door, full of drow that could kill them, and Gale's tongue is inside her.

Shadowheart doesn't remember-- Of course this isn't the first time, but in some ways, it might as well be. She hasn't had anyone since the nautiloid, since her memory was wiped clean for the artefact mission. Only her own idle hands in her tent, sometimes imagining Gale's in their spellwork, that fantasy slipping through where their connection remains open, wide, dangerous with the truth of his desire for her and hers for him.

Her knuckles are white against the iron latticework of the railing, and Shadowheart anchors a hand at the back of Gale's head, not yet exerting pressure. ]

Boasting when you've only just started? [ Aloud, a husky thread in her voice giving her away even as she tries to tease. Shadowheart's hips begin to rock with the cadence of his tongue, slick for him, her cheek tipping against her shoulder as she watches Gale get to work. ] How very like you.

[corporeity]

[ Couldn’t say whether it’s his fantasy or hers, a glimmer of dexterous fingers slipping inside her. Regardless, he doesn’t oblige. Having promised a different kind of performance, he stretches his thumb toward her clit to round and press in tandem with the flick of his tongue. Trying out different rhythms until they find the pace together, with her rocking hips. Leaning up to lick deeper into her. The opportunity to serve settles him, but the chance to please galvanises, chain lightning ricocheting from vertebrae to vertebrae. Collared and kept, used and useful. It’s a revelation, after a year of stumbling through the dark.

When she finally touches him, his own grip tightens in turn. The party and the pain blink out. Her charcoal lashes seem endless. ]

Is it boasting, [ A laugh in his red mouth, breathless from his ardour. The cut of his jaw is tinted lavender from below. ] if the results are observable and repeatable?

[ Ever the academic, a penchant that calls back to the last time he engaged in intimacy of this kind. Schoolboy fumbling. Of course, even then he knew to apply himself, to please anyone who doubted him. And if he hoped that his godly paramour might be jealous of his attempts at rakishness, well, it hadn’t mattered at all. Not to his knowledge, anyway, though he hasn’t strayed from her since.

Gale doesn’t think of Mystra now, not while nosing into the warm, snarling heart of his mistress for the night. His fingers spread her dark curls, her tenderest flesh, and he devotes himself to her fully. No more teasing or bragging to be had. Every thought narrows to her, beautiful perfect worthy. How fortunate that he’s an old hand at denial, else he’d surely spend himself and beget a worse punishment for them both. ]

[nightsung]

[ Shadowheart is unused to praise. This she knows even without the specificity of memory, because Shar is not a goddess who praises her acolytes. Beautiful racing through Gale's thoughts doesn't bring a pink flush to the tips of her ears, but worthy does. Isn't that all she's ever wanted to be?

Her breath comes less evenly, making soft sounds through parted lips with each roll of her hips against his eager mouth. Desire strung tight down the curve of her spine, the arch of her back, her thighs trembling a little with the scratch of his beard against her cunt, in contrast to the wet heat of his tongue.

Her fingers twist in Gale's hair, pulling sharp at his crown. Shadowheart will manage to keep herself upright, but she imagines a more comfortable venue: straddling his face in their bed, where she doesn't intend to let him rest. A strange gift, to have privacy and comfort awaiting them at the end of the night rather than a campfire and bedrolls. She'll ride his cock, too, with the leash for leverage, her cunt clenching against his tongue at the thought. ]

[corporeity]

[ He half-feels, half-experiences the reverb of her shiver on the heels on his compliment. This, he understands even through the haze of pleasure and denial, knowing he himself yearns for acknowledgment of the same kind.

A dog with a bone, he doubles down. Worthy of service, thought as his jaw begins to ache. The memory of the first lashes on his still-burning skin makes him whine. An act of service for her, not the mission. Of trust, warbled as his hips hitch into the air, nothing but the drag of fabric to ease his aching cock, when there’s no friction to be had that isn’t bestowed by Shadowheart herself. Of adulation, his mind working at praise and his tongue devoted to pleasure. Or the reverse, frankly, with any number of spells at their disposal. Thoughts and fantasies inchoate: The spectral fingers of a mage hand encompassing crossed wrists (hers, slender and pale, then his, sun-kissed and cuff-marked), or tightening around the base of his cock to keep him hard and waiting for her. Tricks used for one more expectant than indulgent, in another life.

She rewards him not with the curl of her lips around his name, but with her hand on the lead, her fingers in his hair. He doesn’t have to imagine the cord looped around her strong hand or the flex of her forearm, having seen it when she wound him close earlier.

Please. Hold the lead. Use him. Keep him. Please please please. Come on his tongue, now fucking her in earnest. Ride his cock until he’s spent. No, until she’s satisfied. He groans, wanton even among the slick sounds of their coupling.

Whether he comes first or she does matters little, with their minds linked and sensations doubled. He’s gone somewhere deeper, safer than he did while shackled, by the time his tongue slows and fingers gentle, idly gathering her arousal as he sits back. The picture of dazed satisfaction before her, hair mussed and eyes lidded. You needn’t invoke hynotic pattern or charm to slacken the workings of the mind, it seems, even one as ceaseless and twisty as his own. ]

[nightsung]

[ Perhaps it's because they've been skirting the edge of this all night--from the moment Shadowheart clasped his cuffs and collar at their flat, roles assumed--that she crests into overwhelm faster than expected. Or perhaps it's just Gale, tongue as clever as he'd promised, lapping at her folds and ever-offering more: of himself, his service, words and fantasy thickening the heat between them. The mage hand filling her, filling him, and she imagines it in addition to his tongue and his fingers, close to too-much. ]

Gale--

[ Aloud and louder than she should be, even with the cloak of pass without trace still blanketing their aura. The iron railing digs sharp between her fingers as Shadowheart comes with her hips grinding helplessly against Gale's mouth, gasping into the aftershocks, her vision blotted out by stars.

It takes her a moment to see him again, her inner thighs tender and slick from his mouth and her own juices. Panting, she manages, ]

Up. [ Using Gale to steady the wobble of her legs, as much as anything, shifting her grip on his hair to the chain at his throat to tug him back to his feet. Her cheeks and chest are flushed pink, bangs clinging sweat-damp to her temple when she presses herself close, hooking a leg around Gale's hip to dig her heel into his calf, breathless. ] Kiss me.

[corporeity]

[ He’s performed better here than he did on the cross, he knows that, even if she hasn’t told him so. A part of him wonders if he ought to keep going. Tilting up on his aching knees, he’s not all there, lost in the sight and sound of her. Drowning in the depths of their shared satisfaction.

But Shadowheart grasps his collar and pulls him from the water. Can’t recall where to put his hands, so he ends up clasping the rail behind her. A wise move, when she hooks her leg around his as if he’s steady or strong. If anything, he’s softer, more vulnerable for having given her a kind of worship he thought behind him. His other hand lifts to cup the heart of her jaw. There is no world where he denies her anything, in this moment, least of all something he himself wants. The pert pink of her mouth seems just as lovely, as impossible, as the warm flush of her body, the bob of her chest while she fights to even her breathing. He takes it in quick and greedy, unwilling to keep her waiting. ]

—Yes, mistress. [ Both a tease and not, caught in the vortex of this role and his existing inclinations. How many times do you intend to love a woman who can’t love you back?

He kisses her as if starved, despite the sticky-sweet taste of her still on his tongue, wetting the rough of his beard. Any chaste or shy instincts have gone the way of his dignity tonight. His bare skin presses against her silken dress, her soft curves. ]

[nightsung]

[ Shadowheart doesn't hold back, doesn't tease or deny: she meets Gale in the kiss with a soft, helpless sound, both hands moving to loop around his neck, one tangling in the hair at his nape. She tastes herself and shudders, the accompanying clench of arousal almost painful in the immediate aftermath of her climax.

She wants him. Not just to satisfy her own need, nor to keep him tied to her and this mission. She wants to keep kissing him, their bodies pressed close, a sweetness she hasn't experienced since-- She doesn't know. Maybe never. It's new to her, either way, his heat and his clever tongue. ]

Good boy. [ Gasped against his mouth, more earnest than she means to be as she surges into another kiss, and another, unable to keep herself quiet. Shadowheart knows better than to get distracted like this, with so much at stake, but Gale is distracting. ]