[ 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. ]
[ 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.
[ 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. ]
[ 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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]