Ruinous? Does it feel that bad? Being at that point of exhaustion? Going beyond?
[ Serious, curious, almost innocently asked. For being the one who'd be doing the ruining in question. And he is curious, just what the shape of her enjoyment is and what limits he needs to respect... but he's not unaware that earnestly asking her to expand on the topic when she's getting embarrassed will probably embarrass her more. The misfortune of having too cute a pout. ]
[That barrage of questions make her hands tighten, and pull a discontent litany of muffled noises out of her. For someone who loves her, he is such a bully, too quick to corner her with his curiosity when she is so flustered she wants to squirm right out of his hands. And for what? To get her to describe what being that spent and overstimulated feels like? To hear her say it sometimes already aches in best worst way, enough to make her cry in relief? To admit the muscles in her thighs will tremble the next day in the least opportune moment and remind her of him viscerally? To build onto his already too healthy ego?]
It just— it feels like—
[Like Heaven is sparing her blushes in his place as a droplet of melted snow slides down the nape of her neck and down between her shoulder blades, setting off a shiver and a trio of kitten sneezes.]
...you're cute even when you're sneezing in my face.
[ Unfair. She was turned away. Mostly. But feeling her shiver like that... he does feel a twinge of guilt. He played with her too long. ]
I said I could at least keep you warm and I didn't. [ He shakes his head, remorseful. Exaggerated but not false. ] Time for bed.
[ ...it would be nice if he carried her over bridal style, same as he brought her in, but when she's already in his hands and it's all of fifteen feet to the bed... she's getting carried over like the cat she resembles. He flips the cover back with his tail and sets her down...
Then doffs his top and climbs right in on top of her. Still otherwise clothed so it seems like this is just his idea of the quickest way to warm her up. And he's probably not wrong, overall, but a few more bit of melting slush drip from his plumage, dripping down onto her. ]
[There's a slightly stuffy, 'Sorry,' issued from where she hastily buried her face in her shoulder, a few seconds too late to catch herself, and just a few moments before he carts her off towards the bed. Her legs kick a little in transit, treading air until he deposits her on the mattress. Time for bed, like he said.
Not that she has long to even attempt to wriggle out of her damp outer layers or the thick boots she was kitted out with when Calhir decides to settle right on top of her, like an extra large chicken trying to nest. She starts to argue with his proclamation to stay just like that and warm up, when slush dribbles off of his feathers and hits the thinner, bare skin of her neck, making her squeak at the sharp, sudden cold. A second bit striking her jaw sets her wriggling and squirming, struggling to get some distance before a third hits, hands pressing up against against his chest.]
[ ...a rumble passes through him when her hands press up on him, discontent that it's turning him on more than he expected to be, even as he realizes the problem and rises up slightly, giving her room to move and grabbing the corner of the blanket to dab the melt from her face. ]
Sorry. Do you want to move down?
[ The drip is coming off his shoulders and 'hair', so if she's just under his chest she should be fine! A little suffocating, maybe, but it's... not like she should be entirely unused to that position, at this point. ]
[Wedging herself up, she turns her cheek into the soft blanket and his care, welcoming the removal of the melted snow from her skin. Her legs are too firmly pinned to remedy half her complaints, but while one hand stays firmly where she was pressing at his chest, the other withdraws, going to the fastener at her collarbone, hidden in the fur.]
But I don't think I need my cloak and boots in bed...
[ His turn to be a little embarrassed. Was he so hasty out of concern for her sneezing, or was he just that eager to get in bed with her? Up further, on his knees, lifting the blanket like a tent. He reaches, feeling his way down her legs to the boots - a perhaps not strictly necessary approach, but then he does want to feel how damp her bottoms are and do away with those, too, if it's too much. But first the boots come off. ]
[The further he feels down her legs, the more obvious the snow depth outside becomes, measured in progressively worse off fabric starting from low on her thigh. The thick riding boots apparently have kept her from actually feeling how wet and cold the legs of her trousers got below the knee. Until they're pulled off, of course, and then she experiences it for herself, hissing softly at the feel against her skin.]
[ Plenty of room for her to scoot out on her own, at this point, but he obliges, shifting to kneel at her side, a hand settled at hers in case she wants any help, a small frown emerging at the hissing sound she made. The other runs through his feathers, trying to cast out those insidious ice crystals that were attacking her. ]
I'll come wait for you there, next time.
[ The best he can offer by way of apology, for making her trudge out like this. ]
[Scooting off the edge of the mattress, she first unfastens her cloak rather than working around it, dropping the mass of fabric and fur onto the edge of the bed, before moving on to divesting herself of the offending pants. It takes a little bit of fiddling through the parts in her outer robes to find the drawstrings, but then it's easy enough to slip them off her hips and kick unceremoniously free of the soggy, cold fabric.]
Not sure that would go over well. The guards are all on edge up there. Not that I can blame them...
[That is just the evidence and aftermath of a years long usurpation and civil war.
Patting down the rest of her clothes, she deems the longest outer layer to be too damp as well, quickly untying it and slipping it off to join the cloak, before smoothing her palms down her hair, checking for anything she needs to wring out. Satisfied there isn't, she crawls back up to settle next to Calhir, tucking her very chilled legs against him to start leeching some of his warmth.]
Takasato did sound curious to meet you, but I think that might have to wait until we're back in Kei.
[ He rumbles a disgruntled acknowledgement. That was why he was quartered down here in the first place. ]
...is there anything I can do for you? While we're here?
[ He should be gathering up those soggy clothes and hanging them by the fire, but it's hard when Youko's warming her poor cold legs against him. And, more selfishly, when she'll have to stay a bit longer if they're slower to dry. He pulls the covers back over her and rubs her calves with his hands, trying to restore them. ]
This doesn't suit someone as warm as you.
[ She's a summer creature in his mind, warm to touch. She just doesn't feel her usual self like this. ]
[At that grousing noise, she shifts so she can settle a hand against his knee, thumbing gently at the scales, considering what he could do. Making him wait around for her like a concubine, bored and ignored, wasn't remotely the goal of setting this up. She had honestly hoped he would enjoy the change of scenery and that by the summit's end she might have been able to introduce him to Takasato — the boy from her world who became Tai Taiho — but the atmosphere in Hakkei Palace is still too tense for suggesting something like that. There is one idea that comes to mind and that she thinks he'd be adept at, but it makes her uncomfortable to imagine issuing real orders to him.]
Do you want me to give you an assignment?
[Picking at the edge of the covers, she lets herself lay back down into the spot he'd placed her originally, pulling the thick comforter with her, watching him and his concentrated efforts with a small smile.]
Mm. You're probably right about that. When it snowed where I grew up — [She slips her free hand out from under the covers, spreading out her pinky and thumb as far from the three middle fingers as she can stretch them.] — it was only about this much in the whole season.
[ As she lies down he scoots back, letting her rest her legs in his lap while he warms them. Bare torso free of the covers, but then, this is still warmer than the outside and that hadn't bothered him.
Does he want an assignment? They've never sought to resolve the issue, as to whether he's formally a servant of hers. A member of her household is a subject, a visiting traveler being hosted by the court is not. And certainly he is a traveler - by his foreign birth, and by his nature, his wings that carry him from anywhere he does not wish to be.
But it's hard to say he's a visitor in spirit. When he shares her bed so often, when the thought of leaving her feels like a lance through the heart. Usually, it simply doesn't matter, because she wasn't born to thinking of herself as a ruler any more than he was used to thinking of himself as ruled.
In a command from her there's always a sense of that comfortable ambiguity eroding. Even when she asks first. But it also isn't as if only the ambiguity is good, and everything he might be defined as is bad. The same urge that had resolved him to follow her here regardless of her arrangements did not want the comfort of being a bedmate only, without responsibilities. ]
I do. But...
Right now... I am glad you asked first.
[ That's all he can really say. Unless one counts trying to blunt the moment with questionable jokes. ]
Better than I should get too bored and terrorize the courtesans.
[Watching him consider it makes her worry her lower lip, wondering if the suggestion would hang sour notes in an otherwise sweet moment of comfort. It has long been important to her that Calhir not be a subject. She has friends and confidants who straddle the divide of that servant-master bond with her and it is done with grace, but a lover doesn't belong there. Honestly, that keeps her from making a real suggestion of putting him up as a consort as readily as his own history does. No one stands beside the ruler, but in keeping these things ambiguous, there is a level of denial.
But he finally replies and Youko breathes out a sigh she didn't realize she was holding, relief relaxing her that last boneless fingerbreadth into the mattress, limbs going slack. She smiles up at him from her bed backing of red curls, chin ducking just under the corner of the comforter.]
You have a right to choose. I want to preserve that...
[Though she can't help scoffing and nudging him with her foot at the reappearance of his questionable brand of humor.]
They'll drink you under the table and take all your money doing it.
[She murmurs a soft assent, inching further down beneath the covers, steeping in the warmth that trust instills in her. It means something to have that, especially when she is still chipping away daily at the shape they wanted her slotted into.
That embellished performance with all his sighing pulls a laugh out of her.]
Well... I don't struggle to keep pace with your drinking.
As she settles and he feels her tension vanish his focus on warming her lower legs gives way to... curiosity is the wrong word, as much as he's explored her before, but the desire to renew that familiarity, and his hands move up, stroking her thighs. There's still a diligence to it, like he could just sit here and do nothing else for an hour, but his eyes are a little more intent on her than they were. ]
Yes, but you like to underestimate human resilience.
[Is there some crude allusion in that? Almost certainly not, least of all intentionally, but she can't control how it's heard.
The feeling of his hands slipping up from her calves draw little notice until they settle on her thighs, and even then there could be deniability in how soft the hitch of her breath is as he strokes her skin. The way her muscles tense, like she is resisting an impulse to clench her legs together, and the color renewed on her cheekbones as looks back at him from over the lip of the covers, is a far greater tell.]
[ The phrasing is anything but opportune, after that prior leg of the conversation, and he replies with only a raised eyebrow and a whispered: ]
Twice.
[ His hands respond to those minute movements of her legs, thumbs plying her inner leg and pressing in firmly, as though he's trying to loosen that tension. Or make it worse. Ravenous, insatiable, he can be those things, and she's not wrong that it only feeds his pride when she accuses him. But he can show restraint when it allows him to take his time winding her up. Watching the slow spread of that red is well worth the effort. ]
Not enough though? Shall I come in, again?
[ 'Under the covers' is the nominal meaning there, but... crude allusions. ]
[Bully. She only just manages to keep his stare while grumbling back, defensive:]
That has nothing to do with drinking.
[This is also not why she invited him along, though it has to be the most predictable outcome of the trip so far.
The increase in pressure is certainly not helping offload any of that tension, though it is effective at getting a bitten back whimper out of Youko and making her knees turn inwards, as if she might be ready to trap his wandering hands where they've strayed. That red will bleed all over before long; she can already feel the telltale prickle of heat running down her chest, under her remaining robes, destined shortly for the thighs he's toying with. She frowns up at him, sheepish at the offer and the connotations behind it, wondering if she has it in her to handle sidelong looks and raised eyebrows across the meeting table tomorrow from her closest (and most worldly) peer.]
[ He'd be quite happy to have her press his hands between her thighs, demanding he limit his attention but demanding he continue it at the same time. But he's happier to have her invitation. It's flattering, when there's a should but she chooses him anyway. All too aware that she overfeeds his ego, complains about it even, but she keeps doing it just the same. ]
Let me, then.
[ ...he'd love to dive into the bedding from his current end and work his way up her body, but sadly his wings do not lend themselves to such undercover infiltration. And as much as that might promote her blood flow, he would not actually be warming her if he... dallied on his way up. Instead he peels back the covers and settles in by her side, taking her in hand with that fearsome ease of his and pulling her flush to him, head tucked under his chin.
Not an... immediate threat to her comportment tomorrow. Though the way his hand reaches back down to resume its place on her leg once he's settled, not a resolved one either. ]
[It takes her a moment to relax into place, the conscious reminder that she is something small and slight to Calhir dragged again to the foreground as he pulls her up against him. It isn't a fact that ever slips fully away, but it isn't as if in her own mind she is delicate, and the distance between their heights is a more constant, reconcilable presence. She notches that extra bit closer, cheek resting against him, hands tucked into what little space exists between them. Warmer, secure.
It would be easy to fall asleep like this, a change of pace she'd welcome if the hand returning to her leg didn't detract from how relaxed she feels.]
You're saving me from a lecture...
[And she is damning herself as she is wont to do where he is involved. Letting what their conversation and connection has dredged up — that faint, familiar gnawing heat — reign, Youko shifts her thighs open just a little wider. Another invitation, another handful to feed his ego.]
[ Would she feel better if she knew that it's the same for him? No doubt the more they're together the more the feel of her body against him will become familiar, freshening or reprise of a favorite feeling etched into memory, but for now there's still a sense of surprise, that someone with her lively vitality and emotional weight feels quite so small and frail against his body. ]
Mm? Which lecture would that be?
[ Close to her ear, he barely has to murmur the words. He can't see much of her hair, with the covers pulled up high, but his hand always seems to end up there all the same, when it's at her back, collecting the strands he'd spread pulling her in.
The other hand though, the source of trouble. He could honestly say he wasn't sure that it would lead to this, that a cold and weary Youko might just take his warmth and leave it at that. But even cold and weary she'd blushed so when he'd touched her, and the sight had lent an urgency to the slow-building want for her he'd stewed in over the preceding week. So when her legs move his hand rises. Oh so close, smoothing over her skin, nudging her leg to open the rest of the way. ]
[There is some hesitation in her voice, not wanting to invoke the person who would be doing the lecturing — and the sighing all the while — out of consideration, but she can't quite help slipping into her kirin's patter despite those best intentions.]
'Needlessly neglecting Her Majesty's health and welfare.' That one.
[A shiver runs down her spine at the way his voice curls in her ear, low and soft, leaving her with goosebumps and on tenterhooks. And she would blame the latter on the nights she hasn't been able to escape the role of a visiting dignitary. Those beds at the mountaintop have been uncomfortably vast without someone wrapped around her.
The rise of his hand tracing up her skin makes her stomach drop ever so wickedly, and that prompting touch does its job with too much ease. She lifts her thigh up to hug along his side, spreading her legs and offering Calhir whatever access he could want. It might be obscured by the covers, but her skin is squarely in full bloom, ear-to-ear, top-to-bottom.]
[ Does that arch voice ever portent anything good? Not anything innocent, surely. His fingers stroke her lightly through the silk of her underwear. Keen for her reaction, whether it's heard or - with her huddled so close and her leg wrapped around him - felt. That shiver even before his hand arrived - she must be sensitive, needy. ]
Are there any needs of your body you haven't been attending?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ Serious, curious, almost innocently asked. For being the one who'd be doing the ruining in question. And he is curious, just what the shape of her enjoyment is and what limits he needs to respect... but he's not unaware that earnestly asking her to expand on the topic when she's getting embarrassed will probably embarrass her more. The misfortune of having too cute a pout. ]
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It just— it feels like—
[Like Heaven is sparing her blushes in his place as a droplet of melted snow slides down the nape of her neck and down between her shoulder blades, setting off a shiver and a trio of kitten sneezes.]
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...you're cute even when you're sneezing in my face.
[ Unfair. She was turned away. Mostly. But feeling her shiver like that... he does feel a twinge of guilt. He played with her too long. ]
I said I could at least keep you warm and I didn't. [ He shakes his head, remorseful. Exaggerated but not false. ] Time for bed.
[ ...it would be nice if he carried her over bridal style, same as he brought her in, but when she's already in his hands and it's all of fifteen feet to the bed... she's getting carried over like the cat she resembles. He flips the cover back with his tail and sets her down...
Then doffs his top and climbs right in on top of her. Still otherwise clothed so it seems like this is just his idea of the quickest way to warm her up. And he's probably not wrong, overall, but a few more bit of melting slush drip from his plumage, dripping down onto her. ]
Just stay like that and warm up.
[ Very serious about that. ]
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Not that she has long to even attempt to wriggle out of her damp outer layers or the thick boots she was kitted out with when Calhir decides to settle right on top of her, like an extra large chicken trying to nest. She starts to argue with his proclamation to stay just like that and warm up, when slush dribbles off of his feathers and hits the thinner, bare skin of her neck, making her squeak at the sharp, sudden cold. A second bit striking her jaw sets her wriggling and squirming, struggling to get some distance before a third hits, hands pressing up against against his chest.]
Calhir—
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Sorry. Do you want to move down?
[ The drip is coming off his shoulders and 'hair', so if she's just under his chest she should be fine! A little suffocating, maybe, but it's... not like she should be entirely unused to that position, at this point. ]
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[Wedging herself up, she turns her cheek into the soft blanket and his care, welcoming the removal of the melted snow from her skin. Her legs are too firmly pinned to remedy half her complaints, but while one hand stays firmly where she was pressing at his chest, the other withdraws, going to the fastener at her collarbone, hidden in the fur.]
But I don't think I need my cloak and boots in bed...
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[ His turn to be a little embarrassed. Was he so hasty out of concern for her sneezing, or was he just that eager to get in bed with her? Up further, on his knees, lifting the blanket like a tent. He reaches, feeling his way down her legs to the boots - a perhaps not strictly necessary approach, but then he does want to feel how damp her bottoms are and do away with those, too, if it's too much. But first the boots come off. ]
Is the rest too damp?
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Apparently, yes. Let me up?
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I'll come wait for you there, next time.
[ The best he can offer by way of apology, for making her trudge out like this. ]
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Not sure that would go over well. The guards are all on edge up there. Not that I can blame them...
[That is just the evidence and aftermath of a years long usurpation and civil war.
Patting down the rest of her clothes, she deems the longest outer layer to be too damp as well, quickly untying it and slipping it off to join the cloak, before smoothing her palms down her hair, checking for anything she needs to wring out. Satisfied there isn't, she crawls back up to settle next to Calhir, tucking her very chilled legs against him to start leeching some of his warmth.]
Takasato did sound curious to meet you, but I think that might have to wait until we're back in Kei.
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...is there anything I can do for you? While we're here?
[ He should be gathering up those soggy clothes and hanging them by the fire, but it's hard when Youko's warming her poor cold legs against him. And, more selfishly, when she'll have to stay a bit longer if they're slower to dry. He pulls the covers back over her and rubs her calves with his hands, trying to restore them. ]
This doesn't suit someone as warm as you.
[ She's a summer creature in his mind, warm to touch. She just doesn't feel her usual self like this. ]
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Do you want me to give you an assignment?
[Picking at the edge of the covers, she lets herself lay back down into the spot he'd placed her originally, pulling the thick comforter with her, watching him and his concentrated efforts with a small smile.]
Mm. You're probably right about that. When it snowed where I grew up — [She slips her free hand out from under the covers, spreading out her pinky and thumb as far from the three middle fingers as she can stretch them.] — it was only about this much in the whole season.
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Does he want an assignment? They've never sought to resolve the issue, as to whether he's formally a servant of hers. A member of her household is a subject, a visiting traveler being hosted by the court is not. And certainly he is a traveler - by his foreign birth, and by his nature, his wings that carry him from anywhere he does not wish to be.
But it's hard to say he's a visitor in spirit. When he shares her bed so often, when the thought of leaving her feels like a lance through the heart. Usually, it simply doesn't matter, because she wasn't born to thinking of herself as a ruler any more than he was used to thinking of himself as ruled.
In a command from her there's always a sense of that comfortable ambiguity eroding. Even when she asks first. But it also isn't as if only the ambiguity is good, and everything he might be defined as is bad. The same urge that had resolved him to follow her here regardless of her arrangements did not want the comfort of being a bedmate only, without responsibilities. ]
I do. But...
Right now... I am glad you asked first.
[ That's all he can really say. Unless one counts trying to blunt the moment with questionable jokes. ]
Better than I should get too bored and terrorize the courtesans.
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But he finally replies and Youko breathes out a sigh she didn't realize she was holding, relief relaxing her that last boneless fingerbreadth into the mattress, limbs going slack. She smiles up at him from her bed backing of red curls, chin ducking just under the corner of the comforter.]
You have a right to choose. I want to preserve that...
[Though she can't help scoffing and nudging him with her foot at the reappearance of his questionable brand of humor.]
They'll drink you under the table and take all your money doing it.
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[ Said warmly; not a retort that her wants don't matter but an acknowledgment of the trust he has in her.
Enough to joke even when she's poking at his vaunted constitution. He sighs, all exaggerated dismay and wounded pride. ]
I'll never understand how you can have such respect for my stamina but none for my stomach.
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That embellished performance with all his sighing pulls a laugh out of her.]
Well... I don't struggle to keep pace with your drinking.
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[ That's his story and he's sticking to it.
As she settles and he feels her tension vanish his focus on warming her lower legs gives way to... curiosity is the wrong word, as much as he's explored her before, but the desire to renew that familiarity, and his hands move up, stroking her thighs. There's still a diligence to it, like he could just sit here and do nothing else for an hour, but his eyes are a little more intent on her than they were. ]
Feeling warmer?
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[Is there some crude allusion in that? Almost certainly not, least of all intentionally, but she can't control how it's heard.
The feeling of his hands slipping up from her calves draw little notice until they settle on her thighs, and even then there could be deniability in how soft the hitch of her breath is as he strokes her skin. The way her muscles tense, like she is resisting an impulse to clench her legs together, and the color renewed on her cheekbones as looks back at him from over the lip of the covers, is a far greater tell.]
Sort of. Starting to get there.
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Twice.
[ His hands respond to those minute movements of her legs, thumbs plying her inner leg and pressing in firmly, as though he's trying to loosen that tension. Or make it worse. Ravenous, insatiable, he can be those things, and she's not wrong that it only feeds his pride when she accuses him. But he can show restraint when it allows him to take his time winding her up. Watching the slow spread of that red is well worth the effort. ]
Not enough though? Shall I come in, again?
[ 'Under the covers' is the nominal meaning there, but... crude allusions. ]
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That has nothing to do with drinking.
[This is also not why she invited him along, though it has to be the most predictable outcome of the trip so far.
The increase in pressure is certainly not helping offload any of that tension, though it is effective at getting a bitten back whimper out of Youko and making her knees turn inwards, as if she might be ready to trap his wandering hands where they've strayed. That red will bleed all over before long; she can already feel the telltale prickle of heat running down her chest, under her remaining robes, destined shortly for the thighs he's toying with. She frowns up at him, sheepish at the offer and the connotations behind it, wondering if she has it in her to handle sidelong looks and raised eyebrows across the meeting table tomorrow from her closest (and most worldly) peer.]
I should—
[If they didn't get carried away, maybe—?]
I could... stand to be a little warmer...
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Let me, then.
[ ...he'd love to dive into the bedding from his current end and work his way up her body, but sadly his wings do not lend themselves to such undercover infiltration. And as much as that might promote her blood flow, he would not actually be warming her if he... dallied on his way up. Instead he peels back the covers and settles in by her side, taking her in hand with that fearsome ease of his and pulling her flush to him, head tucked under his chin.
Not an... immediate threat to her comportment tomorrow. Though the way his hand reaches back down to resume its place on her leg once he's settled, not a resolved one either. ]
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It would be easy to fall asleep like this, a change of pace she'd welcome if the hand returning to her leg didn't detract from how relaxed she feels.]
You're saving me from a lecture...
[And she is damning herself as she is wont to do where he is involved. Letting what their conversation and connection has dredged up — that faint, familiar gnawing heat — reign, Youko shifts her thighs open just a little wider. Another invitation, another handful to feed his ego.]
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Mm? Which lecture would that be?
[ Close to her ear, he barely has to murmur the words. He can't see much of her hair, with the covers pulled up high, but his hand always seems to end up there all the same, when it's at her back, collecting the strands he'd spread pulling her in.
The other hand though, the source of trouble. He could honestly say he wasn't sure that it would lead to this, that a cold and weary Youko might just take his warmth and leave it at that. But even cold and weary she'd blushed so when he'd touched her, and the sight had lent an urgency to the slow-building want for her he'd stewed in over the preceding week. So when her legs move his hand rises. Oh so close, smoothing over her skin, nudging her leg to open the rest of the way. ]
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[There is some hesitation in her voice, not wanting to invoke the person who would be doing the lecturing — and the sighing all the while — out of consideration, but she can't quite help slipping into her kirin's patter despite those best intentions.]
'Needlessly neglecting Her Majesty's health and welfare.' That one.
[A shiver runs down her spine at the way his voice curls in her ear, low and soft, leaving her with goosebumps and on tenterhooks. And she would blame the latter on the nights she hasn't been able to escape the role of a visiting dignitary. Those beds at the mountaintop have been uncomfortably vast without someone wrapped around her.
The rise of his hand tracing up her skin makes her stomach drop ever so wickedly, and that prompting touch does its job with too much ease. She lifts her thigh up to hug along his side, spreading her legs and offering Calhir whatever access he could want. It might be obscured by the covers, but her skin is squarely in full bloom, ear-to-ear, top-to-bottom.]
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[ Does that arch voice ever portent anything good? Not anything innocent, surely. His fingers stroke her lightly through the silk of her underwear. Keen for her reaction, whether it's heard or - with her huddled so close and her leg wrapped around him - felt. That shiver even before his hand arrived - she must be sensitive, needy. ]
Are there any needs of your body you haven't been attending?
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