[ And how would she feel if she knew he was testing the waters, seeing how she reacted to that tongue before he put it to other uses? To that inquiry, her stifled moans are all the answer he needs. It's only that they also make him hesitant, a little, to break the kiss, and he keeps up that loving embrace of her tongue, sliding and teasing, hoping to hear more...
Until that buck of her hips reminds him that, for all she may enjoy the distraction, the delay could still be a torment for poor Youko. The sweet kind he doesn't entirely dislike delivering, but when she's really spent the whole day waiting it's more appropriate to be in a giving mood, isn't it?
So his lips part from hers, drawing back - and then his tongue follows, the second it takes to unwind from hers and make its sinuous retreat confirming for her eyes just how long it was. His nose brushes hers again as he speaks: ]
Am I making you wait too long, Youko?
[ It sounds like an honest question, for the most part, but there is just a hint of that teasing impulse in there. ]
[It is entirely too soon for her to be so heated, so out of breath, so desperate sounding, but kissing him, feeling more of his tongue than before, and watching the length of it slip out of her mouth — he found and flipped her switch.
There is too much honesty in how she moves under him, shifts up against him, cradles the back of his head and tries to bring him closer. Closer, more, touch, taste — insistent, and ready. She doesn't want to be teased, even if it is his specialty. Wasn't she already teased? She pants softly, shakily against his lips, nosing back against him.]
Yes—! Calhir, please—?
[The whine in her own voice makes her eyebrows draw together, embarrassed. She drops her voice, her next requests made just for him. A secret something that makes her arch up against him.]
Please touch me again. Touch me like you promised?
[ 'Too much'- why would he ever begrudge Youko her honesty? Oh, it's a torment of sorts for him in return, when she moves against him like that, all but begging even before she opens her mouth. He's holding down an urge to tear what remains of her clothes from her and claim her without hesitation, knowing he'd only hurt her. But he'd be fighting that no matter what. If her honesty makes that sense of denial a little sharper, well, that's a price he's more than willing to pay to know how much she wants him. Trusts him with her desires, and his own.
He lets her draw him back down, but he falls a little lower, his mouth finding her jaw and her throat, his weight pressing her straining body back into the mattress, before he murmurs back: ]
Like I promised? With my tongue, you mean? Until you can't hold your voice down to whisper like this any more?
[That added weigh of him laying down against her gets a pleased sigh, like the pressure of him has eased some ache of hers. She moans when he finds her jaw, a rasping sound coming from deeper in her throat, with his mouth right up against her.
The laundry list of what she wants is so, so much more than his tongue. She wants to give him his reward for keeping her warm, and safe. He said he wanted to make love to her until the sun came up, and she wants nothing more than to be able to give him that. She wants to be filled up by him, to have as much of him as she can. She wants to find her voice, wants to be able to tell him how much she feels for him. How freeing being around him is, how much she loves flying with him, how she looks forward to seeing him and talking to him. How he doesn't just have a place in her heart, he has a piece of it.
Her answer to him is a nod first, her lips turned to brush against his cheek second, and last, a soft —]
[ He hums his assent against her throat and shifts. His body moves up, away from her; supported on his wings, which may not be meant for this kind of thing but are, in the end, stronger than even his legs. His freed hands caress her chest, though really, they all but cover it completely. He kisses her collar, then the top of her chest, then - as his hands move lower, following the gentle curve of her sides - his mouth finds the tip for her breast, watching her carefully as his lips, then a flick of his tongue, lightly brush over it.
He had said that too, hadn't he? That he wanted to take in all of her. Close as they'd been in the cave, his focus had been on warming her body with his, and he hadn't had the leisure to explore like this, leave parts of her uncovered to attend others. Take in her finer details. ]
[Protest, always making some protest at a loss. Protest at the loss of his lips against her throat, the pull of him away from her. She knows he isn't stopping, but the distance is a loss.
The size of his hand over her chest makes her breath hitch and gives her a stark reminder of how much smaller she is. It stokes that heat between her pinned thighs, the memories of how easily he manhandled her bubbling to the top as his hand caresses her.
As his lips find her skin, her shoulders curl, pushing her collarbone into his kisses. The way he traces her sides make her arch a little off the mattress, taking breath after shivery breath until his lips graze her nipple. He watches her, and she watches him in turn, eyes half-lidded and framed by her flush. Her brow furrows at the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, but she presses back against his mouth, experimental and curious.]
[ It makes a beautiful sight to him; the working of her muscle as she arches, her pert breasts pointed skyward, the deepening of her alluring red. And when he feels her pressing into him like that, when she watches back so intently, it's impossible for him not to linger at her chest a little longer, even if it makes for another delay to a desire that's already stoked far as it needs to be and more.
He smiles, so that she can feel it on her skin, and then his mouth closes on the nipple, lips tugging lightly, his tongue rolling over it. ]
[For all she wants to dig her fingers into his pretty, pretty feathers, to pull him back up to kiss her, she knows she can't do that. Not with the ways she wants to feel him. She substitutes the sheets underneath her for his plumage, twisting her fingers tightly into the linen as she watches him. That red he seems to love has spread down her throat, shading the tops of her breasts, following the taut lines of muscle leading down her stomach, down, down, down.
A whimper starts in her throat and dies when her mouth opens, gone in a gasp of air. As if he may as well be pulling the breath out of her lungs as he plucks at her delicate flesh. Watching the curve of his lips close over her, the shape of his smile set against her, and feeling the roll of his tongue against her pulls a more complete whimper to the surface.
Handsome. Gorgeous. Tormentor. So many words suit him, but none feel like enough to convey what she is thinking. To do that she'd have to say —]
[ Then maybe he should say something? It's a relative murmur as he moves on, from her breast to her sternum to her stomach, fingers laying open any robe that hadn't yet fallen to her waist, mouth sucking lightly on each in turn. ]
You're beautiful, Youko...
[ He rises halfway up as he says it, eyes taking her in. His hands are at her waist now, and his eyes follow that red to where his fingers sit, teasing the hem of her pants. To what he can't yet see... and very much wants to. His eyes, his fingers, and if she cares to look further, his straining hardness all scream that, tormentor or not, he is far from satisfied. ]
[Remembering to shuck her robes before he had laid her down had been easy enough, it was just the little bit after, when he really put his hands on her, that things got painted over in an excited fog. His lips plotting down her sternum to her stomach makes her wriggle and sigh, body curving alongside the touch of his mouth.
Her teeth worry her lower lip, keeping the almost reflexive refusal that 'beautiful' drudges up from escaping, but maybe not entirely off her face. Habits are hard enough to break when not being held by Calhir's hands. She shifts, grasping the sheets a little higher on one side of her body and letting go on the other, moving her fingertips to brush over his hand at her waist; the sliver of connection she needs.
The voice she finds for herself as she runs her thumb over his scales is charm, as alluring and tender as the gaze trained on him.]
[ He accepts, as though there were any question. The response is a mixture of animal hunger and something closer to that tenderness of hers, the feeling that all that she now gives is to be kept with the utmost care, so that he might see it blossom.
His clawed hands work carefully at the ties of her pants, slower than a human's might have. One more little delay, and likely some plucked threads or tiny tears in the garment when his claws inevitably catch. But then in trade for putting up with those claws she gets that tongue, so perhaps it isn't so bad.
And then he's pulling them away, and her underclothes too, careful but quick, hinting at his impatience. Her hips are tugged up off the sheets, angled toward him, exactly as they would be if here planning to take her just as they are now.
Impossible, of course. He would break her. But a rumbling breath passes through him all the same, as he finishes pulling those last barriers free and tossing them to the side, before he lowers them both again. Lower and lower, in his case, almost backed off the bed now, as his hands smooth over her thighs, pull them apart, and he presses his mouth against one.
Once, and again, closer to her center. Not much patience now. And then he's there, tongue flicking out to pass ever so lightly but ever so certainly inside her. ]
[The slacks will likely join numerous other pieces of clothing she has worn that her servants love commenting have ended their usefulness, and she'll argue for their return after washing. These especially. Even if he leaves small tears in the strings and fabric, this set of travel clothing bears a significance to her now. Figuring out how to explain it is a job for her in the future. A trouble gladly out of sight, out of mind. Now —
Now, he is pulling a startled gasp out of her as her legs are leveraged up, quickly stripped of the remaining clothing to her name and leaving her bare as only her maids have seen her, and even then more of this is Calhir's alone. Like how the blush running down from her face culminates across her belly and spills down onto her thighs, how well muscled her legs actually are from fighting and riding, a neat crop of delicate red curls marking what is his, and her slick core.
Parting her legs for him, exposing herself, is a shakier operation than she anticipated, especially in the brief moments her body is aligned with him. She had felt his cock in more ways than one back in the cave, but looking at him — for lack of better phrasing — right down main street? The size? More than enough to make her mouth go dry. Not that he leaves her long to contemplate what he'll feel like.
The brush of his feathers make her thighs tense, the skin prickling as he presses his hot mouth to her. The way he looks perched there between her thighs, moving closer and closer to her center — if she hadn't been fighting the pace of her heart already, that would have done her in.
Any listless shifting dies when she registers the flicker of his tongue against her, in her. She keeps watching him, letting her head tilt back against the bed, letting the first real wanting, hungry sounds to fall past her lips and trying to be good. Trying to breathe, trying to keep her hips from greedily rolling to meet him. She only manages so much restraint. His, after all.]
[ With that sound as his encouragement he dives in. His tongue may be large but that doesn't stop the tip from being devious and agile; from wriggling in between her folds and running their perimeter, from finding her clit and flicking oh-so-lightly over it. His eyes are locked on hers - after all, that's where the fun of this is for him. Watching her face as she tries to keep it all in. He's always liked her uninhibited side, ever since they first started drinking together, and coaxing her closer to throwing aside that restraint is a pleasing game in every sense.
Of course, some of the fun is a little more basic, appealing to his own vanity. He does like seeing people's reaction to his tongue when he gives it free reign. His first forays deeper into her are exploratory, another little circle drawn inside her with the tip, but he can simply keep going, spiraling deeper and deeper. Slowly, letting her wonder just how long he can keep it up. The thickness of his tongue increases too, the further he goes, until it's a real pressure on her. Her first taste of being filled by him. ]
[There is undeniable want in every desperate whimper, keen, pant, and moan she lets out — that he draws out — but there is a definitive moment of panic she fights down as his teasing and tasting turns to filling. The thickness of his tongue brings the tension of spreading unused muscle, a new ache that makes her groan and squirm, makes her feet dig into the mattress. It makes that low point in her flood with warmth. Sweet, but torturous.
May his vanity only swell with every breathy 'aah' and 'ohh' and outright cry from her on his clever tongue.]
[ He slows at her reaction, but only momentarily. It feels like good squirming, that marginal edge of discomfort that demands resolution instead of cessation, so he presses on after a few seconds, filling her more and more. There might be something self-serving in that optimism, but then she has herself asked him for so much more than this.
Instead it's her pleasure that delays him, lingering when he hears the sharpest of those cries and running the tip of his tongue over the same points, seeing if he can maintain that intensity.
Since that too appeals to his vanity. Swollen though it already is. ]
[It is ultimately good squirming. Any discomfort on her face melts into arousal, any tension passing by with soft tremors in her thighs. Her breathing growing more uneven as he presses on and the desperate look in her eyes watching him, mouth parted, is just what should have been anticipated.
When his tongue revisits the most tender points, the ones that make her back arch off the mattress by varying degrees and make her noises needier, he just winds her coils a little tighter, pushes her a just that much closer to the peak. Something Youko is willing along, testing with an experimental press of her hips back against the fullness, against the curling lash he offers. Something that makes her moan his name that much louder.
Any concern for what might echo down the halls when that comes is getting stripped away with that stretch she is starting to enjoy in earnest.]
[ Relaxing where she need to, tensing where he wants her to, the shakes and moans and the way she finally lets herself drive back against him... it's good stuff. He hums back at her, sounding both pleased with her and tense in his own way, eager to see more of that abandon, and to take it for himself.
And if that's a bit too much to read into one sound, well, his tongue is easier to interpret. The deft explorer begins to shade to something more voracious as she opens up, lapping at her, tongue twisting to and fro along its whole length, stirring her depths. Coaxing out those first responses is all well and good, but he wants to see how she looks when she's overwhelmed, whether she'll let him push her from this balanced edge beyond her own control. ]
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no subject
Until that buck of her hips reminds him that, for all she may enjoy the distraction, the delay could still be a torment for poor Youko. The sweet kind he doesn't entirely dislike delivering, but when she's really spent the whole day waiting it's more appropriate to be in a giving mood, isn't it?
So his lips part from hers, drawing back - and then his tongue follows, the second it takes to unwind from hers and make its sinuous retreat confirming for her eyes just how long it was. His nose brushes hers again as he speaks: ]
Am I making you wait too long, Youko?
[ It sounds like an honest question, for the most part, but there is just a hint of that teasing impulse in there. ]
no subject
There is too much honesty in how she moves under him, shifts up against him, cradles the back of his head and tries to bring him closer. Closer, more, touch, taste — insistent, and ready. She doesn't want to be teased, even if it is his specialty. Wasn't she already teased? She pants softly, shakily against his lips, nosing back against him.]
Yes—! Calhir, please—?
[The whine in her own voice makes her eyebrows draw together, embarrassed. She drops her voice, her next requests made just for him. A secret something that makes her arch up against him.]
Please touch me again. Touch me like you promised?
no subject
He lets her draw him back down, but he falls a little lower, his mouth finding her jaw and her throat, his weight pressing her straining body back into the mattress, before he murmurs back: ]
Like I promised? With my tongue, you mean? Until you can't hold your voice down to whisper like this any more?
no subject
The laundry list of what she wants is so, so much more than his tongue. She wants to give him his reward for keeping her warm, and safe. He said he wanted to make love to her until the sun came up, and she wants nothing more than to be able to give him that. She wants to be filled up by him, to have as much of him as she can. She wants to find her voice, wants to be able to tell him how much she feels for him. How freeing being around him is, how much she loves flying with him, how she looks forward to seeing him and talking to him. How he doesn't just have a place in her heart, he has a piece of it.
Her answer to him is a nod first, her lips turned to brush against his cheek second, and last, a soft —]
Please?
no subject
He had said that too, hadn't he? That he wanted to take in all of her. Close as they'd been in the cave, his focus had been on warming her body with his, and he hadn't had the leisure to explore like this, leave parts of her uncovered to attend others. Take in her finer details. ]
no subject
[Protest, always making some protest at a loss. Protest at the loss of his lips against her throat, the pull of him away from her. She knows he isn't stopping, but the distance is a loss.
The size of his hand over her chest makes her breath hitch and gives her a stark reminder of how much smaller she is. It stokes that heat between her pinned thighs, the memories of how easily he manhandled her bubbling to the top as his hand caresses her.
As his lips find her skin, her shoulders curl, pushing her collarbone into his kisses. The way he traces her sides make her arch a little off the mattress, taking breath after shivery breath until his lips graze her nipple. He watches her, and she watches him in turn, eyes half-lidded and framed by her flush. Her brow furrows at the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, but she presses back against his mouth, experimental and curious.]
no subject
He smiles, so that she can feel it on her skin, and then his mouth closes on the nipple, lips tugging lightly, his tongue rolling over it. ]
no subject
A whimper starts in her throat and dies when her mouth opens, gone in a gasp of air. As if he may as well be pulling the breath out of her lungs as he plucks at her delicate flesh. Watching the curve of his lips close over her, the shape of his smile set against her, and feeling the roll of his tongue against her pulls a more complete whimper to the surface.
Handsome. Gorgeous. Tormentor. So many words suit him, but none feel like enough to convey what she is thinking. To do that she'd have to say —]
no subject
You're beautiful, Youko...
[ He rises halfway up as he says it, eyes taking her in. His hands are at her waist now, and his eyes follow that red to where his fingers sit, teasing the hem of her pants. To what he can't yet see... and very much wants to. His eyes, his fingers, and if she cares to look further, his straining hardness all scream that, tormentor or not, he is far from satisfied. ]
no subject
Her teeth worry her lower lip, keeping the almost reflexive refusal that 'beautiful' drudges up from escaping, but maybe not entirely off her face. Habits are hard enough to break when not being held by Calhir's hands. She shifts, grasping the sheets a little higher on one side of her body and letting go on the other, moving her fingertips to brush over his hand at her waist; the sliver of connection she needs.
The voice she finds for herself as she runs her thumb over his scales is charm, as alluring and tender as the gaze trained on him.]
... yours. Yours, Calhir.
no subject
[ He accepts, as though there were any question. The response is a mixture of animal hunger and something closer to that tenderness of hers, the feeling that all that she now gives is to be kept with the utmost care, so that he might see it blossom.
His clawed hands work carefully at the ties of her pants, slower than a human's might have. One more little delay, and likely some plucked threads or tiny tears in the garment when his claws inevitably catch. But then in trade for putting up with those claws she gets that tongue, so perhaps it isn't so bad.
And then he's pulling them away, and her underclothes too, careful but quick, hinting at his impatience. Her hips are tugged up off the sheets, angled toward him, exactly as they would be if here planning to take her just as they are now.
Impossible, of course. He would break her. But a rumbling breath passes through him all the same, as he finishes pulling those last barriers free and tossing them to the side, before he lowers them both again. Lower and lower, in his case, almost backed off the bed now, as his hands smooth over her thighs, pull them apart, and he presses his mouth against one.
Once, and again, closer to her center. Not much patience now. And then he's there, tongue flicking out to pass ever so lightly but ever so certainly inside her. ]
no subject
Now, he is pulling a startled gasp out of her as her legs are leveraged up, quickly stripped of the remaining clothing to her name and leaving her bare as only her maids have seen her, and even then more of this is Calhir's alone. Like how the blush running down from her face culminates across her belly and spills down onto her thighs, how well muscled her legs actually are from fighting and riding, a neat crop of delicate red curls marking what is his, and her slick core.
Parting her legs for him, exposing herself, is a shakier operation than she anticipated, especially in the brief moments her body is aligned with him. She had felt his cock in more ways than one back in the cave, but looking at him — for lack of better phrasing — right down main street? The size? More than enough to make her mouth go dry. Not that he leaves her long to contemplate what he'll feel like.
The brush of his feathers make her thighs tense, the skin prickling as he presses his hot mouth to her. The way he looks perched there between her thighs, moving closer and closer to her center — if she hadn't been fighting the pace of her heart already, that would have done her in.
Any listless shifting dies when she registers the flicker of his tongue against her, in her. She keeps watching him, letting her head tilt back against the bed, letting the first real wanting, hungry sounds to fall past her lips and trying to be good. Trying to breathe, trying to keep her hips from greedily rolling to meet him. She only manages so much restraint. His, after all.]
no subject
Of course, some of the fun is a little more basic, appealing to his own vanity. He does like seeing people's reaction to his tongue when he gives it free reign. His first forays deeper into her are exploratory, another little circle drawn inside her with the tip, but he can simply keep going, spiraling deeper and deeper. Slowly, letting her wonder just how long he can keep it up. The thickness of his tongue increases too, the further he goes, until it's a real pressure on her. Her first taste of being filled by him. ]
no subject
May his vanity only swell with every breathy 'aah' and 'ohh' and outright cry from her on his clever tongue.]
no subject
Instead it's her pleasure that delays him, lingering when he hears the sharpest of those cries and running the tip of his tongue over the same points, seeing if he can maintain that intensity.
Since that too appeals to his vanity. Swollen though it already is. ]
no subject
When his tongue revisits the most tender points, the ones that make her back arch off the mattress by varying degrees and make her noises needier, he just winds her coils a little tighter, pushes her a just that much closer to the peak. Something Youko is willing along, testing with an experimental press of her hips back against the fullness, against the curling lash he offers. Something that makes her moan his name that much louder.
Any concern for what might echo down the halls when that comes is getting stripped away with that stretch she is starting to enjoy in earnest.]
no subject
And if that's a bit too much to read into one sound, well, his tongue is easier to interpret. The deft explorer begins to shade to something more voracious as she opens up, lapping at her, tongue twisting to and fro along its whole length, stirring her depths. Coaxing out those first responses is all well and good, but he wants to see how she looks when she's overwhelmed, whether she'll let him push her from this balanced edge beyond her own control. ]