[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. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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. ]