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. . . Well . . .

I'm fine either way, so . . .

. . . What is this something?

Edited 2020-01-16 04:29 (UTC)

[ there's a thoughtful pause,

And she presses her lips to his throat, just beneath his jaw, her free hand shifting to brush against his chest, just lightly ]

. . . You'll make sure to tell me to stop if you don't like it, right...?

[ stops, his breath stopping too - then, he exhales with the next words, his head tilting to the side to offer his neck to her ]

. . . Yes, I will.

Then - like we said before, I'll be attacking relentlessly, okay . . . ?

[ but there's nervousness lingering in her heart, still, a stiffness that betrays it, in her fingers, in her mouth. shutting her eyes she inhales heavy through her nose, enough to shift her shoulders, and breathes him in, deeply - pressed to him she luxuriates in that familiar scent, his warmth against her, the full, comforting reality of his identity; she could sink herself into it entirely, she thinks, let all impurities and weight sink to the bottom and drift away on the current like sediment, push them to the backmost corners of herself, just forget everything.

they have to. She has to. She wants to. There's no reason for her to keep feeling this way, not when it harms him, not when there's nothing behind it to begin with.

her lips trail further down, dotting kisses along to his collar, firmer and more boldly as she suppresses what nerves remain, her hand working now to fumble at opening his top ]

[ his hands lift up, to - if not yielding to her movement - work into her hair, stroking it and petting her head gently ]

. . . Mmm, alright . . .

[ with a pause, ]

Dia-san.

[ hums a questioning noise against his collarbone, lingering there in case he'd prefer them to stop - and just because he's petting her, honestly. but she's listening more or less still, her fingertips brushing absently against a nipple ]

Ah -

[ flushed, ]

I just wanted to say your name.

[ while he keeps his hands steady, his breathing even ]

[ thank you for remembering the header change eventually I will too,

Either way her reply is whispered breathlessly and muffled against him, he can almost feel the sound better than he can hear the words, ]

... I love you.

[ it's heartening to hear and his voice and the hands in her hair feel alongside everything else altogether so sweet, he is so charming and cute and handsome that she can - truly could, if she were to think about it - feel her fear melt beneath the force of his warmth. She can't help but want to

Coax out an even greater reaction, certainly, but just to please him too, to assuage his worries too - about her, about the weddings, about himself, about this place - each stemming from that same bare, earnest affection like branches on a tree, grown hardy and healthy on the fullness of her heart.

She moves deliberately slow along his collarbone to feel it out against her lips, to savor the familiar shape before she finds a spot beneath, low enough that any of his clothes would comfortably hide it, and pulls it into her mouth, sucking at the skin as she rubs at his nipple with greater intent, rolling it gently between her index and thumb ]

[ i got u boo

honestly some part of him is - not quite unnerved, but nervous, and it's only held back by the concern he has for his wife; after all, she must be pushing herself like this. ]

I love -

[ there's a pause as she moves; the touch is pleasant, and his voice comes out in a sigh, ]

. . . Mmm, I love you, t . . . ah -

[ - as her fingers rub at the sensitive flesh, his own hands in her hair stalling only briefly before returning to petting her hair, albeit slower, more shaky now ]

[ she carries on like that for a good while until she's certain a mark has settled in, shifting then lower as she kneads at his breast gently, firm, with her full hand (clammy despite herself, vaguely, a sheen of sweat having formed unseen thanks to her hair); as she carries on in kissing at him, breath hitching hot against his skin each moment she lets up, she lets the tip of her tongue ghost over each tattoo, each scar at his chest with an almost reverent affection, the attention she gives to each one is so focused -

she knows them all by heart, she's sure, the commitment as natural as breathing. even simpler she's just hoped for some time to spoil him like this, to lavish each inch of him with affection, and she hopes - to focus herself upon that, upon the warmth and softness of his breast, on the comfort of his hand at her head,

but - as much as the tremble in his fingers would have her hope so, as encouraging as it is to have that guide so close - is she doing this right? even as her thoughts begin to melt into that urge to please, she can't help wondering. weight shifting against him, she lifts a knee to settle it down between his legs, tugging the hand she's holding to bring him closer, onto her lap ]

Edited 2020-01-18 22:55 (UTC)

[ he'll never get used to being paid such attention, physically - to be touched so intimately is always a pleasure with his loved ones but the attention, that her undivided attention is on his body, is one that has him fluster easily, gut twisting already with want - but beyond that, getting used to her boldness is an impossibility. somewhat shocked by the knee between his legs - punctuated by a sharp breath and a mumble - he finds himself moving as she likes him to, using his hand around her head as a brace to scoot onto her, before flushing in indignity -

distantly, he realizes that must be the true nature of his shame. somewhere down the line he had forgotten he was not just someone to be looked up to, not just a guide for the girl in front of him, but rather the woman's lover; to provide is his natural state of mind but such is her state, too, and the immediate mental resistance is a symptom of his unintended contempt: she was not fit to be liable for anyone's care or happiness, in the incomplete state that she is in, and that worked fine for his own purposes, as someone who neither needed nor wanted the provisions of someone else in the first place, but while that remains to be an opinion he holds true, he's startled to realize that such a mentality would be carried into their personal lives, and most urgently, into the bed.

were there a further purpose, a higher goal to be met with apologizing to her now, he'd do so - or at least consider it after she'd finished with what she had in mind - but as it stands, it's far too early to apologize for condescending her when she wouldn't understand in the first place. only, he should endeavor to carefully watch himself, so that he might not fall into such a pit again - similar to raising a child, he should not blind himself to avoid seeing when she would evolve, when she would grow. in the first place, isn't that what he wants for her most?

- come to think of it, isn't this a step in that direction? if she is to become a provider, beyond being a witch or being a human, then isn't her boldness here, especially in the face of her fear, something to praise?

no, no. no, no, no. that she would disregard her own self for another is against the point - that's the opposite of commendable, though not quite damnable.

but, she had wanted to. moreover, he'd been clear, he thinks, that he was fine either way - and that she would initiate even so must be some indication in and of itself, right? then - if it's by her choice that she should disregard herself, isn't it commendable?

he walks through the dizzying circles of logic as he, himself, becomes dizzy, cheeks flushed and warmth spreading down to the tip of his toes, his own breath short and steady and yet, despite himself, palpable in its excitement, and he squeezes her hand gently, shifting a little closer, legs spread to press himself against hers - there's an indistinct not-quite-right-but-not-quite-wrongness at his loins, a missing part that he could only vaguely feel is out of place, the organ more a bane than a welcome piece of his body's makeup as it is, and at the moment its strangeness can only manifest in distant surprise and reminder that the brunt of his heat was re-allocated from the outside to the in - and he thinks on how he's uncertain that she would not do this to anyone else - in and of itself, not the problem, but more concerning, that she would do it by another's choice is most unsettling - and he considers, while steadying his hand and barely-studying her face with half-lidded eyes and a slack jaw, how he should tell her so that she would better understand, that it isn't that he would rather she not touch anyone else but him and whisky-san and maybe avenger, but that she should have it be by her own want and need that she does,

or maybe it would be easier if he spun it as jealousy, but he's loathe to do it when it isn't true, at least in the day and in the less-than-darkest parts of the night,

and she is, so, very warm, and he remembers that wretched dream of his that has him swallow, throat dry before his notice, yet - he hasn't yet managed to resolve that, whether he found it pleasant or unpleasant beyond the implications. still, he's quite certain she must feel some level of disgust, or at least some level of unrest, and that thought is the only barrier between his kissing her lips besides the very air itself, instead a soft mumble escaping through his teeth ]

[ he can see it, of course.

in the look at her full face as their positions shift and change, one fact alone is clear as day - there is a tint to her face, certainly, a bright crimson against her usual pallor, but there's something lacking in its depth, in the vibrancy that would otherwise be there - with whisky, with him any amount of time prior to the incident, an anxious sweat beaded finely at her furrowed brow. it'd be wrong to say that she isn't excited at all, so uneven as the puffs of air at his breast have grown, but the color could just as well be caused by any other type of heat for all the enthusiasm manages to reach her face, fully clothed still as she is, collar high at her neck, hair loose and heavy.

but she doesn't have a single bit of consideration to spare to her own comfort; her own pleasure even less so. gaze unfocused, mouth giving each scar its due diligence as she encroaches upon his nipple, teasing kisses at the areola around the flesh - she does not once meet his eyes. as much as she would insist upon doing so before, gently voice her preference for positions that left him or whisky in plain view, indulge in each shifting expression and gaze as if they were tantamount to their touch, commit them to precious memory, she does not once meet his eyes. breaking her focus even once - inviting that panic back into her heart, even potentially - is nothing she'd ever hope to do but especially not when it's a matter of calming his worries, of making her affection stand out stark and plain against each of them, of avoiding further misses like the other night, of going back to normal.

she allows herself this lone thought: to stop at this point - on any reason other than his own desire - would be nothing short of selfish.

and so, she keeps herself centered on the comfort of his scent (grounds herself in his identity) and the feel of his hands (comforts herself in his wakefulness), squeezing at his hand in turn, divining her speed and movement from the feeling atop her head as that freed hand drifts from his breast to his hip, rocking him gently against the smooth, cool nylons at her knee as she takes his nipple into her mouth, tongue lapping at the nub ]

Edited (this is the last edit I promise. english is too hard. ) 2020-01-20 00:25 (UTC)

[ of course.

in the warmth of pleasure, it feels like a splash of cold water - in her gentleness, it feels like walking into a hard wall abruptly; she was not, and would not be, simply able to discard such complicated emotions. it occurs to him that, in his own indecisiveness of the matter, she too must feel conflicted - not only that, but a greater guilt besides that, from her own position. of course, she could not discard him - even if he would like nothing more than for her to do just that - and so it must be like a thorn at her side. frightening as it must have been to feel those emotions, the recovery afterwards - imagining it is impossible for him in the first place, for that would necessitate being able to let go of those emotions.

regrettable, regrettable, regrettable. it's regrettable that he twisted her to become like this in the first place, and more regrettable that he would take advantage of such to hurt her, but what's most regrettable is that he can still feel himself possessed by those contemptuous thoughts, rooted deeply into his psyche. such condescension - that he knows better, what she should and should not do, and that surely, if she were to feel like this, then she should simply stop now, and perhaps stop forever, in this avenue - is no less than insulting to the woman who he wants to spend the rest of his human life with.

he must remember - here, he is no teacher, and now, she is no student. she isn't looking to him for guidance, not right now, and he shouldn't think as though she is; instead -

well, certainly, there's great concern in her motivations for pushing against her distaste like this, and perhaps being so receptive to it would be to teach her something unhealthy, something that he couldn't take back - and perhaps he should reconsider discarding the mantle of teacher, for is it not part of one's duty to guide another, should they see this person unwittingly heading down a strange path? but - whether she was unknowing or not is unclear, in the first place. and moreover, perhaps -

he's loathe to think it, but perhaps - some manner of unhealthy coping must be partaken of before healthier habits could be learned. perhaps, at least right now, it would be more detrimental to wrest control from her than to let her do as she likes, even if it means letting her force herself to do something that she, in all likelihood, felt repulsed by.

such thoughts float in the distance of his mind as he breathes heavily, unevenly, voice coming out in soft sounds as she moves to press him against herself, to create that friction of nylons against nylons, and just before the thoughts scatter like a bunch of balloons into the wind, it dawns on him that he - somehow, in some way - was frustrated with her gaze's avoidance. if he could peel off his face, tighten his vocal chords, change himself to be different - he considers doing so without meaning to, and the cold thoughts like cold water lapping at his feet keep him alert, his hand steady,

until, that is, hot breath and hotter tongue meet his flesh and he jolts upright, thighs tight against her knee as he gasps, every thought in his arsenal floating away - his fingers twitch, against her hand and against her head, his own gaze wandering up to the ceiling as though it too were a balloon floating away. ]

D-d- Dddiiaaaa -

[ meant to be her name - probably - though there's no purpose to his calling for her, save for, if he really had to say, perhaps vocalizing his pleasure for her; though his thoughts have left him, his feelings of wanting to be better for her remain - as thoughtless as it is, for her brave and bold expedition, she should at least be granted the reward of hearing his pleasure, his state of being compromised to such an extent ]

[ it's heartening, distantly, to hear him like this, to feel him so deeply affected in his hands, far down enough to his core, she's certain by the squeezing at her knee, a vague comfort to know that she's pleased him - her teeth graze his nipple lightly as she seals her mouth around him to suck gentle at his breast, stroking at the tip with her tongue.

but she knows perfectly well how smooth the tights they both wear can be, the frustrating lack of traction when it comes to these situations, so the way that her hand drifts - lower still from his hip, tapping at his entrance, thumbing at his clit - is deliberate in its pressure, firm enough to be felt but slow,

it's all in service to having him feel even better by the end, certainly, but there is some errant shard of better times lodged within somewhere, a remnant of how she'd love to tease him normally, brought into the bed only now that she no longer spares the time to speak to him, to remind him of each strangely, sharply exact point of cuteness as she sees them, to look at him,

certainly - certainly, with the way that she kissed him earlier - if she weren't so occupied with keeping the fear from her mind, so singularly focused now, her boldness would take a shape closer to that. she does, even still, cling to that hand of his, giving it a comforting squeeze every now and again, but

as she comes to register her name within his voice she stills, again, to finally glance up at him, a dim concern in her expression. ]

[ his toes curl in, entire frame jolting with the introduction of new pressure at his loins, the sensation of her finger - certainly pleasurable, the same as the sensation at his breast, though both leave an unignorable ache that has him stuttering in his breath; as though he'd forgotten how to speak his lips move but no words come out, only vocal shivers,

then, as though he just remembered, he completes the meaningless thought, the same time that his hand moves again to pet: ]

—saa . . . mm . . . nnn . . .

[ hardly was there any need for urgency or concern - she could see from her position the focus in his eyes, clouded with desire as they were, as he watches her with a transfixed gaze; neither in pain nor in fear does he look, but in love and comfort, or more simply, in need ]

[ ... he just wanted to say her name.

the cause is no different than last time despite her concerns, and she can see - more saliently now than ever get a sense for his presence and wakefulness here and his affection for her, all unchanged as if nothing had happened at all; the warmth of it is enough to penetrate all the way through to her core, finally, he can feel her thighs shifting beneath him as they attempt to rub themselves together, her own desire stirring to life with that dull ache. her breath picks up too, hotter and quicker against his breast in the brief breaks that she takes between returning to tongue and suck at his nipple,

but the thought of being touched settles on her uncomfortably, just as quick as her need does, and this isn't about her and she can't, doesn't want to spare any room for thoughts beyond how to best pleasure him, neither to reflect on that or anything else,

so after giving his entrance another tap, a shallow teasing rub, a firmer caress at his clit - she moves her hand away. she releases his breast, even his hand as she pulls away entirely, settling her hands at his shoulders to gently press him onto the bed, on his back

and she murmurs, so softly he might have to strain to hear, ]

. . . Is this okay...?

[ between the stimulation at his clit and his breast, her hot breath and hotter mouth and the burning ache between his legs, at his entrance, muscles twitching for something to fill it, he's thoroughly compromised; it takes all of his remaining mental strength to keep himself from touching her back, save for at her head in unsteady pets - for he's certain that if he were to touch her, even with his form the way it is, she'd balk and retreat, and such would be acceptable albeit hurtful if he could be certain she wouldn't resent herself for doing that, and it's that thought alone, that he doesn't want her to blame herself, that keeps fingers running through her hair rather than tracing down her frame. even in the pleasure he can't but be caught by the distant recesses of his mind that squeeze his heart with thoughts of helplessness, powerlessness, anger so great and directionless that it could only be directed unto himself - but in the same respect the pleasure distracts him from his thoughts, leaving him at a curious halfway point of wanting to come soon, being so close to being close to his climax, knowing that being touched at such a pace would soon have him seeing white, and at the same time feeling cold leeching into his heart, one that dampens his pleasure to a duller flame and yet leaves him less control of his faculties than if either one were a sole distraction.

when she finally pulls her away, his entrance gapes, dripping wet with need, and he falls back onto the bed all too easily, legs spread out for her; too preoccupied with trying to catch his breath, the frustrations of being close enough to nearly coming without getting there leaving his voice ragged from the unexaggerated moans of pleasure and need, and he takes a moment to register her words, to understand -

at once, he nods, a stilted motion disturbed by his quickly beating chest ]

[ it's -

hiking up his skirt, resting between his legs, she curls her fingers into the elastic band of his underwear to tug everything down all at once, carefully, considerate - gift or not they're part of his clothes and neither of them is much like Whisky, neither of them would get much out of tearing them, she thinks,

but the sight of him beneath her as she rights herself, splayed out on the bed, flush with raw, unmasked need, wet as he is

he's

last time, too, wasn't it like this? he can see her eyes dart a bit startled around the room, down to his face, she knows where she is and it's lucifel's room and it's fine and his scent floods her nose and she knows who he is and it's fine and he's awake and it's fine but it's

is it really okay?

she balks, stalling above him, hand at his hip mere moments from giving him that long-awaited relief, gaze plainly anxious, eyes moist - but to stop now, to stop for any reason beyond his own desire to do so, would be nothing short of selfish. she remembers that, for certain - in keeping with it, dredging up the vague recollection of what she did then, how she managed her panic then, she simply shuts her eyes.

settling down to press her lips to a scar at his thigh, she lets her tongue trail along the curvature of his muscles until she arrives at his cunt, kissing his labia just briefly, chaste ]

[ ahh -

no, letting it continue by this point, when he can see her gaze so anxious, when her eyes look so glassy, at this point it would be too much. he could not stand to make her cry, nor stand to let herself make her cry, so he takes a slow draw of his breath - she's distracting, of course, but nothing is more of a mood killer than knowing that her unhappiness now certainly outweighs her pleasure, and just as she kisses, he murmurs, his eyes closing, his hand staying in her hair to pet it, but also to press at it gently ]

. . . Let's stop, right here. . .

Edited 2020-01-22 23:10 (UTC)

Ah . . .

I'm -

[ it's sort of exhaled as she's patted at, breathless; she shifts to roll over onto her side, out of the immediate vicinity of his cunt, shooting him a brief glance - a bit forlorn, not entirely grasping the why of it,

wasn't he excited just moments ago? his consent and comfort matters above that, but did she

is it her he's worried about? is she making things difficult for him again? ]

- sorry . . .

[ he takes a moment or two more, letting himself cool down as his legs close, before he picks up his head ]

- Ah?

[ feigning ignorance in his tone, ]

Now, what are you apologizing for? It's just - mm . . .

[ with a sheepish laugh, ]

Saying it so crudely is embarrassing, but - I need to go to the bathroom. I can't possibly let you go on like that.

I - thought, I thought I'd made a mistake... But, um, if it's that sort of thing, then -

[

whatever she was about to say, in any such case there's the matter of the bed to consider, something that'd be much more difficult to deal with than her, so - it makes sense for him to feel that way. it fails to entirely assuage her guilt, but she noticeably relaxes, sitting up ]

... Sorry. Um, I'll stay here...

Edited 2020-01-22 23:47 (UTC)

[ shifting more, to get his clothes back on ]

No - it felt really good. . . So, don't worry about it.

[ a beat, as he pokes her forehead ]

And, don't apologize.

[ soft, scrunching her face up a bit as her forehead's poked ]

... I'll do better next time . . .

Dia-san.

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