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[ 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.

[ just glances at him quiet, looking mildly chastised ]

You don't have anything to apologize for.

But I'm -

[ , ]

... You... you needed to go to the bathroom, didn't you...? It's okay for us to talk when you come back . . .

Mmm.

[ getting himself up, finally ]

Alright, I'll be right back.

[ and, he goes to the door ]

[ she thinks, a bit

that it'd be good to change her bandages while he isn't here, but she should probably bathe once he's done anyway - so she pulls her knees to her chest and just waits for him, idly toying with the ring on her finger ]

[ he, of course, did not actually need to go to the bathroom, though in his usual paranoia he filled a cup with the sink water running as quietly as it could, so he could promptly pour the water down the toilet. not in any particularly specific paranoia - especially given how well he knows dia - but he's just like this, frankly.

there, he thinks of what to do while he sits on the toilet seat. send her home? mmm, unwise. well, though . . .

he takes some time before he gets up, flushing the toilet and washing his hands, keeping this excuse as believable as possible. because he is just like this.

going back to the room soon after, to open the door without announcement ]

. . . Welcome back...

[ a little lamely, just sort of hanging out with her knees to her chest, still, rotating her ring around the circumference of her finger

But she does seem happy to see him, at any rate ]

Was it okay...?

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