[ It appeals - as a woman, if not a queen. A queen would never be turned by such things, and she never had - after all, she had been married as soon as it had been time. Her mind taken up by ruling, and then all that came afterwards. She expects something decent from him after all, flattering her, and yes, yes any other time, she would raise her eyebrow at him, shift her shoulders into something clearly dismissive for what she never had much time for. But they're not here for any other time, so if just this once, she gives into the pleased feeling that settles in her belly. Right now she is as he describes her, no more, no less, and he is no more than the honey on his tongue.
An old bad habit, that when she had decided she wanted something, that she became fixed on it. It had no lessened in the years, the matter now is more what she intends about it. ]
Better than my poets. [ Not charmed easily, and yes, yes never to be trifled with except when she lets someone do so. Her terms, her battlefields, twisting them to suit her. ] I suppose if that's true - I need not warn you of thorns. [ Since he'd worked that all by himself already. ] I would hate for you to slice yourself on them. [ Soft, as she hangs the warning in front of him, like a promise more than a threat. He will, of course he will. ]
[ He leans upon the table with a laugh upon his lips, he might trip directly into her claws now and he would not entirely mind. The drink as seeped deep into his veins, his bones, brought a numbness to the world outside of the brothel.
And Lafayette, ah, he shares her old habit in a way; not one to give up a pursuit once began. ]
I do not fear thorns, mademoiselle. [ Reckless, truly, he will see himself bleed if he continues he knows. ] There is no pleasure without a little pain.
[ But it's a little too quick this way. Watching him like she's considering something this time. Comes to a choice and decides on it, and pushes her body up quickly. Pushing her fingers against the bench top to straighten herself. She pulls back, turning quick on her heel, as she heads towards the bar itself. Air thick with all sorts of things between them now, especially the warmth of liquor - and that might just be what this is. Chasing a forgotten summer in the bottom of a glass, or in company. ] I believe I promised you your fill of drink.
[ She doesn't look at what she snatches in her quick fingers. Turning to lean against the bar with it held in her hand, elbows propped up to support her weight. It'll do her for the time being, whatever it is. There's no table between them, now, and as she leans, picture of being at her own leisure, she beckons him closer to choose - or whatever else he decides to do with the inviting curl of her fingers, inviting him closer. ] So what will you have?
[ Laughter comes with a sudden bark as he move to finish the last of his cup. ]
They would have better luck at teaching mutts not to bark.
[ Too much in the air, thick and heavy with a pressure that sits just so on his shoulders. Sees him hold his breath as she moves suddenly, pulling away towards the bar. He pays attention as she walks, the liquor is to blame, yet his gaze wanders about her frame. The promise previously made far away, half forgotten, as he pushes himself away to join her with slow heavy steps.
His fill of drink, was it not? The way she beckons makes him question, makes him wonder, is it truly drink he is supposedly meant to take his fill of? She is a woman who seems to take joy in speaking in riddle, words cloaked in the shadows she wears so tightly against his skin. The questions are born and die upon his tongue in the same breath, yet he steps forward all the same. Taking her invitation, stepping closer, closer, until very little space remains. ]
I can have whatever I wish, no? [ Close enough to feel warmth through his coat, close enough for a blade to pierce his side. ]
[ He is taller than she, and like this it is more readily noticeable. Her face tilting up towards him as he stands before her, his warmth settling comfortably close to her. Nothing she regrets, not right now. Invites by lack of resistance on her behalf, instead her shoulders set open, careful line of her neck all bare. See what he will do with the offer, how far he will test what she is offering.
Slowly it seems and her smile is nothing but appreciative, inviting. Closer then, closer. ]
Whatever you wish. You are at your leisure for this night at least.
[ She likes her games, her twisting words, protecting herself, and the habit that just enough is more than enough to torment. Knows the lean in that comes so second nature to secrets, to mysteries, and she can give him this one, of her, for now. ]
[ Ah, perhaps he will have some regrets come morning and perhaps a headache or two. Not now, of course, now he has no regrets standing so close to her as he is. Her smaller, shorter, frame has him looking down upon her, sun kissed skin almost aglow in the dim candlelight. What will he do with this? Her invitation placed so in front of him, plain in all the little ways she holds herself. It would be remiss of him to ignore it, would it not?
[ It's done by increments, all slow moving threat, a prowl that slips into her movements. Pushing up into the lean in of him, a hand moving off the bar to press first flat to his chest like she might just push him off, but curls at the base of his throat, sharp inside her talons, how long sine she'd felt this - when she had been young, a queen, and the world did not weigh so upon her. How long - since she had her boy, and gold seemed to thread itself in her hair with her own delight.
She's not one to do anything by halves, she will wait long perhaps, but once decided, there is never going back from it. Her fingers draw him into her, pulling them together in a purposeful way that demands his attention -- all of it. Away from his Order and her rebels. There is only her and there is only him and there is only this raw twisting thing between them where they are licking each others bleeding open miseries, each others grief, each others yearning. ]
Then indulge me, Marquis.
[ And she kisses him, hard, mouth set against his. Still predator, slow then quick and all at once as she tilts into him. Head turned to the side and her free hand pressing up from the bar to keep her steady. Keeping the closeness solid. Decided, and yes, yes there is no going back - but like this, she doesn't want to. ]
[ He places himself in her grip deliberately, allows her talons to curl and grip until he can no longer see a means to escape. But it is a thrill to be caught there in the grip of her, so dangerously close to her thorns. They will slice him apart surely, see him cut and bleed before the night is out - a fact he finds himself caring little about. It only entices him further, lures him closer, hungry for the contact - the warmth of her and the promise it provides.
She does not disappoint, pushing to take what she wants rather than wait for it to come to her. Mouth hard against his, body pressed close, so close. He does not hesitate in his movements, arm wrapping around to hold her close as he presses into her, pressed them both closer to the bar. His mouth both hard as it is gentle, greedy as he is languid. Kissing her is as intoxicating as the swill they had been drinking not even moments ago, he knows then there is no going back, no way to go back.
But he does not care, does not want to. He wants to drown his grief in the taste of her lips, the curves of her body, the warmth of it. Drown it all until nothing is left. ]
[ She doesn't know what she expects to find in his mouth, certainly not peace or salvation or hope - but there's the drink there, all sun water, and that bitter under taste of ash and charcoal, all burned up, and maybe that's the grief. But tastes his or maybe her own desperation keen back and it does nothing dissuade her from keeping herself firmly there in his hold.
Slips back a step, her arm relenting little by little as she lets him chase in close, until she can feel the dig in of the wooden bench top at her back. To where she's got him all in close and caught that way she likes best, and she hums a faint noise of approval. Not perfect, his hands are gloved and nothing but her fingertips free to catch in the cloth of his clothes. The drink whirls up behind her eyes, when they close, and with the bar to support her and his weight to anchor off, she elects her move it around him instead. Hooking around his shoulders, keeping him close, balancing precariously where he could drop her just as well. Her other still trapped and gripping him tight in threat and safety. Cannot move it from there to slice him open, like she was so often accused of doing.
But breathing in the same short stolen seconds between the slow rhythm she sets in kissing him, it's not on her mind. ]
[ He's too aware of her, too aware of how she moves, how caught he is between her fingers, of the low noise that only just brushes against his ears. Pleased as a cat that caught it's prey, toying wit it before the last strike falls. She could tear him apart now and he wagers he would not care, not so drunk as he is on their shared desperation, the drink on her lips, the warmth of her.
Teeth drag lightly across her bottom lip as he removes his hands from her, blindly peeling his gloves from his hands, casting them side. Better, he thinks, swift to take hold of her again. Hiking down enough to grip her thighs, lift her up and close with a single motion. Grip tight, he breaks from the kiss only take to her jaw and the soft skin of her throat. A vulnerable place, as the knights know well, easy to reach as close as he now sits. But no, no blade, only teeth and lips against her pulse. Only his hands at the small of her back, fighting against fabrics.
A condemned man, he must be, for all that he does here and now. Sinking his teeth into the flesh of a queen, a rebel, and hoping to hear her sing. ]
[ Her fingers dig into his shoulder, anchor as she realises what he is doing, bracing to jump as he lifts to make the dragging up easier. Settling on the edge of the bench top, using the second it breaks the kiss to catch her breath in a quick lungful of air. In sharp through her nose as she turns into the wandering line of his mouth. Exposing the line of her neck far too eagerly.
She'd forgotten in her haste to tear what it was to be torn herself. Have some sink into her in return. Her goal when she gets her hands free was to take her gloves off first but she wants suddenly and urgently, his teeth on her neck more, the warmth of his breath to chase off the cold from her bones, as it draws a sharp noise out from her, and she tugs at her scarf instead. Unravelling it from around her neck to give him space to roam. Discarding it beside her in a pile. Curving up against his mouth and his body in a reckless second where she forgoes the idea that she needs to think this through at all. Catching him in the bracket of her thighs. Hands with a mind of their own as she goes to undo the buckle of strap across his chest, to get easier at the buttons underneath. ]
[ He breaks briefly, hovers over her skin as she tugs at her scarf, the fabric falling away to be discarded. It is a beautiful neck, he muses descending upon the freed flesh, as graceful as a swans and soft as silk. And his to claim, to worship. A breathy chuckle into her flesh, he follows her pulse, sucking and biting as he goes along. The noise she makes - by God it is as music to his ears and he wants, so suddenly, to hear more of it.
With that goal in mind his hands move on their own accord, one pressed to keep her close as the other undoes her buckles. Hasty and impatient in their movements, a desperate greed to reach what lies underneath all those clothes.
They do not need to consider, to think, for when the sun rises they will no long remember each other's face. When the sun rises this will be nothing more than a passing thought, a dream. Some fancy of another time when too much drink had gone to their heads. For now, however, the curve of her body and the sound of quickening breath is all that exists in this world. ]
[ There's an animistic pull to each gesture, to him at her throat and her reach to get at his chest. Still she tries to remember to help, to hold still when he's getting at her buckles. Feeling the looser movements when it finally comes free, and the sash around her waist coming undone with it. Her jacket set looser without the bindings. Hard on her clothes, and not at the luxury the knights were with their uniforms. Everything was worn in, comfortable to come on and off quickly because of it. Gone are the days when she had ladies to dress her, rub oils into her hands and hair. Here she is plain, now, save for the remnants of the woman she had been hung about her.
Now her hands are rough as they get his jacket undone and she returns his attentions. Animal still, as she turns her own mouth to his throat and the little bared skin. Sees that - and it is all she cares about. Feels the heat of him, and for once doesn't think about battlefields and blood. Just tastes the salt on his skin and hums faintly in the simplicity of that. Feeling the rough brush of his stubble against her lips and laughing into him with the easiness that seems to come between them. ]
[ Her own lips are distracting enough to give him pause, hands stilling in their self appointed task to rid her of jacket. It is only then he remembers the gorget and his own jacket, breaking from her briefly to unshackle it from his neck. He grins at her as the metal clangs against the floor, shoulders rolling to shrug off his jacket as well. He wastes little time after that, returning his attention to curve of her jaw, hands working to push her own from her shoulders.
It is too easy, perhaps, though he cares little, tasting her skin with a pleased hum before he finds her lips once more. Kissing her hard, fierce, hands working to slip underneath the soft fabrics of her shirt. Mapping the warm flesh underneath he feels out the curve of her spine and the small bumps underneath. Greedy to drink the taste of her, to feel her skin upon his fingertips, upon his own flesh, hands push up higher and higher. What he intends could not be clearer, she will be free of it as much as all the else, so he may map the rest of her with kisses. ]
[ There's something - to watching these noble men disrobe. Their stiff layers, their many trappings. Odd as it was to watch Galahad, odd as it is now. She doesn't mind it - good as they look with it, there's an openness to him just now, as the armour and jacket go, that she likes just as much. This is them that dawn has no claim on, hers - for as long as it lasted.
It's a giving sort of sacrifice to peel her arms off of him when he tugs at her jacket. Because eager as they both are, suffers not from his layers, but too much armour. Practise at least makes her quick even when his hands begin to roam under her clothes. Trying to manage the three things at one, forgetting what her hands are doing momentarily to give into kissing him. Open mouthed and feels the bruise such a harsh things draws, a soreness she won't mind at all later when she's kiss-bruised.
Still if she is to have what she wants, she goes back to unlacing her greaves, hooking into the leather laces on the inside of her arm and yanking them undone before she can yank them and her gloves off as one whole piece. Dropping them onto the floor to join his gorget. Then, then she gets the jacket, peeling it back away from her body - too fitting for how it pushes her shoulders back, getting faster little breaths that feels her press eagerly into his hands. Spurs the flooding sort of heat, not wasting time with its pressing urgency. She gets her arms up, snatching at the soft silk to pull it up and away from her body, over her head to be dropped away too. The rough bindings that suited her unforgiving efficiency.
Doesn't help with the cold, though, and she pulls back, a hand going up to his neck again, but this is to brace, to set his jaw against the soft inside of her palm. Dragging her thumb across the corner of his mouth in a languid indulgence. The chill prickling on her skin at being bare, the faintest shiver. ]
Found your summer, Marquis? [ Her voice is full of it, rough for all it is quiet. ]
[ Impatience has him quick to forget himself, and it isn't until her arms slip from him that memory strikes. Hands move to his own layers, well practiced hands swift with his waistcoat. It too falls to the floor to accompany the rest of their collective clothes. He stands there locked between her legs in little else but his breeches and a cotton shirt, flushed with a pooling heat that only gathers at the sight of her bare in the candlelight.
No finger sight has laid itself before his eyes.
He turns his head into her hand, half lidded eyes glinting with amusement - a lightness he has not felt in some days. Be it due to the drink, or perhaps her, it is good to feel it again. ]
I have found more than my summer, mademoiselle. [ Hands settle on her hips pulling them forward, closer, voice low and thick. Her affect clear in the building tightness.] I have found the sun herself, blazing and beautiful. She blinds to look upon her, but alas I cannot look away.
[ Tilting his head further he takes her thumb between his lips. ]
[ Oh but if there isn't something to mutual need to drown themselves. That means that -- for a second, she forgets, and as he speaks, her smile curls honestly, and when she laughs it is not the cruel mocking thing she used like a weapon so often. It's rich and light, bubbling up at words that like her laughter belong between beings far younger than either of them were. No doubt they will say worse of what she is doing - knows they have already. Called her every kind of word that their letters granted them, but right now - she's not doing this for cruelties sake, or to twist some great purpose. She's doing it because she wants it - and whatever he is offering right now.
Feels her thumb brush against his teeth, and she shivers again - this time not for the cool air, but for the warmth of his mouth. ] Seems I may be becoming fond of your mouth.
[ As close as she can coming to say she appreciates his pretty words. Hard to say, but easier to do, when he pulls her in close and that low pooling heat catches and she tilts in a sigh. Pushes herself up straight, lips pressed together on the catch of a grind it is. Can't say it, no, but she takes her finger away, tilting him to her instead as she moved to settle against and under him. The careful alignment she does not by halves, because when she does ever - perhaps it's just to watch his reaction, or something of a reward, or maybe because it's just natural to, like this. But most especially because the hard press of him makes something catch in her throat with anticipation, causes her legs to shift restlessly by his side.
Pulls her thumb away, and she'd hate to disappoint him, to do anything less than what she'd promise, do other than burn him. When she kisses him this time, she catches his lip between her teeth and scrapes her teeth over, not fangs, no, but enough to sting. Her fingers curling just so against his jaw. ]
[ And he offers much more than he should, much more than any should, without a care for consequence. He wants to do it, wants her against warmth against her skin - all that she allows him.
He chuckles lowly, mouth parting to return the comment, perhaps a snip about his talented mouth - only the words never reach, catching in his throat. She moves with purposes and does not spare him - he does not expect her too. Breath catches, chokes, and his eyes clamp closed, fingers curl into a fist at the small of her back. A low noise is all he manages, coupled with a shakey breath, before grin finds his lips again.
Beautiful and terrible. She will burn him to ashes before she is done with him, render him helpless before the morning reclaims them both.
Her kiss does just that, stings his lip with her teeth, burns him even more. He cannot help but breath out of laugh into it, meeting her with his own fervor, his own attempts to burn. All the while his hands busy themselves with her pants, pushing fabric against and down her hips. A demand in not so many words, in the press of his fingers against already exposed skin. ]
[ Her fingers slip around the back of his neck, pushing into the short of his hair, nails scraping bluntly against his scalp. Turning into kissing him again, an easy rhythm as her body hums.
Make it a little easier on them, but with her hold she draws him in close as she leans back. The jacket that had gotten trapped underneath her makes a good enough buffer against the bar bench, as she rests heavily against her elbow. Her boots hook against the wooden panelling, all purposeful shift of her body to get at the angle she needs to. The flat line of her stomach exposed as he gets her pants down from her waist. The old lines, from a child, earlier, from a battle long before she'd ever supped from the black water. His hands all too smooth and coaxing over them. That she parts her lips on a easy sigh, not exactly quiet, after all there is only one thing anyone ever expects to truly happen here that she feels a particular need to hush herself exactly.
Helping, if only to one purpose, like this, her body anchored just there, she can push up, as much to grind heat back against him as give him the space to get her clothes off. Pressing hard into him, muscles snapping taught as she balanced herself. ]
[ Lines from battle, from a child, things that most women could consider flaws but he can only find beautiful. Thumbs brush across them briefly as hands continue their task, pants moving further down down down. Parts only for a moment to pull them past her thighs, then down to her boots, both tugged to be unceremoniously deposited upon the floor.
Returns quickly, chasing the warmth of her skin, hands skating across her belly and thighs. Greedily swallowing her sighs with his lips, though he has no problem with noise - no, no, he would have her sing as loudly as her voice allowed. See her sighs, her moans mix with his own and color the walls of the brothel. It is theirs, this building, as much as he is hers and she is his. For as long as the night gives them.
Lips find her jaw again, a hand slipping down past what cloth remains to her. This he wants to hear - commit to memory the notes she sings the moment his fingers find her heat. Moving slow and deliberate. ]
[ She wears them proudly, the marks of living is what they have, after all this time. Squirming her legs to help him once she settles low again. Feeling the chase of air over bare skin, exhaling shakily -- affecting her more than she'd admit readily. How good it is when he draws this from her, to just let it all bleed out.
She's almost, almost content to watch him under lidded eyes. Her tongue flicking against her bottom lip in a prickly sort of anticipation. Half aware of his mouth, so much as his hand. Tracing down. Set broad to the flat of her stomach, and drawing a breath deep in anticipation. Down, down, down, until his fingers curl under her undergarments -- purposeful, useful, like everything else on her. Dropping herself low under him, resting on her elbows to hold her weight. A restlessness that winds her. Her bare legs drawing up against his hips as his fingers finally slipped into that curling heat and it slips across her body like water. Head hanging back, hair falling free from it's ties.
Because it's something isn't? Been too long - maybe. To quite have the resistance against it. Or just that she wants it, and is allowing herself, or him, without the restraint. The drink too, that keeps her from keeping it back. Just the build and build and build to getting what she wants. Bucks unmeaningly to into his fingers, sharply exhaling where she'd held the breath deep in her lungs. Eyes slipping closed as the languid heat that was his fingers, and the drink, and the thrill, settled into her bones. ]
[ It is something, beautiful, a sight he could be content in watching for the rest of the night. Her sigh and moan and writhe underneath his touch, underneath slow fingers teasing each sound from her lips. Teasing her close to release, to a bliss long denied by duty and purpose. But he is not so patient, not so strong to withstand it himself.
Shares her restlessness, the want of it, has him groan into the flesh of her jaw for the feel of her. Warm, sweet, soft, an intoxication more effective than the drink, the thrill. Has his free hand slip from her and release himself, occupied fingers moving just that but quicker. Can't help himself, can't stop himself, muffles a moan into her throat as teeth drag lightly against her flesh.
Might burn apart if he doesn't - if he stays like this, head thick with desire and drink and the sweet smell of her.
Fingers slide from her slow and deliberate, perhaps to see her protest, To see how much want has sunk it's claws into her. But he does not wait long, nipping at the tender flesh of her neck, pressing against her instead. Hot, slick, tight - he near chokes on the sound that catches in his throat, near losses what is left of his mind with the sensation of her surrounding him.
If he is to be driven mad, he thinks, let it be like this. Let it be by her. It is a madness he can certainly accept. ]
[ she's not a young woman, shy of what she likes, or prone to biting her tongue over what she wants and when she wants. She demands, expects to get what she asks for. She wanted a distraction, and she got it. Utterly, utterly distracted at the slid of his fingers against her, her body shifting with each movement. The draw little noises, just there for him.
As he draws from her, she sinks back, flat the bench top, and she gives proof, her hands come up, nails sunk in and draw flat lines down his chest. Heat and that sweet messiness that burns up under her eyes, under her skin.
A grip she holds, as he moves in close, her legs drawing up against his sides as he rolled between them. Feels the pressure, the heat of it -- and maybe, maybe she wanted to torment him a little first in return, slip fingers in return against him. But it goes, as he sinks teeth into her skin and he presses his cock into her. Presses her nails in sharp, to draw him deeper. Craving of that closeness, a still breath in her chest holding him in close in that first second. Glorious thing that it is to be open and bare and beckoning, that utter feeling that means nothing, no politics, no war, just to be joined for that point alone. ]
[ Torment him she does in more ways than he could have ever imagined. The smell of her, the warmth, the pressure of her around him is almost torture, almost enough to give up God for a brighter, blazing sun. Worship her until his mind is no longer his own, until all thoughts of duty slip from his mind, until all he can think of is how to please her.
It would be nice, he thinks, if only their reality were so kind.
But, for now, it does not sit in this room, nothing does, all of it slips from focus in a chorus of muffled moans and sharp breaths. The need for closeness, for unbreakable distraction. Nails digging into his skin, sharp and painful, demanding him closer deeper. Even if the fog of want did not sit so solidly upon his mind, he could not deny her. Would not. Shifting to indulge her, thrusts perhaps too sudden before settling to a even pace.
Torturous but he has never been a selfish lover. ]
[ She goes, she goes, she goes, her eyes shut tightly, her legs drawn up against his side. It's so, so easy to forget it all right then. To simply give into not caring. Feel the warmth of him as he leans over her, keeping her unforgiving hold on him. Not without concession, that sharp roll into her makes her voice thready, softer than maybe she really is or pretends that she is capable of maybe just forgot, just that right then with him pressing her down, she is.
Slips her hands up then, to his neck to use it to draw him down. Pushing herself up just enough to get the angle she wants. Catching her mouth against his in a kiss that is all teeth and lips and a vicious scrap of affection. ]
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no subject
An old bad habit, that when she had decided she wanted something, that she became fixed on it. It had no lessened in the years, the matter now is more what she intends about it. ]
Better than my poets. [ Not charmed easily, and yes, yes never to be trifled with except when she lets someone do so. Her terms, her battlefields, twisting them to suit her. ] I suppose if that's true - I need not warn you of thorns. [ Since he'd worked that all by himself already. ] I would hate for you to slice yourself on them. [ Soft, as she hangs the warning in front of him, like a promise more than a threat. He will, of course he will. ]
no subject
And Lafayette, ah, he shares her old habit in a way; not one to give up a pursuit once began. ]
I do not fear thorns, mademoiselle. [ Reckless, truly, he will see himself bleed if he continues he knows. ] There is no pleasure without a little pain.
no subject
[ But it's a little too quick this way. Watching him like she's considering something this time. Comes to a choice and decides on it, and pushes her body up quickly. Pushing her fingers against the bench top to straighten herself. She pulls back, turning quick on her heel, as she heads towards the bar itself. Air thick with all sorts of things between them now, especially the warmth of liquor - and that might just be what this is. Chasing a forgotten summer in the bottom of a glass, or in company. ] I believe I promised you your fill of drink.
[ She doesn't look at what she snatches in her quick fingers. Turning to lean against the bar with it held in her hand, elbows propped up to support her weight. It'll do her for the time being, whatever it is. There's no table between them, now, and as she leans, picture of being at her own leisure, she beckons him closer to choose - or whatever else he decides to do with the inviting curl of her fingers, inviting him closer. ] So what will you have?
no subject
They would have better luck at teaching mutts not to bark.
[ Too much in the air, thick and heavy with a pressure that sits just so on his shoulders. Sees him hold his breath as she moves suddenly, pulling away towards the bar. He pays attention as she walks, the liquor is to blame, yet his gaze wanders about her frame. The promise previously made far away, half forgotten, as he pushes himself away to join her with slow heavy steps.
His fill of drink, was it not? The way she beckons makes him question, makes him wonder, is it truly drink he is supposedly meant to take his fill of? She is a woman who seems to take joy in speaking in riddle, words cloaked in the shadows she wears so tightly against his skin. The questions are born and die upon his tongue in the same breath, yet he steps forward all the same. Taking her invitation, stepping closer, closer, until very little space remains. ]
I can have whatever I wish, no? [ Close enough to feel warmth through his coat, close enough for a blade to pierce his side. ]
no subject
Slowly it seems and her smile is nothing but appreciative, inviting. Closer then, closer. ]
Whatever you wish. You are at your leisure for this night at least.
[ She likes her games, her twisting words, protecting herself, and the habit that just enough is more than enough to torment. Knows the lean in that comes so second nature to secrets, to mysteries, and she can give him this one, of her, for now. ]
no subject
We are both free to indulge this night.
no subject
She's not one to do anything by halves, she will wait long perhaps, but once decided, there is never going back from it. Her fingers draw him into her, pulling them together in a purposeful way that demands his attention -- all of it. Away from his Order and her rebels. There is only her and there is only him and there is only this raw twisting thing between them where they are licking each others bleeding open miseries, each others grief, each others yearning. ]
Then indulge me, Marquis.
[ And she kisses him, hard, mouth set against his. Still predator, slow then quick and all at once as she tilts into him. Head turned to the side and her free hand pressing up from the bar to keep her steady. Keeping the closeness solid. Decided, and yes, yes there is no going back - but like this, she doesn't want to. ]
no subject
She does not disappoint, pushing to take what she wants rather than wait for it to come to her. Mouth hard against his, body pressed close, so close. He does not hesitate in his movements, arm wrapping around to hold her close as he presses into her, pressed them both closer to the bar. His mouth both hard as it is gentle, greedy as he is languid. Kissing her is as intoxicating as the swill they had been drinking not even moments ago, he knows then there is no going back, no way to go back.
But he does not care, does not want to. He wants to drown his grief in the taste of her lips, the curves of her body, the warmth of it. Drown it all until nothing is left. ]
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Slips back a step, her arm relenting little by little as she lets him chase in close, until she can feel the dig in of the wooden bench top at her back. To where she's got him all in close and caught that way she likes best, and she hums a faint noise of approval. Not perfect, his hands are gloved and nothing but her fingertips free to catch in the cloth of his clothes. The drink whirls up behind her eyes, when they close, and with the bar to support her and his weight to anchor off, she elects her move it around him instead. Hooking around his shoulders, keeping him close, balancing precariously where he could drop her just as well. Her other still trapped and gripping him tight in threat and safety. Cannot move it from there to slice him open, like she was so often accused of doing.
But breathing in the same short stolen seconds between the slow rhythm she sets in kissing him, it's not on her mind. ]
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Teeth drag lightly across her bottom lip as he removes his hands from her, blindly peeling his gloves from his hands, casting them side. Better, he thinks, swift to take hold of her again. Hiking down enough to grip her thighs, lift her up and close with a single motion. Grip tight, he breaks from the kiss only take to her jaw and the soft skin of her throat. A vulnerable place, as the knights know well, easy to reach as close as he now sits. But no, no blade, only teeth and lips against her pulse. Only his hands at the small of her back, fighting against fabrics.
A condemned man, he must be, for all that he does here and now. Sinking his teeth into the flesh of a queen, a rebel, and hoping to hear her sing. ]
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She'd forgotten in her haste to tear what it was to be torn herself. Have some sink into her in return. Her goal when she gets her hands free was to take her gloves off first but she wants suddenly and urgently, his teeth on her neck more, the warmth of his breath to chase off the cold from her bones, as it draws a sharp noise out from her, and she tugs at her scarf instead. Unravelling it from around her neck to give him space to roam. Discarding it beside her in a pile. Curving up against his mouth and his body in a reckless second where she forgoes the idea that she needs to think this through at all. Catching him in the bracket of her thighs. Hands with a mind of their own as she goes to undo the buckle of strap across his chest, to get easier at the buttons underneath. ]
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With that goal in mind his hands move on their own accord, one pressed to keep her close as the other undoes her buckles. Hasty and impatient in their movements, a desperate greed to reach what lies underneath all those clothes.
They do not need to consider, to think, for when the sun rises they will no long remember each other's face. When the sun rises this will be nothing more than a passing thought, a dream. Some fancy of another time when too much drink had gone to their heads. For now, however, the curve of her body and the sound of quickening breath is all that exists in this world. ]
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Now her hands are rough as they get his jacket undone and she returns his attentions. Animal still, as she turns her own mouth to his throat and the little bared skin. Sees that - and it is all she cares about. Feels the heat of him, and for once doesn't think about battlefields and blood. Just tastes the salt on his skin and hums faintly in the simplicity of that. Feeling the rough brush of his stubble against her lips and laughing into him with the easiness that seems to come between them. ]
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It is too easy, perhaps, though he cares little, tasting her skin with a pleased hum before he finds her lips once more. Kissing her hard, fierce, hands working to slip underneath the soft fabrics of her shirt. Mapping the warm flesh underneath he feels out the curve of her spine and the small bumps underneath. Greedy to drink the taste of her, to feel her skin upon his fingertips, upon his own flesh, hands push up higher and higher. What he intends could not be clearer, she will be free of it as much as all the else, so he may map the rest of her with kisses. ]
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It's a giving sort of sacrifice to peel her arms off of him when he tugs at her jacket. Because eager as they both are, suffers not from his layers, but too much armour. Practise at least makes her quick even when his hands begin to roam under her clothes. Trying to manage the three things at one, forgetting what her hands are doing momentarily to give into kissing him. Open mouthed and feels the bruise such a harsh things draws, a soreness she won't mind at all later when she's kiss-bruised.
Still if she is to have what she wants, she goes back to unlacing her greaves, hooking into the leather laces on the inside of her arm and yanking them undone before she can yank them and her gloves off as one whole piece. Dropping them onto the floor to join his gorget. Then, then she gets the jacket, peeling it back away from her body - too fitting for how it pushes her shoulders back, getting faster little breaths that feels her press eagerly into his hands. Spurs the flooding sort of heat, not wasting time with its pressing urgency. She gets her arms up, snatching at the soft silk to pull it up and away from her body, over her head to be dropped away too. The rough bindings that suited her unforgiving efficiency.
Doesn't help with the cold, though, and she pulls back, a hand going up to his neck again, but this is to brace, to set his jaw against the soft inside of her palm. Dragging her thumb across the corner of his mouth in a languid indulgence. The chill prickling on her skin at being bare, the faintest shiver. ]
Found your summer, Marquis? [ Her voice is full of it, rough for all it is quiet. ]
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No finger sight has laid itself before his eyes.
He turns his head into her hand, half lidded eyes glinting with amusement - a lightness he has not felt in some days. Be it due to the drink, or perhaps her, it is good to feel it again. ]
I have found more than my summer, mademoiselle. [ Hands settle on her hips pulling them forward, closer, voice low and thick. Her affect clear in the building tightness.] I have found the sun herself, blazing and beautiful. She blinds to look upon her, but alas I cannot look away.
[ Tilting his head further he takes her thumb between his lips. ]
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Feels her thumb brush against his teeth, and she shivers again - this time not for the cool air, but for the warmth of his mouth. ] Seems I may be becoming fond of your mouth.
[ As close as she can coming to say she appreciates his pretty words. Hard to say, but easier to do, when he pulls her in close and that low pooling heat catches and she tilts in a sigh. Pushes herself up straight, lips pressed together on the catch of a grind it is. Can't say it, no, but she takes her finger away, tilting him to her instead as she moved to settle against and under him. The careful alignment she does not by halves, because when she does ever - perhaps it's just to watch his reaction, or something of a reward, or maybe because it's just natural to, like this. But most especially because the hard press of him makes something catch in her throat with anticipation, causes her legs to shift restlessly by his side.
Pulls her thumb away, and she'd hate to disappoint him, to do anything less than what she'd promise, do other than burn him. When she kisses him this time, she catches his lip between her teeth and scrapes her teeth over, not fangs, no, but enough to sting. Her fingers curling just so against his jaw. ]
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He chuckles lowly, mouth parting to return the comment, perhaps a snip about his talented mouth - only the words never reach, catching in his throat. She moves with purposes and does not spare him - he does not expect her too. Breath catches, chokes, and his eyes clamp closed, fingers curl into a fist at the small of her back. A low noise is all he manages, coupled with a shakey breath, before grin finds his lips again.
Beautiful and terrible. She will burn him to ashes before she is done with him, render him helpless before the morning reclaims them both.
Her kiss does just that, stings his lip with her teeth, burns him even more. He cannot help but breath out of laugh into it, meeting her with his own fervor, his own attempts to burn. All the while his hands busy themselves with her pants, pushing fabric against and down her hips. A demand in not so many words, in the press of his fingers against already exposed skin. ]
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Make it a little easier on them, but with her hold she draws him in close as she leans back. The jacket that had gotten trapped underneath her makes a good enough buffer against the bar bench, as she rests heavily against her elbow. Her boots hook against the wooden panelling, all purposeful shift of her body to get at the angle she needs to. The flat line of her stomach exposed as he gets her pants down from her waist. The old lines, from a child, earlier, from a battle long before she'd ever supped from the black water. His hands all too smooth and coaxing over them. That she parts her lips on a easy sigh, not exactly quiet, after all there is only one thing anyone ever expects to truly happen here that she feels a particular need to hush herself exactly.
Helping, if only to one purpose, like this, her body anchored just there, she can push up, as much to grind heat back against him as give him the space to get her clothes off. Pressing hard into him, muscles snapping taught as she balanced herself. ]
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Returns quickly, chasing the warmth of her skin, hands skating across her belly and thighs. Greedily swallowing her sighs with his lips, though he has no problem with noise - no, no, he would have her sing as loudly as her voice allowed. See her sighs, her moans mix with his own and color the walls of the brothel. It is theirs, this building, as much as he is hers and she is his. For as long as the night gives them.
Lips find her jaw again, a hand slipping down past what cloth remains to her. This he wants to hear - commit to memory the notes she sings the moment his fingers find her heat. Moving slow and deliberate. ]
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She's almost, almost content to watch him under lidded eyes. Her tongue flicking against her bottom lip in a prickly sort of anticipation. Half aware of his mouth, so much as his hand. Tracing down. Set broad to the flat of her stomach, and drawing a breath deep in anticipation. Down, down, down, until his fingers curl under her undergarments -- purposeful, useful, like everything else on her. Dropping herself low under him, resting on her elbows to hold her weight. A restlessness that winds her. Her bare legs drawing up against his hips as his fingers finally slipped into that curling heat and it slips across her body like water. Head hanging back, hair falling free from it's ties.
Because it's something isn't? Been too long - maybe. To quite have the resistance against it. Or just that she wants it, and is allowing herself, or him, without the restraint. The drink too, that keeps her from keeping it back. Just the build and build and build to getting what she wants. Bucks unmeaningly to into his fingers, sharply exhaling where she'd held the breath deep in her lungs. Eyes slipping closed as the languid heat that was his fingers, and the drink, and the thrill, settled into her bones. ]
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Shares her restlessness, the want of it, has him groan into the flesh of her jaw for the feel of her. Warm, sweet, soft, an intoxication more effective than the drink, the thrill. Has his free hand slip from her and release himself, occupied fingers moving just that but quicker. Can't help himself, can't stop himself, muffles a moan into her throat as teeth drag lightly against her flesh.
Might burn apart if he doesn't - if he stays like this, head thick with desire and drink and the sweet smell of her.
Fingers slide from her slow and deliberate, perhaps to see her protest, To see how much want has sunk it's claws into her. But he does not wait long, nipping at the tender flesh of her neck, pressing against her instead. Hot, slick, tight - he near chokes on the sound that catches in his throat, near losses what is left of his mind with the sensation of her surrounding him.
If he is to be driven mad, he thinks, let it be like this. Let it be by her. It is a madness he can certainly accept. ]
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As he draws from her, she sinks back, flat the bench top, and she gives proof, her hands come up, nails sunk in and draw flat lines down his chest. Heat and that sweet messiness that burns up under her eyes, under her skin.
A grip she holds, as he moves in close, her legs drawing up against his sides as he rolled between them. Feels the pressure, the heat of it -- and maybe, maybe she wanted to torment him a little first in return, slip fingers in return against him. But it goes, as he sinks teeth into her skin and he presses his cock into her. Presses her nails in sharp, to draw him deeper. Craving of that closeness, a still breath in her chest holding him in close in that first second. Glorious thing that it is to be open and bare and beckoning, that utter feeling that means nothing, no politics, no war, just to be joined for that point alone. ]
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It would be nice, he thinks, if only their reality were so kind.
But, for now, it does not sit in this room, nothing does, all of it slips from focus in a chorus of muffled moans and sharp breaths. The need for closeness, for unbreakable distraction. Nails digging into his skin, sharp and painful, demanding him closer deeper. Even if the fog of want did not sit so solidly upon his mind, he could not deny her. Would not. Shifting to indulge her, thrusts perhaps too sudden before settling to a even pace.
Torturous but he has never been a selfish lover. ]
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Slips her hands up then, to his neck to use it to draw him down. Pushing herself up just enough to get the angle she wants. Catching her mouth against his in a kiss that is all teeth and lips and a vicious scrap of affection. ]