[ 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
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]