[ her first, irrational thought is that it's simply — unfair, how easily he pinpoints a weakness, exploits it with merciless precision, lends her no warning before he's licking her raw. she'd laugh, at any other time, at how utterly astarion it is to take note of a vulnerability and toy with it (and how utterly unlike her it is to reveal a soft spot, to start). as it stands, her fingers can only wring tighter around his own, white-knuckling her grip until they blanch from pressure.
it's a funny thing, trusting that someone might put her back together after she's shown them where to strike, after they've determinedly taken her apart; it's a funny thing to think her own weaknesses might be used against her, for no other means than to push her into pleasure's embrace, rather than a misstep to be promptly corrected. a blemish wiped from mind. here, she can merely ... be. be at a disadvantage. bare herself, without threat of excoriation. that, more than anything, seizes her chest with fondness — to know, without doubt, she's found one place she is encouraged to lay down her arms and rest at ease.
a strange sense of peace streams through her, despite the rigidity that seizes her frame, the rippling trembling in her thighs, all warnings of a seismic event. it's only inevitable that he should be able to finesse what he wants from her; it's only inevitable that starving her body of affection for such long stretches of time would make her susceptible to the thrall of his tongue. her tongue flicks out to wet the pillowy swell of her lower lip, a spell to summon words that would otherwise evade her: ]
Could you — [ she falters around a choking, plaintive moan. (when was the last time she supplicated herself in earnest, for anyone but a looming and spiteful goddess? when was the last time she was certain her request would be heard and embraced, rather than denied — forbidden to keep her memories, forbidden to dream, forbidden her lady's favor? the answer to both, she suspects, is never.) ] Inside.
[ a slow dragging of their interconnected hands leads him over the plane of her stomach, toward the intersection of thigh and hip, to clarify her request — if the fluttering, clenching pulse between her legs hasn't, a lingering emptiness that ache to be filled — the last thing she needs to be pushed over the edge.
then, with the desperate, entreating edge of one that has experienced denial and deprivation one too many times: ] Please.
[ not a word she's been known to throw around lightly. it strains, raw and foreign, in her throat, as she squeezes his fingers for emphasis. ]
no subject
it's a funny thing, trusting that someone might put her back together after she's shown them where to strike, after they've determinedly taken her apart; it's a funny thing to think her own weaknesses might be used against her, for no other means than to push her into pleasure's embrace, rather than a misstep to be promptly corrected. a blemish wiped from mind. here, she can merely ... be. be at a disadvantage. bare herself, without threat of excoriation. that, more than anything, seizes her chest with fondness — to know, without doubt, she's found one place she is encouraged to lay down her arms and rest at ease.
a strange sense of peace streams through her, despite the rigidity that seizes her frame, the rippling trembling in her thighs, all warnings of a seismic event. it's only inevitable that he should be able to finesse what he wants from her; it's only inevitable that starving her body of affection for such long stretches of time would make her susceptible to the thrall of his tongue. her tongue flicks out to wet the pillowy swell of her lower lip, a spell to summon words that would otherwise evade her: ]
Could you — [ she falters around a choking, plaintive moan. (when was the last time she supplicated herself in earnest, for anyone but a looming and spiteful goddess? when was the last time she was certain her request would be heard and embraced, rather than denied — forbidden to keep her memories, forbidden to dream, forbidden her lady's favor? the answer to both, she suspects, is never.) ] Inside.
[ a slow dragging of their interconnected hands leads him over the plane of her stomach, toward the intersection of thigh and hip, to clarify her request — if the fluttering, clenching pulse between her legs hasn't, a lingering emptiness that ache to be filled — the last thing she needs to be pushed over the edge.
then, with the desperate, entreating edge of one that has experienced denial and deprivation one too many times: ] Please.
[ not a word she's been known to throw around lightly. it strains, raw and foreign, in her throat, as she squeezes his fingers for emphasis. ]