[ She swings over him easily, settling into his lap, which brings her tantalisingly closer and their bodies satisfyingly enmeshed: the angle and tilt of her head now better for Verso to maintain that attention and those meandering kisses. A lave of tongue, hot suction, a graze of teeth — there’ll likely be a bruise there in the morning, to cover with her hair or an expedition scarf, or simply accept the fact that their companions might have comments — but he doesn’t much care. He’s gotten dreadful at thinking of tomorrow; he usually tries to forget about its existence.
Like so: enjoying the weight of Sciel straddling him, Verso leaning further into the touch, one hand sliding under her cropped top to touch warm bare skin and settle on her hip. She can already feel him half-hard beneath her; it has, of course, been a while since the last time he crossed this particular threshold with an Expeditioner —
It’s worth it. They’ve both decided it’s worth it.
And it’s a warm night; he hadn’t been wearing his antiquated expedition jacket, already slung over a nearby log, so he’s just in the standard-issue black trousers and white button-up shirt. Evidently there were some ulterior motives tonight, but at least they’re the pleasant kind. ]
Hm, [ Verso murmurs. Thoughtful, weighing Sciel’s words, as if examining them from all angles before deciding: ] And I’d like to find out how you taste.
[ There is no more thought to the wine (beyond a few seconds where she considers using it to create more trails along her skin for him to follow). His taste is intoxication enough, and she rolls her head along her shoulders in response to his wandering mouth, sighing elatedly with each new area that he finds and attends to. There's zero consideration for the marks he'll leave, no concern to be had for the implications: not tomorrow, and certainly not in the heat of this moment. In fact, she finds herself still wanting more, enamored of the idea that there would be evidence tomorrow that this had all been real and not just a particularly vivid dream. ]
Don't worry about being gentle. [ She murmurs, as if he'd been pressing chaste kisses to her hands and not ravaging the landscape of her neck. ] I'm not fragile.
[ His hand begins to roam and so does hers, firmly sliding along the muscle of his arms, taking in every detail as though this may be her only opportunity (and it may be, all things considered). Those wandering fingers find the back of his shirt and trace his spine, settling there for now as her attention returns to their hips and the evidence of his desire she feels there. Exhaling roughly, her teeth flashing in an amorous grin, she begins to shift against him, watching his reaction closely as she presses down and moves languidly back and forth. Their trousers do nothing to mask the heat, and she doesn't bother withholding what the sensation elicits from her: the sharp sucking of air between her teeth, a ragged exhale, a soft, needy "oh." ]
Whenever you're hungry. [ Comes the reply, spoken on a sigh. There are pink spots in her cheeks, helped along by the drink but owed to the contact. ] Just say the word.
[ It’s a good reminder: Sciel isn’t some delicate flower. She comes from a sturdy farming background, strong arms and lean muscle, working with her hands rather than as some cloistered academic. She rocks down into his lap and he makes a helpless noise into her jaw, involuntary, wanting. What’s the word. What should the word be, he wonders— ]
Maintenant, s’il vous plait, [ Verso murmurs, polite as any gentleman. Now, if you please.
He’s impatient. They’re both impatient. The ever-encroaching awareness of the end of the world and her dwindling timeframe makes it easier to seize the day, allow oneself this indulgence. And so with a sudden whirl of movement, Verso lifts her and rolls them over; it’s a tangle of limbs, Sciel’s back hitting the soft grassy ground through the blanket, a laugh shaken out of his lungs at the slightly ungainly reshuffling and manhandling.
And this, too, could be fun; he’s already reminding himself that he should challenge her to some training matches along their trip, see what the arena champion’s capable of, spar and wrestle until they’re both panting and sweating and perhaps the fight could take a turn.
But for now: she’s on her back and Verso starts to migrate downwards. He pushes up the fabric of the woman’s shirt, rolling it up over the arch of her ribs and exposing a stretch of bare tanned skin, until he’s able to mouth along those tattoos from Sciel’s collar bone, enough to follow them all the way down; he traces the path of those delicate painted lines, mapping them downward, eventually reaching a nipple with an exploratory curl of tongue before he closes his mouth over her. ]
I’d wanted to see the rest of these tattoos, [ he admits, his voice heated. ]
[ It's nice: hearing him come undone, even just a little. To this point, he's been a man of jokes and diversion, the occasional story when she can pry one out of him, but not often anything that feels...raw. And though this too could be a performance, she somehow doubts he'd go so far as to proposition her with no real interest.
Or maybe she just hopes that isn't the case.
Fortunately, Sciel isn't an overthinker in the most complicated of times, and she's certainly not one now. He repositions them so her back is to the blanket, and she can't help but flash another grin at the sound of his laugh in having done so. It's a little clumsy in the way of first handling a new body, but she finds it all incredibly charming.
Even more so when he begins moving the fabric of her clothes aside, trailing his lips along her skin with greater freedom. When his mouth finds her breast, tongue dancing over her nipple, she utters a slow, satisfied moan. ]
Mm, well -- make sure you get a good look. [ Her chest rises and falls with a deep breath, hips shifting beneath him. ] There's a lot to take in.
[ Meanwhile, she finds herself unoccupied. That's okay in some situations -- she's more then happy to just savor the moment when it's called for -- but here, she wants to touch him. To savor the new experience by committing the details of his body to the memory of her fingertips. So she moves an arm to tangle again in the back of his hair, nails biting lightly where they find purchase. ]
So much monsieur wants to see and taste. [ Sciel says, tone light, but voice low. ] What'll it be next?
Wherever mademoiselle pleases, [ Verso practically purrs, pressing another kiss to the curve of her breast, tilting his head once more into the rake and scratch of Sciel’s nails. He wants to be touched, aches to be touched, but he has a goal first, and the man is goal-driven and focused on a particular objective to start. He learned single-minded focus on the expeditions, too.
And this is a large part of the enjoyment: discovering a new body and how it ticks, wanting to find out where she’s ticklish and what she likes and what’ll make her hands involuntarily tighten in his hair and push him where she wants him. See what sort of interesting noises he can get out of her in turn.
But as Verso moves ever further downward— he pauses, hands splayed against her bare hips and fingers hooked into the band of her trousers, facing the gruesomely large scar Sciel keeps on display across her exposed stomach, much like the one over his eye. It risks marring the mood of the moment, but he finds himself needing to ask, to be certain, to not risk touching where he shouldn’t go. Everyone’s got wounds, physical and otherwise. His voice is quiet but warm, careful: ]
[ It's been too long, her body tells her, and Sciel agrees. Her chest rises and falls in languid breaths, pulse overeager beneath her skin. As he explores the peaks and valley of her chest, she traces circles along his scalp, fingers teasing through his hair and catching occasionally when he mouths at just the right spot and sends an electric jolt from head to toe.
All this before he even begins wandering further down. She bites her lip, anticipatory, and sends her other hand over his shoulder and upper back (while she can still reach it), drawing needy lines over his shirt.
There's a pause. Ah. They haven't talked about the scar, of course. He'd mentioned -- not in great detail, naturally -- how he'd gotten his own, but she'd deferred when he'd asked about hers in return. So when it comes up in this context, she looks at him with a more inscrutable expression than usual, considering. ]
...No, it's okay. Just...be gentle. It's a little sensitive.
[ There's another brief pause before she sits up a touch, tugging him forward and capturing his lips in one last kiss before freeing him to return to the important work he'd just started somewhere near her navel. ]
Thanks. For asking. [ Not everyone would. To convey that he hasn't in fact soured the mood, she offers an encouraging smile -- one tinted with the desire that still very much burns in her belly -- and returns her hands to their respective paths along his back and head. ]
[ Verso lets himself stay up there momentarily, both of them drawn partially upright and pulled back into another kiss. And that renewed kiss somehow disorientingly feels even more intimate than when he was sucking on her tits just a few moments earlier — there’s an emotion buzzing beneath his skin at her gratitude — and all of it is a dangerous prospect, a slippery slope.
They were supposed to have fun, not to care. It’s presumably not what either of them had signed up for, and yet. ]
We want this to be enjoyable for both of us, after all, [ he murmurs, and kisses Sciel again. Hand cradling her cheek, forehead tipping against hers, a lingering tenderness,
and then, escaping that moment of vulnerability before it can become too raw and mortifying, he sinks back down the line of her muscled body. This part is easier. This part is simply bodies, and pleasure. His lips brush that largest scar, a kindness, but then he doesn’t stay on it for too long, instead going for her clothes to drag those hardy expeditioner trousers and underwear down her hips, baring her to view. Verso follows it down until he’s sprawled between Sciel’s legs, his teeth nipping playfully at the flesh of her inner thigh.
They’ve played coy enough for the night: already dancing around the issue in all their messages, in this flirtatious outing, saying all the things they’re not saying. Alors: enough of that. He desperately wants to taste her and so he finally does, with the drag of his tongue licking a stripe up the core of her before finding her clit, with the scrape of his beard against her thighs, hands running up her hips. ]
[ She hadn't intended to imbue the moment with anything more than her gratitude. And yet...the kiss does strike her as it does him: strangely charged in a way she hadn't anticipated. Maybe it's a natural consequence of having the scar and its associated emotions in her mind, she thinks. Because this kiss does feel much more intimate than the one earlier, when it'd merely been the gateway to lead them down a path of the purely carnal. Of...fun, and distraction. But even when that contact breaks, he closes the distance again, and it's still there.
A little alarm sounds in the back of her mind: one that only increases in strength when his hand cups her face and he closes the distance to bring their foreheads together.
Merde. It's dangerous territory for two people who might one or both be dead tomorrow. It's...too reminiscent of sweet little moments that she'd last experienced with a man she'd married, then buried (though she hadn't really been able to do that, had she - )
Sciel is rapidly realizing she needs to readjust the tone of their picnic when he does it for her, slipping away and down, down. She releases a breath she'd unconscionably been holding, expression evening out again to something much more relaxed. Her hand follows his head as it goes, threading into his hair in anticipation of the anchor she knows she'll need when he -
Ah. There are immediate waves of pleasure at the trail of his tongue, the encouraging abrasion of his beard, the contact at her clit, which pulses immediately in response. Sciel doesn't bother to mask the sound that escapes her at all of this, head swimming with a desperate need that has her grip tightening at his head, nails biting in his skin elsewhere. ]
Fuck. Verso - [ She bites down hard on her lower lip, but nothing can ground her in the face of the full-body chill that has her light as air. ] Mm, you feel-...amazing.
[ Maybe they don't need to continue with the Expedition, her overcome body posits. They can just stay here forever and lose themselves in each other's bodies the way a good fight or glass of wine just can't manage. It's a perfectly reasonable thought. ]
[ It’s perfectly reasonable, and somewhere along the way there had been a few years where Verso wanted nothing more than that. He’d occasionally been lost in a bohemian malaise, trying to persuade those brave expeditioners to save themselves and turn back. The world is slowly, inexorably ending; why fight it? Who was he to stand in the way of fate?
Sometimes it feels like the only sensible thing left in the world, to simply enjoy oneself with the few meager years remaining to you. (Sometimes he wonders what’ll happen when the Monolith hits zero. Will the entire situation resolve itself without his needing to do anything? If he just waits another interminable few years, will the Canvas finally be erased; or will everyone be swept away into petals and leave him desperately alone, immortal, the Dessendres the only people remaining in this world?)
No matter. Stop worrying about it, old man. This is one of the few reliable, dependable ways to get Verso out of his melancholic head entirely: bending all of his energy and single-minded attention to pleasure instead, the taste of Sciel with his head buried between her legs, anchoring himself back in his body and someone else’s body and their shared sensation. He can’t answer her in words but he gives a humming laugh into her cunt; the curl and flick of tongue, his jaw working, one forearm balanced against her stomach to pin her in place beneath his ministrations.
He’d talked a big game earlier — his reckless mouth does have a tendency to land him in hot water — and so he’s determined to live up to the promise. ]
[ The lightness curling in her belly mingles with the wine into something warm and sweet and lovely, and Sciel utters a contented sigh as she languishes in it. Every stroke of his tongue has her alight with sensation, and the hand not carding through his hair continues its travel, stopping briefly to grasp hungrily at the muscle of his upper arm. It's too easy to forget the difference of actually having a lover, she thinks, letting her body sink wholly into the feeling as if into quicksand.
It's so electric that it's if she'd never been touched before in her life. Her teeth flash in a grin of satisfaction as she rolls her head back, releasing an exhale on a hiss. ]
I see you weren't all talk. [ Far from it. He is, of course, able to tell how effective his methods are by the slick between her thighs, clit responding with an insistent throb to each press of his tongue. Her mind is completely split between never wanting him to remove his mouth from her cunt and simultaneously wanting very much to shoot up, straddle him on the blanket, and ride them both into release.
It's hard to argue with the option that's currently filling her with maddening bliss, though. ]
And the hands of a pianist... [ She trails off, green eyes on him again, tongue trailing lazily across her bottom lip. ] But how well can you play me?
[ Say this for immortality: the man’s had long years of experience and practice to get good at this, methodically taking others apart and letting himself get wrecked in turn. But each new partner brings something new, a puzzle-piece to be disassembled and put back together, and he finds that he delights in Sciel’s straightforward directness.
Verso draws back slightly to catch his breath, his beard wet and glistening with her, as he flashes the woman a grin from below. ]
There’s not that many pianos out here on the Continent. I do miss playing [ and in that small beat of a pause, fermata, point d’orgue, he keeps his gaze locked on Sciel’s as he sinks a finger into her, ] instruments.
[ The crook of a knuckle; the press of one long clever finger, and then a second. Not exactly the same as playing a sonata, but still a test of dexterity and rhythm. Verso obediently bends his head back down to his work, now balancing the combination of hot suction and his mouth latched onto her clit, the lave of tongue, the steady thrust of his fingers joining the counterpoint to slowly work her open. ]
[ He'll find her body warm and inviting: more than ready for him to enter and explore. And it's clear to Sciel that he's had enough experience in this particular arena to effortlessly identify all of the ways to make her weak to his touch, if the way she completely melts into his attentions are any indication. She relishes the way her skin tingles from the inside out, blood pumping in her ears in insistent thuds that seem to match the rhythm of Verso's busy fingers. Her hips lift a little of their own accord, squirming in the blooming tension that he elicits even while she desperately tries to make a meal out of the feeling.
That's made more difficult, though, as a combined result of his dexterous touch and her own dry spell of trysts. Each thrust, each swirl of his tongue contributes to her gentle moans and to the hitching of her breath as she loses herself more and more in the maddening sensation.
This won't be the last time, she promises herself, feeling the pinpricks of the not-so-distant wave building on the horizon. Now that she's had a taste of what they might get up to between missions, on those otherwise calm and uneventful nights at camp, she's wholly unwilling to let it end as an experiment.
Tomorrow fucking comes, yes, and she intends to do the same. ]
...Don't stop. [ She breathes, voice a low warning. ]
[ There’s a cadence to this, calculated staccato, testing and then following her reactions: applying pressure wherever it wrings out a gasp or another trembling moan. The flex of wrist and dogged pump of his fingers accompanying the spasm of the woman’s leg, the tilt of her knee against his shoulder, her hands grasping into his ever more rumpled hair.
He’s glad that they positioned their picnic far enough away that, thank god, Maelle can’t overhear what they’re getting up to. But this does feel like cracking a door open that he doesn’t know how to close again; how could they, now that this is an option? It’s new ways to entertain themselves around camp which aren’t just the same empty rituals of killing time, staring up at the night sky, staring at the Monolith and the Paintress in the distance, feeling the hours and days and lonely nights drag inexorably on, joyless.
This is so much better: chasing that tempestuous edge, trying to drive her over it. ]
Sciel, [ he murmurs against her. He wants to feel her fall apart on his face and his hands, the plucked-string harp —
And by the time Sciel finally crashes into her orgasm, he’ll be practically as wound-up, blood a low throb under his skin, hard and aching with it; but he extricates himself to rejoin her lying further up on the blanket, his chin propped against his forearm, pleased with himself. Verso licks his fingers clean like he’s just had some delectable pastry from a pâtisserie, before proclaiming: ]
[ He guides her to crescendo with apparent ease, and she gives herself fully to its coming. The buzz of pleasure reaches its zenith -- a point at which she feels she might truly come undone, simply cease being and blow away with the wind -- before it breaks, rippling through her in wonderful shudders. They've kept their distance from camp, yes, and even so she keeps herself in check...for the most part, though she's also unwilling to completely let his service go without one or two exultant moans to mark the occasion.
After she comes, Sciel relaxes against him with a blissful smile, body still pulsing with heightened sensitivity, skin aglow with pleasure. ]
I like my name in your mouth almost as much as I like my body in your mouth. [ Comes the murmured reply as he joins her further up on the blanket. Her cheeks are two red blooms, prickling hot on her face, which he'll feel against him as she pulls him in again for a languid kiss.
She tastes herself on his lips and hums, satisfied. ...And at the same time, somehow still hungry for much more. Her appetite is clear in the way the kiss changes, her tongue pressing inquisitively to push in, to meet his and taste even more. At the same time she snakes a hand down between them, ghosting tantalizingly across his lap and circling him there. ]
I'm torn. [ Sciel reports, eyeing him like a meal, her smile crooked and daring. ] Between wanting to return the favor, and wanting this -- [ Here she more fully covers him with her hand, albeit through fabric, fingering where he strains against his trousers. ] inside me. Any thoughts...?
[ It’s a flame lit, still burning, not tamped down or dimmed at all. Sparked along by that insistent and demanding kiss, the press of Sciel’s hand through his trousers, Verso half-gasping half-laughing into her mouth. His hips unconsciously judder into her touch, desperate for it. For all his experience, the current dry spell had been— long, and solitary. The shine had gone off it for a while, the appeal of the chase waning when they’re all inevitably doomed to die regardless, but Sciel… oh, she’s worth it. Worth the leap and the effort. The mutual diversion. ]
What a menu of choices, [ he says, musingly, head tilting to the side with a mock-thoughtful expression as if surveying a literal list of options. The night sprawls out ahead of them, a smorgasbord of everything they’d like to do to each other. Aperitif, entrée, dessert and digestif. Prelude and main event.
Verso kisses her again and his teeth drag at her bottom lip. Humming consideration, ]
D’accord. I think we’ve warmed up enough, don’t you? I want to feel you around me. All of you.
[ That's it, then. Sciel -- who would've been pleased either way -- offers him only a quirked brow and lopsided smile before proceeding. He's helpfully done away with her own bottoms, so all she has to do is slip off her already shrugged top over her head before casting it into the grass nearby. Then (bared skin aglow in the starlight that filters through the grove) she props herself up and assesses him with a thoughtful hum.
Part of her just wants wants to free him from his trousers and leave it at that, favouring expediency and her ever-smoldering need over anything else. But...even with emotions and other ties as part of the equation, she does want it to be special. It is special, regardless of how fleeting it may be. So she slips her hand from him to finger at the hem of his shirt, tutting admonishingly. ]
I'd like to feel and see all of you. [ And if he's compliant, she'll assist in doing away with his own clothes, letting them unceremoniously join her own forgotten pieces where they lay nearby. Once that's taken care of, she takes a moment to drink up the sight of him lying there, tracing a line along the landscape of his body: over the muscle of his upper arm, across his navel, down his thigh. ]
Parfait. [ Sciel closes the gap to steal another kiss, mirroring the last he'd taken with a brief drag of the teeth, before swinging her leg over him again so she's hovering above, chest rising and falling with both post-orgasm rush and anticipatory flutter.
If he wants to flip her around again, she won't complain: Sciel isn't picky, particularly in this arena. Otherwise, there's only a brief pause more before she lowers herself gradually onto him, biting her lower lip as he presses within, adjusting herself accordingly.
Fuck. Even just the initial pressure is dizzyingly good, and they've only just begun. ]
[ It’s another pleasant playful jumble of limbs and clothing then, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and discarding it somewhere in the grass, then kicking trousers loose, Sciel’s hands roaming across this new canvas of bare skin, Verso’s body only a bit more scarred than her own with the ones he hadn’t bothered healing.
He’s mostly built of wiry functional muscle: the mark of someone who spends most of his time fighting and swimming and running for his life from nevrons. The muscle in his stomach leaps as her hand trail downwards, with another brief laugh — he’s a little ticklish — how many years has it been since he even remembered that he could be ticklish?
The man’s also clearly not complaining about the position as Sciel swings herself over him, and slowly starts to sink down and take him into her inch-by-inch. A hitch of breath, his head flung back on the blanket and black hair looking even more unruly, his hands sliding up the firm lines of her thighs. He heaves a ragged exhale, chest rising and falling. His thumb absentmindedly strokes the edge of Sciel’s hip, so wholly distracted by the sensation of being fully seated within her, the warm heat and pressure as she settles into place. ]
Merde, [ he murmurs. ] You’re so— god, Sciel, you feel so good—
[ The time that she takes to look him over, once all their clothes have been tossed aside, is well spent. Those bright, inquisitive eyes roam across all the newly-exposed skin, noting the scars and freckles that had previously hid beneath his many layers. Sciel splays a hand against his chest, palm pressing briefly to his breast bone before slipping along the collar, enjoying the slow intimacy of just mapping out the landscape of him that is hers, now, to witness. There are a lot of stories on this body: like the one over his eye, Verso maintains some scars that hasn't neglected to heal, for whatever reason.
If he claims these, too, are proof that he isn't vain, she'll smack him. Playfully!
It's another delight to discover the effect her wandering fingers have, though this particular reaction isn't anything amorous. He shivers with the telltale signs of being ticklish, of all things, and Sciel can't help but laugh lightly with the revelation. And though she does resist the urge to do it again in the name of maintaining the mood, this is another tidbit about their immortal companion that she'll happily exploit later.
For now, though, she's aiming to drive him mad in other ways. And though she might not know yet what exactly it is that brings this particular man to the edge more than anything else, Sciel is nothing if not insightful. That attentive gaze drinks up every expression, each twitch of his body, all the reactions that help guide her further along a path that will make the night a roaring successful for them both. So once she fully lowers herself so they're fully flush, she begins to rock her hips with that same watchful interest, adjusting her position, her speed, to acquiesce to the little unspoken directions she senses from her partner.
Of course, she's very much here for her own pleasure, too, but that's easier done with him having already gotten her off once. The extremely recent memory of him buried between her legs brings an additional level of heat and slick, making it all the easier to fully take him inside her, to ride him without any discomfort.
Quite the opposite. Sciel rolls her head back briefly, teeth flashing in a blissful grin. ]
You too — [ Her breath hitches, and she returns her attention to him, meeting that striking, icy gaze. ] Mm, you're-... You feel incredible, inside me...
[ It’s a give-and-take, a mutual negotiation written in body language, a new book to learn. The way he’d measured Sciel earlier, working her over and trying to find the ways to make her tick, now it’s her turn to memorise him in turn.
She takes it a piacere, at pleasure, carving out their own rhythm with the roll of her hips, the rise-and-fall, the adjustment of the tempo. And Verso’s lost in the movement, the warmth and heat and slick slide of her on his cock. She’s drenched and he’s dizzied, breath shallow, all his awareness narrowing down to the point where they meet.
Sciel always looks amazing as far as he’s concerned, but she’s particularly glorious like this, seen from this unique angle: straddling him, the flex of muscle above him, sweat starting to gleam on her skin. Verso’s hands have settled on her thighs, the crook of one knee, an anchoring touch. He adjusts on the blanket just enough to brace one foot against the soft grass, carefully-timed leverage to start to push up into her, hips rising to meet hers at just the right moment.
His words are a messy tangle: a gasp, a smattering of curses in French, the sound of their bodies colliding in this star-lit forest clearing, yes and yes and yes. ]
[ Moments like these -- the ones you truly savor -- seem to both stretch on endlessly and come to an end too soon. It's why Sciel is so focused on grounding herself in the present and the sensation of their bodies moving together, etching into her mind the way that he fills her, the madness it inspires. Her tongue flits out across her lips as they part in a hitched breath (one of many), sliding a hand down to clutch at his upper arm, the other hanging loose at her side.
So recently come undone the first time, the occasional brush of him against her clit drives a frenzy of sensation, and though it's a lot, it's none of it bad. The expeditioner hisses when the contact tilts more into overstimulation but otherwise does nothing to move herself, instead focusing fully on their shared rhythm, using each sound he utters as fuel for the fire that spurs her further on. ]
Verso -- [ His name on her lips is a needy intercession as her hunger builds and her pace continues on, unrelenting. There's a moment as she arcs her back, chin lifting skyward, seemingly soaking up the pure intensity of the sex with relish. It isn't long, though, before that eager gaze finds him again, her previously-unoccupied hand splaying against his thigh. ]
Come for me? [ Spoken low, phrased as a question, but with an undeniable insistence. ]
[ Hearing Verso in her voice gone needy and ragged, that winds him even tighter, a throb of desire in time with the rise-and-fall of her hips.
Because he did this. No matter the lifetimes that happened before him, no matter that he’s an inadequate stand-in for another better Verso, he could still do this on his own and for no other reason than they both wanted to: he could wring Sciel’s orgasm from her with his tongue, he could feel her clenched around him, an enjoyable evening for both of them despite the imminent end of the world. ]
I like, [ gasping, an echo of her earlier words, grinning at her from below, ] my name in your mouth.
[ And say this for Verso Dessendre: he’s desperately eager-to-please. Quick to follow someone more strong-willed than he is, prone to wanting to make others happy as best he can. So with Sciel grinding down on him, the pressure of her grasping his thigh as he thrusts up into her, come for me, and so it’s not long before he does: a rising crescendo, tipping him over the edge with a loud moan.
He lets go. Lets his brain finally fizz out into pleasant sated emptiness. One of the best ways to clear his head, not worry about anything else except the warmth and movement of another body; no grand disasters to fixate on, not the Canvas nor the Gommage nor the Monolith haunting the distance. Just pleasure, and nothingness. ]
[ Just as he relishes the roughness in her voice, Sciel thrills at the way he comes apart beneath her, repeating her words back to her with that cocky grin to punctuate. She exhales roughly, meeting it with a heady smirk of her own as she moves against him with all the lithe confidence of a dancer. Her own arousal surges with a fresh jolt as he comes, drinking up the sound of his pleasure as they ride it out: his body shuddering until it all ebbs, her gradually easing the encouraging circle of her hips.
She stills, both of them panting and glistening with the sheen of what they've done to each other. Flushed and immensely satisfied, Sciel carefully slips from him, completely unhurried as she lifts herself from his spent cock and moves instead to lie beside him on the blanket. As she stares upward at the treetops, she crosses a hand over to ghost along his side, tracing the shape of his shoulder down across his chest and navel, then back up again. ]
We may end up skinny-dipping after all. [ Sciel eventually says, and even if he doesn't see it, the grin is present in her voice. There's no way they can go back to camp like this, and...if she's loathe to let their time come to an end, than it's only a secondary motivation. ] And I'm not going to let such a lovely picnic go to waste.
[ How often do they get charcuterie? Never.
There's a pause as she catches her breath, finally withdrawing her hand to lay both over her stomach. ]
...That was fun. [ She says, voice a little softer, a little more earnest. ] I'm glad you said something. I'd been thinking about asking if you had any interest, but you beat me to it.
[ Verso laughs at the point about the skinny-dipping; it’s true, they’re sweaty and sticky, this part is always so unavoidably messy. And with no showers or baths out here, they’ll have to make do with plunging into the nearest lake. But that’s part of the enjoyment, he supposes. Pinning himself in his own body, reminding himself what flesh-and-blood feels like. (You’re real. This part is real enough, for now.)
And it’s a warm enough evening that it’s not bad, staying out here, sprawled un-self-conscious beside each other. They can enjoy their picnic naked (how very French of them) before heading down to the water wash off. It’s the kind of temperate which comes from a beautifully-painted summer’s night, ever-unchanging and perfect: the weather won’t start getting brisk or chilly until they travel further north, into the autumnal Falling Leaves or the snowy mountains.
He knocks his bare knee lightly into Sciel’s, hands laced over his own stomach, looking up into the sky. ]
Ah, good. I thought I’d picked up on some hints, so I’m glad to know I wasn’t off the mark— [ But it had still felt like a gamble. It’s been a while since he risked it, changing his dynamic with an expeditioner. ]
How embarrassing it’d have been, if I prepared a whole romantic moonlit picnic and it turned out you actually just wanted the charcuterie but not the saucisson.
[ That surprises a true laugh out of her, though she's quick to follow it with a retaliatory knock against his knee in turn. ]
Awful. [ Sciel groans, flipping around so she's lying on her stomach, legs propped up, face braced in one of her hands. The other reaches out to smooth out some of the hair that's stuck to his forehead...before changing gears and pinching the tip of his nose instead. ] It is really...nice though, you know. You didn't have to do all of this, but I'm glad you did.
[ It's...special. In a way she hadn't been expecting. The whole thing is a treat for them both: a suite of luxuries that they don't often get, and may not have again.
As such, Sciel reaches again for the wine, refilling both their glasses and passing it his way. ]
"Can't let it go to waste." [ She echoes his earlier words, lips quirking upward playfully. They'll get to the food, too, but the bottle is what has her attention. They'd been discussing how difficult it was to find drinks around the Continent these days, and wherever he found this, he'd found a good one.
Sciel takes another sip, savouring the sharpness at the back of her tongue. ]
How long has it been, since you were last with someone? [ She asks. Sciel is endlessly inquisitive and non-judgemental in equal measure, so her tone is light and curious as she poses the question. ] You're very good.
[ To Verso’s credit, he doesn’t bask smugly in that compliment (although it does warm something in his chest, pleased, proud). He ruins it a little a second later, by lifting his head only slightly to try a sip of the wine; he chokes and coughs as it almost goes down his windpipe, and then props himself further up on an elbow to drink it properly. From where he sits, he lets his gaze wander, openly admiring the curve of Sciel’s ass, the turn of her calf. It’s still a nice view.
He could tell her down to the exact year how long it’s been since he had a significant relationship (sixty-seven years). But there’s a thoughtful expression crinkling his brow, thinking back and doing the math, trying to remember the last time he slept with someone. ]
A few years, [ Verso says, musing. ] Perhaps about ten.
[ Was it Olivier on 42? He can’t even remember. The names and expeditions have started to blur together, and that’s a grim thought: that years from now, Sciel might just be another hazy recollection, another body, dead like all the rest of them. He doesn’t like the idea.
And as gunshy as he is to share most personal information, it’s probably unfair to be completely aloof after having been balls-deep in her only a few minutes ago. And so this part seems safe enough to admit: ]
It was more common earlier. Everyone’s very game for trysts and flings when they’re staring down the end of the world, but— I lost interest, after a while. [ Lost interest in most things. That apathetic fugue, making him hole up in that shitty shack and isolate himself from the Grandis and gestrals and Esquie and even Monoco.
With a ghost of humour in his voice, behind the edge of that wine-glass: ] Bit harder to socialise out here, can’t just pick up someone from the nearest bar —
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Like so: enjoying the weight of Sciel straddling him, Verso leaning further into the touch, one hand sliding under her cropped top to touch warm bare skin and settle on her hip. She can already feel him half-hard beneath her; it has, of course, been a while since the last time he crossed this particular threshold with an Expeditioner —
It’s worth it. They’ve both decided it’s worth it.
And it’s a warm night; he hadn’t been wearing his antiquated expedition jacket, already slung over a nearby log, so he’s just in the standard-issue black trousers and white button-up shirt. Evidently there were some ulterior motives tonight, but at least they’re the pleasant kind. ]
Hm, [ Verso murmurs. Thoughtful, weighing Sciel’s words, as if examining them from all angles before deciding: ] And I’d like to find out how you taste.
[ More than he has already, clearly. ]
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Don't worry about being gentle. [ She murmurs, as if he'd been pressing chaste kisses to her hands and not ravaging the landscape of her neck. ] I'm not fragile.
[ His hand begins to roam and so does hers, firmly sliding along the muscle of his arms, taking in every detail as though this may be her only opportunity (and it may be, all things considered). Those wandering fingers find the back of his shirt and trace his spine, settling there for now as her attention returns to their hips and the evidence of his desire she feels there. Exhaling roughly, her teeth flashing in an amorous grin, she begins to shift against him, watching his reaction closely as she presses down and moves languidly back and forth. Their trousers do nothing to mask the heat, and she doesn't bother withholding what the sensation elicits from her: the sharp sucking of air between her teeth, a ragged exhale, a soft, needy "oh." ]
Whenever you're hungry. [ Comes the reply, spoken on a sigh. There are pink spots in her cheeks, helped along by the drink but owed to the contact. ] Just say the word.
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Maintenant, s’il vous plait, [ Verso murmurs, polite as any gentleman. Now, if you please.
He’s impatient. They’re both impatient. The ever-encroaching awareness of the end of the world and her dwindling timeframe makes it easier to seize the day, allow oneself this indulgence. And so with a sudden whirl of movement, Verso lifts her and rolls them over; it’s a tangle of limbs, Sciel’s back hitting the soft grassy ground through the blanket, a laugh shaken out of his lungs at the slightly ungainly reshuffling and manhandling.
And this, too, could be fun; he’s already reminding himself that he should challenge her to some training matches along their trip, see what the arena champion’s capable of, spar and wrestle until they’re both panting and sweating and perhaps the fight could take a turn.
But for now: she’s on her back and Verso starts to migrate downwards. He pushes up the fabric of the woman’s shirt, rolling it up over the arch of her ribs and exposing a stretch of bare tanned skin, until he’s able to mouth along those tattoos from Sciel’s collar bone, enough to follow them all the way down; he traces the path of those delicate painted lines, mapping them downward, eventually reaching a nipple with an exploratory curl of tongue before he closes his mouth over her. ]
I’d wanted to see the rest of these tattoos, [ he admits, his voice heated. ]
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Or maybe she just hopes that isn't the case.
Fortunately, Sciel isn't an overthinker in the most complicated of times, and she's certainly not one now. He repositions them so her back is to the blanket, and she can't help but flash another grin at the sound of his laugh in having done so. It's a little clumsy in the way of first handling a new body, but she finds it all incredibly charming.
Even more so when he begins moving the fabric of her clothes aside, trailing his lips along her skin with greater freedom. When his mouth finds her breast, tongue dancing over her nipple, she utters a slow, satisfied moan. ]
Mm, well -- make sure you get a good look. [ Her chest rises and falls with a deep breath, hips shifting beneath him. ] There's a lot to take in.
[ Meanwhile, she finds herself unoccupied. That's okay in some situations -- she's more then happy to just savor the moment when it's called for -- but here, she wants to touch him. To savor the new experience by committing the details of his body to the memory of her fingertips. So she moves an arm to tangle again in the back of his hair, nails biting lightly where they find purchase. ]
So much monsieur wants to see and taste. [ Sciel says, tone light, but voice low. ] What'll it be next?
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And this is a large part of the enjoyment: discovering a new body and how it ticks, wanting to find out where she’s ticklish and what she likes and what’ll make her hands involuntarily tighten in his hair and push him where she wants him. See what sort of interesting noises he can get out of her in turn.
But as Verso moves ever further downward— he pauses, hands splayed against her bare hips and fingers hooked into the band of her trousers, facing the gruesomely large scar Sciel keeps on display across her exposed stomach, much like the one over his eye. It risks marring the mood of the moment, but he finds himself needing to ask, to be certain, to not risk touching where he shouldn’t go. Everyone’s got wounds, physical and otherwise. His voice is quiet but warm, careful: ]
If you don’t like being touched here, I can—
[ Avoid it. Not linger. Keep moving. ]
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All this before he even begins wandering further down. She bites her lip, anticipatory, and sends her other hand over his shoulder and upper back (while she can still reach it), drawing needy lines over his shirt.
There's a pause. Ah. They haven't talked about the scar, of course. He'd mentioned -- not in great detail, naturally -- how he'd gotten his own, but she'd deferred when he'd asked about hers in return. So when it comes up in this context, she looks at him with a more inscrutable expression than usual, considering. ]
...No, it's okay. Just...be gentle. It's a little sensitive.
[ There's another brief pause before she sits up a touch, tugging him forward and capturing his lips in one last kiss before freeing him to return to the important work he'd just started somewhere near her navel. ]
Thanks. For asking. [ Not everyone would. To convey that he hasn't in fact soured the mood, she offers an encouraging smile -- one tinted with the desire that still very much burns in her belly -- and returns her hands to their respective paths along his back and head. ]
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They were supposed to have fun, not to care. It’s presumably not what either of them had signed up for, and yet. ]
We want this to be enjoyable for both of us, after all, [ he murmurs, and kisses Sciel again. Hand cradling her cheek, forehead tipping against hers, a lingering tenderness,
and then, escaping that moment of vulnerability before it can become too raw and mortifying, he sinks back down the line of her muscled body. This part is easier. This part is simply bodies, and pleasure. His lips brush that largest scar, a kindness, but then he doesn’t stay on it for too long, instead going for her clothes to drag those hardy expeditioner trousers and underwear down her hips, baring her to view. Verso follows it down until he’s sprawled between Sciel’s legs, his teeth nipping playfully at the flesh of her inner thigh.
They’ve played coy enough for the night: already dancing around the issue in all their messages, in this flirtatious outing, saying all the things they’re not saying. Alors: enough of that. He desperately wants to taste her and so he finally does, with the drag of his tongue licking a stripe up the core of her before finding her clit, with the scrape of his beard against her thighs, hands running up her hips. ]
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A little alarm sounds in the back of her mind: one that only increases in strength when his hand cups her face and he closes the distance to bring their foreheads together.
Merde. It's dangerous territory for two people who might one or both be dead tomorrow. It's...too reminiscent of sweet little moments that she'd last experienced with a man she'd married, then buried (though she hadn't really been able to do that, had she - )
Sciel is rapidly realizing she needs to readjust the tone of their picnic when he does it for her, slipping away and down, down. She releases a breath she'd unconscionably been holding, expression evening out again to something much more relaxed. Her hand follows his head as it goes, threading into his hair in anticipation of the anchor she knows she'll need when he -
Ah. There are immediate waves of pleasure at the trail of his tongue, the encouraging abrasion of his beard, the contact at her clit, which pulses immediately in response. Sciel doesn't bother to mask the sound that escapes her at all of this, head swimming with a desperate need that has her grip tightening at his head, nails biting in his skin elsewhere. ]
Fuck. Verso - [ She bites down hard on her lower lip, but nothing can ground her in the face of the full-body chill that has her light as air. ] Mm, you feel-...amazing.
[ Maybe they don't need to continue with the Expedition, her overcome body posits. They can just stay here forever and lose themselves in each other's bodies the way a good fight or glass of wine just can't manage. It's a perfectly reasonable thought. ]
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Sometimes it feels like the only sensible thing left in the world, to simply enjoy oneself with the few meager years remaining to you. (Sometimes he wonders what’ll happen when the Monolith hits zero. Will the entire situation resolve itself without his needing to do anything? If he just waits another interminable few years, will the Canvas finally be erased; or will everyone be swept away into petals and leave him desperately alone, immortal, the Dessendres the only people remaining in this world?)
No matter. Stop worrying about it, old man. This is one of the few reliable, dependable ways to get Verso out of his melancholic head entirely: bending all of his energy and single-minded attention to pleasure instead, the taste of Sciel with his head buried between her legs, anchoring himself back in his body and someone else’s body and their shared sensation. He can’t answer her in words but he gives a humming laugh into her cunt; the curl and flick of tongue, his jaw working, one forearm balanced against her stomach to pin her in place beneath his ministrations.
He’d talked a big game earlier — his reckless mouth does have a tendency to land him in hot water — and so he’s determined to live up to the promise. ]
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It's so electric that it's if she'd never been touched before in her life. Her teeth flash in a grin of satisfaction as she rolls her head back, releasing an exhale on a hiss. ]
I see you weren't all talk. [ Far from it. He is, of course, able to tell how effective his methods are by the slick between her thighs, clit responding with an insistent throb to each press of his tongue. Her mind is completely split between never wanting him to remove his mouth from her cunt and simultaneously wanting very much to shoot up, straddle him on the blanket, and ride them both into release.
It's hard to argue with the option that's currently filling her with maddening bliss, though. ]
And the hands of a pianist... [ She trails off, green eyes on him again, tongue trailing lazily across her bottom lip. ] But how well can you play me?
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Verso draws back slightly to catch his breath, his beard wet and glistening with her, as he flashes the woman a grin from below. ]
There’s not that many pianos out here on the Continent. I do miss playing [ and in that small beat of a pause, fermata, point d’orgue, he keeps his gaze locked on Sciel’s as he sinks a finger into her, ] instruments.
[ The crook of a knuckle; the press of one long clever finger, and then a second. Not exactly the same as playing a sonata, but still a test of dexterity and rhythm. Verso obediently bends his head back down to his work, now balancing the combination of hot suction and his mouth latched onto her clit, the lave of tongue, the steady thrust of his fingers joining the counterpoint to slowly work her open. ]
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That's made more difficult, though, as a combined result of his dexterous touch and her own dry spell of trysts. Each thrust, each swirl of his tongue contributes to her gentle moans and to the hitching of her breath as she loses herself more and more in the maddening sensation.
This won't be the last time, she promises herself, feeling the pinpricks of the not-so-distant wave building on the horizon. Now that she's had a taste of what they might get up to between missions, on those otherwise calm and uneventful nights at camp, she's wholly unwilling to let it end as an experiment.
Tomorrow fucking comes, yes, and she intends to do the same. ]
...Don't stop. [ She breathes, voice a low warning. ]
LMAO delighted at that pun
He’s glad that they positioned their picnic far enough away that, thank god, Maelle can’t overhear what they’re getting up to. But this does feel like cracking a door open that he doesn’t know how to close again; how could they, now that this is an option? It’s new ways to entertain themselves around camp which aren’t just the same empty rituals of killing time, staring up at the night sky, staring at the Monolith and the Paintress in the distance, feeling the hours and days and lonely nights drag inexorably on, joyless.
This is so much better: chasing that tempestuous edge, trying to drive her over it. ]
Sciel, [ he murmurs against her. He wants to feel her fall apart on his face and his hands, the plucked-string harp —
And by the time Sciel finally crashes into her orgasm, he’ll be practically as wound-up, blood a low throb under his skin, hard and aching with it; but he extricates himself to rejoin her lying further up on the blanket, his chin propped against his forearm, pleased with himself. Verso licks his fingers clean like he’s just had some delectable pastry from a pâtisserie, before proclaiming: ]
I was right. You do taste exquisite.
pls it was eggregious
After she comes, Sciel relaxes against him with a blissful smile, body still pulsing with heightened sensitivity, skin aglow with pleasure. ]
I like my name in your mouth almost as much as I like my body in your mouth. [ Comes the murmured reply as he joins her further up on the blanket. Her cheeks are two red blooms, prickling hot on her face, which he'll feel against him as she pulls him in again for a languid kiss.
She tastes herself on his lips and hums, satisfied. ...And at the same time, somehow still hungry for much more. Her appetite is clear in the way the kiss changes, her tongue pressing inquisitively to push in, to meet his and taste even more. At the same time she snakes a hand down between them, ghosting tantalizingly across his lap and circling him there. ]
I'm torn. [ Sciel reports, eyeing him like a meal, her smile crooked and daring. ] Between wanting to return the favor, and wanting this -- [ Here she more fully covers him with her hand, albeit through fabric, fingering where he strains against his trousers. ] inside me. Any thoughts...?
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What a menu of choices, [ he says, musingly, head tilting to the side with a mock-thoughtful expression as if surveying a literal list of options. The night sprawls out ahead of them, a smorgasbord of everything they’d like to do to each other. Aperitif, entrée, dessert and digestif. Prelude and main event.
Verso kisses her again and his teeth drag at her bottom lip. Humming consideration, ]
D’accord. I think we’ve warmed up enough, don’t you? I want to feel you around me. All of you.
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Part of her just wants wants to free him from his trousers and leave it at that, favouring expediency and her ever-smoldering need over anything else. But...even with emotions and other ties as part of the equation, she does want it to be special. It is special, regardless of how fleeting it may be. So she slips her hand from him to finger at the hem of his shirt, tutting admonishingly. ]
I'd like to feel and see all of you. [ And if he's compliant, she'll assist in doing away with his own clothes, letting them unceremoniously join her own forgotten pieces where they lay nearby. Once that's taken care of, she takes a moment to drink up the sight of him lying there, tracing a line along the landscape of his body: over the muscle of his upper arm, across his navel, down his thigh. ]
Parfait. [ Sciel closes the gap to steal another kiss, mirroring the last he'd taken with a brief drag of the teeth, before swinging her leg over him again so she's hovering above, chest rising and falling with both post-orgasm rush and anticipatory flutter.
If he wants to flip her around again, she won't complain: Sciel isn't picky, particularly in this arena. Otherwise, there's only a brief pause more before she lowers herself gradually onto him, biting her lower lip as he presses within, adjusting herself accordingly.
Fuck. Even just the initial pressure is dizzyingly good, and they've only just begun. ]
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He’s mostly built of wiry functional muscle: the mark of someone who spends most of his time fighting and swimming and running for his life from nevrons. The muscle in his stomach leaps as her hand trail downwards, with another brief laugh — he’s a little ticklish — how many years has it been since he even remembered that he could be ticklish?
The man’s also clearly not complaining about the position as Sciel swings herself over him, and slowly starts to sink down and take him into her inch-by-inch. A hitch of breath, his head flung back on the blanket and black hair looking even more unruly, his hands sliding up the firm lines of her thighs. He heaves a ragged exhale, chest rising and falling. His thumb absentmindedly strokes the edge of Sciel’s hip, so wholly distracted by the sensation of being fully seated within her, the warm heat and pressure as she settles into place. ]
Merde, [ he murmurs. ] You’re so— god, Sciel, you feel so good—
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If he claims these, too, are proof that he isn't vain, she'll smack him. Playfully!
It's another delight to discover the effect her wandering fingers have, though this particular reaction isn't anything amorous. He shivers with the telltale signs of being ticklish, of all things, and Sciel can't help but laugh lightly with the revelation. And though she does resist the urge to do it again in the name of maintaining the mood, this is another tidbit about their immortal companion that she'll happily exploit later.
For now, though, she's aiming to drive him mad in other ways. And though she might not know yet what exactly it is that brings this particular man to the edge more than anything else, Sciel is nothing if not insightful. That attentive gaze drinks up every expression, each twitch of his body, all the reactions that help guide her further along a path that will make the night a roaring successful for them both. So once she fully lowers herself so they're fully flush, she begins to rock her hips with that same watchful interest, adjusting her position, her speed, to acquiesce to the little unspoken directions she senses from her partner.
Of course, she's very much here for her own pleasure, too, but that's easier done with him having already gotten her off once. The extremely recent memory of him buried between her legs brings an additional level of heat and slick, making it all the easier to fully take him inside her, to ride him without any discomfort.
Quite the opposite. Sciel rolls her head back briefly, teeth flashing in a blissful grin. ]
You too — [ Her breath hitches, and she returns her attention to him, meeting that striking, icy gaze. ] Mm, you're-... You feel incredible, inside me...
ahhh sry i forgot how to write smut
She takes it a piacere, at pleasure, carving out their own rhythm with the roll of her hips, the rise-and-fall, the adjustment of the tempo. And Verso’s lost in the movement, the warmth and heat and slick slide of her on his cock. She’s drenched and he’s dizzied, breath shallow, all his awareness narrowing down to the point where they meet.
Sciel always looks amazing as far as he’s concerned, but she’s particularly glorious like this, seen from this unique angle: straddling him, the flex of muscle above him, sweat starting to gleam on her skin. Verso’s hands have settled on her thighs, the crook of one knee, an anchoring touch. He adjusts on the blanket just enough to brace one foot against the soft grass, carefully-timed leverage to start to push up into her, hips rising to meet hers at just the right moment.
His words are a messy tangle: a gasp, a smattering of curses in French, the sound of their bodies colliding in this star-lit forest clearing, yes and yes and yes. ]
♥
So recently come undone the first time, the occasional brush of him against her clit drives a frenzy of sensation, and though it's a lot, it's none of it bad. The expeditioner hisses when the contact tilts more into overstimulation but otherwise does nothing to move herself, instead focusing fully on their shared rhythm, using each sound he utters as fuel for the fire that spurs her further on. ]
Verso -- [ His name on her lips is a needy intercession as her hunger builds and her pace continues on, unrelenting. There's a moment as she arcs her back, chin lifting skyward, seemingly soaking up the pure intensity of the sex with relish. It isn't long, though, before that eager gaze finds him again, her previously-unoccupied hand splaying against his thigh. ]
Come for me? [ Spoken low, phrased as a question, but with an undeniable insistence. ]
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Because he did this. No matter the lifetimes that happened before him, no matter that he’s an inadequate stand-in for another better Verso, he could still do this on his own and for no other reason than they both wanted to: he could wring Sciel’s orgasm from her with his tongue, he could feel her clenched around him, an enjoyable evening for both of them despite the imminent end of the world. ]
I like, [ gasping, an echo of her earlier words, grinning at her from below, ] my name in your mouth.
[ And say this for Verso Dessendre: he’s desperately eager-to-please. Quick to follow someone more strong-willed than he is, prone to wanting to make others happy as best he can. So with Sciel grinding down on him, the pressure of her grasping his thigh as he thrusts up into her, come for me, and so it’s not long before he does: a rising crescendo, tipping him over the edge with a loud moan.
He lets go. Lets his brain finally fizz out into pleasant sated emptiness. One of the best ways to clear his head, not worry about anything else except the warmth and movement of another body; no grand disasters to fixate on, not the Canvas nor the Gommage nor the Monolith haunting the distance. Just pleasure, and nothingness. ]
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She stills, both of them panting and glistening with the sheen of what they've done to each other. Flushed and immensely satisfied, Sciel carefully slips from him, completely unhurried as she lifts herself from his spent cock and moves instead to lie beside him on the blanket. As she stares upward at the treetops, she crosses a hand over to ghost along his side, tracing the shape of his shoulder down across his chest and navel, then back up again. ]
We may end up skinny-dipping after all. [ Sciel eventually says, and even if he doesn't see it, the grin is present in her voice. There's no way they can go back to camp like this, and...if she's loathe to let their time come to an end, than it's only a secondary motivation. ] And I'm not going to let such a lovely picnic go to waste.
[ How often do they get charcuterie? Never.
There's a pause as she catches her breath, finally withdrawing her hand to lay both over her stomach. ]
...That was fun. [ She says, voice a little softer, a little more earnest. ] I'm glad you said something. I'd been thinking about asking if you had any interest, but you beat me to it.
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And it’s a warm enough evening that it’s not bad, staying out here, sprawled un-self-conscious beside each other. They can enjoy their picnic naked (how very French of them) before heading down to the water wash off. It’s the kind of temperate which comes from a beautifully-painted summer’s night, ever-unchanging and perfect: the weather won’t start getting brisk or chilly until they travel further north, into the autumnal Falling Leaves or the snowy mountains.
He knocks his bare knee lightly into Sciel’s, hands laced over his own stomach, looking up into the sky. ]
Ah, good. I thought I’d picked up on some hints, so I’m glad to know I wasn’t off the mark— [ But it had still felt like a gamble. It’s been a while since he risked it, changing his dynamic with an expeditioner. ]
How embarrassing it’d have been, if I prepared a whole romantic moonlit picnic and it turned out you actually just wanted the charcuterie but not the saucisson.
[ Eyebrow-waggle. He’s incorrigible. ]
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Awful. [ Sciel groans, flipping around so she's lying on her stomach, legs propped up, face braced in one of her hands. The other reaches out to smooth out some of the hair that's stuck to his forehead...before changing gears and pinching the tip of his nose instead. ] It is really...nice though, you know. You didn't have to do all of this, but I'm glad you did.
[ It's...special. In a way she hadn't been expecting. The whole thing is a treat for them both: a suite of luxuries that they don't often get, and may not have again.
As such, Sciel reaches again for the wine, refilling both their glasses and passing it his way. ]
"Can't let it go to waste." [ She echoes his earlier words, lips quirking upward playfully. They'll get to the food, too, but the bottle is what has her attention. They'd been discussing how difficult it was to find drinks around the Continent these days, and wherever he found this, he'd found a good one.
Sciel takes another sip, savouring the sharpness at the back of her tongue. ]
How long has it been, since you were last with someone? [ She asks. Sciel is endlessly inquisitive and non-judgemental in equal measure, so her tone is light and curious as she poses the question. ] You're very good.
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He could tell her down to the exact year how long it’s been since he had a significant relationship (sixty-seven years). But there’s a thoughtful expression crinkling his brow, thinking back and doing the math, trying to remember the last time he slept with someone. ]
A few years, [ Verso says, musing. ] Perhaps about ten.
[ Was it Olivier on 42? He can’t even remember. The names and expeditions have started to blur together, and that’s a grim thought: that years from now, Sciel might just be another hazy recollection, another body, dead like all the rest of them. He doesn’t like the idea.
And as gunshy as he is to share most personal information, it’s probably unfair to be completely aloof after having been balls-deep in her only a few minutes ago. And so this part seems safe enough to admit: ]
It was more common earlier. Everyone’s very game for trysts and flings when they’re staring down the end of the world, but— I lost interest, after a while. [ Lost interest in most things. That apathetic fugue, making him hole up in that shitty shack and isolate himself from the Grandis and gestrals and Esquie and even Monoco.
With a ghost of humour in his voice, behind the edge of that wine-glass: ] Bit harder to socialise out here, can’t just pick up someone from the nearest bar —
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yours to 🎀?
salutes