[ 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 —
[ There's no attempt to mask the little laugh that he earns as the wine nearly escapes him. And there's no quip about the clear sweep of his gaze down her body, though that tugs the corners of her mouth up further, pleased.
Sciel also doesn't comment directly on the amount of time since he'd last slept with someone, merely nodding as he opens up his history. There's certainly no judgment to be passed one way or the other: their lives are all very complicated, and his most of all. Whether he'd felt it easier to go all this time without involving himself physically with Expeditioners or if he'd sought out their company every year, it really isn't anyone else's to condemn. ]
I can understand that. [ She does finally say, of the idea that people might be more eager for something like this when any day could be their last. It's very much her philosophy, having found him attractive and having found the opportunity, and she's glad for it all, even if this ends up the first and last time they're able to meet this way. ] ...From both sides, really. [ There's more of a pause as she looks back at him, smile fading into something more somber before she continues, gently: ] It...wears you down, I'm sure.
[ Even if they're only flings, they probably hadn't meant nothing. So to then see those people die, or Gommage...
Taking him up on his wisp of humour as he bemoans the lack of social opportunity, Sciel shrugs her free shoulder. ] Well, if this Expedition doesn't work out, then that can be your next project, yeah? Build a bar in the Gestral Village. God knows any Expeditioners coming through will appreciate it. I wish I'd had something to drink mixed by a handsome, immortal man when I first got there.
[ The only relief she'd had from the knowledge that she might be the last living 33 had been an endless stream of arena fights. Quelle tristesse! ]
[ Verso considers that suggestion, bemused and imagining it. ]
Near their new theater, maybe. I could teach them how to build a still, so we don’t have to rely on the dwindling reserves on the Continent. I’d wipe down the counters and be a very charismatic listening ear. [ He could invent colourful tiki drinks in charming carved wooden mugs; the gestrals’ decor already lent itself towards it. He could roll up his sleeves and wear shorts and sleep in and hone the art of absurd cocktail mixology.
And that’d be one way to drown out the remaining years in a fugue of alcohol and casual sex. Not the best idea. But also probably not the worst. ]
How long has it been for you? [ he asks after a tentative moment, shooting Sciel a look. Cautious, like applying faint pressure on a wound he wasn’t sure had scabbed over enough yet. He’d considered avoiding the topic in case it ghosted too close to dead-husband-shaped grief, but that had always been the nature of their give-and-take and story-sharing, hadn’t it? Tit for tat. If we’re going to share, let’s share. ]
[ He indulges her and she grins, rolling her head to the side to rest on her propped-up hand as she peers back at him. ]
There you go! Backup plan successfully worked out. [ It's a shame it's a hypothetical that would only come to fruition in a situation where she's certainly already dead, because it sounds like a place she very much wants to visit. ] Just keep it in mind. Always good to have something to work toward.
[ Because whether they defeat the Paintress or fail, there will be an after for him. If this is the first Expedition he's traveled with in a while and it goes badly, he may return to his pseudo-retirement. And...it's nice to think there might be something good for him, in that scenario, rather than just another stretch of isolation.
His question gently extricates her from pleasant hopes from the future to physical encounters of varying qualities from the past, and she hums thoughtfully. Sciel senses the hesitancy in his voice (which makes her think immediately of the delicate way he'd handled her scar), but makes it clear with her usual, airy attitude that he hasn't crossed any lines. ]
Mm, night before our departure, actually. [ Sciel, who'd by that point in the night housed several bottles of wine, had managed a quick encounter with Catherine. They were both drunk and mourning Sophie and buzzing with anticipation for the tomorrow to come, and the whole thing been both rough and fairly satisfying. ] Lots of emotions running high. Lots to drink, too.
[ Not that she regrets it. The only negative association she has with the whole affair is that Catherine had ended up another casualty of the Nevrons not long after the beach.
Her face sobers a little, turning more contemplative. ]
...It was a while, after Pierre. [ Without even knowing about her experience in the water or the resulting loss, Verso can surely understand why there was a gap. ] But...after that, I needed the distractions in the last few years. The silences could be...too loud.
[ It'd helped, picking up teaching. But then she'd go home to their flat (one she was unable to abandon, no matter how much it hurt), and the ghosts would threaten to suffocate her. ]
[ Verso is so habitually cagey, more likely to cherry-pick the details he shares with the rest of them, only peeling off the slivers that feel palatable and like they still paint an acceptable picture of him. They could get dark and true and honest, but not too honest. Not tripping into any details which hit on the real heart of him.
But he’s feeling warm and loose-limbed and pleasant and a little tipsy, and his guard’s down. He takes another sip of the wine, glancing down at Sciel on the picnic blanket. (It’s so terribly dangerous, letting himself get attached to any of them—) ]
I fear I’m a creature of extremes. All-or-nothing. I would go through dry spells where I can’t bear the thought of getting close to anyone, and then— well, to put it indelicately, I’d seek any bed. Wanting the distractions, as you put it. Needing to have a warm body beside you, a voice in the darkness, a way to get out of your own head for a while.
[ Like a small child seeking comfort in someone else, hiding under the covers from the Lampmaster, all over again. ]
[ Sciel is far from drunk (a consequence of being the kind of person who can down multiple bottles on her own in one evening), but shares in some of that warmth, that pleasant comfort. She's a creature of honesty and openness in almost all cases, and so it comes easy to her to just...engage in this back and forth with Verso, sharing some of the more intimate details of their past with each other. It all comes naturally to her, and alongside that is the benefit of their mystery man feeling like he can peel back one or two of those layers with her in return.
She mirrors his taking another sip, watching him from her spot on the blanket, peering over the rim of her glass. ]
Exactly. [ Sciel affirms, lowering the drink. ] That about sums it up. Sometimes... [ Here she sighs, casting her attention out across the grass that lies ahead of her, stretching into the tree line and beyond. ] ...drinking or fighting just don't do enough.
[ Because she'd done those, too, of course. Trying to get out of her own head and into a bottle, or into training for the Expedition with an intensity that should've kept her mind occupied as her body was. And they'd often done the trick, but not always.
There is no exact replacement for this particular physicality. Idly, she shifts so she can reach out a hand to trace along the toned curves of his nearest arm, knowing the odds that this might end up as having been her last fling before the end. ]
I'm not glad you needed to escape anything like that, but...it's nice to talk to someone who gets it.
[ Better that they're on the same page. Once or twice, her partners had ended up wanting more than she was able to give, and things had ended more of a mess than the one she'd been trying to leave behind. ]
Isn’t that what it’s like on an Expedition, though? You all get it. You’re all in the same boat— quite literally.
[ Then again, most of her Expedition’s already dead by now, so. Whoops.
Verso still remembers the camaraderie of Zero, before it all fell apart: they were on a dire mission, but they were at least on a mission together. Part of him has felt like an outsider ever since; even when he tagged along with any given Expedition, even if Maelle gifted him with an armband to try to make him feel like one of the group, he still wasn’t one of them. They’ve been welcoming him in, but there’s perpetually that slight invisible barrier between them, the wall of all the things he wasn’t saying.
(How much of that was him getting in his own head about it, though? He knew about the lies and omissions, and either that made him imagine the distance, or maybe they could subconsciously tell there was something subtly wrong. Even when Lune was being friendly nowadays, she sometimes frowned at him in a way which made him panic that the woman could probably see right through him.)
The trail of Sciel’s fingertips along his arm is delightfully ticklish, and he drains the rest of his glass so he can roll over and lie down next to her, elbow-to-elbow. He wordlessly slides over the plate, so they could finally start digging into some nourishment after their exercise. ]
Oh, no. [ Sciel is quick to refute, her voice light. Unbothered. ] Well — yeah, we're all in the same boat, but people are different as night and day. Just because we're staring down the likely end of our lives doesn't mean everyone's interested in the same distractions. Or any distractions at all.
[ Though Lune has, since the Expedition began, rescinded her having called friends 'distractions,' they'd left it at that. Sciel has no intention of pushing, and Lune is singularly focused on their mission, particularly now with Gustave gone. If ever the other woman does want to step outside of their dire quest for an hour to lose herself in simple physicality, Sciel will be there.
For now, though, there's at least one other person at camp on the same wavelength, which returns to her original point. ]
So...yeah. There's a lot of shared experience there, and shared perspective on some things, but not everything.
[ She offers a bit of a shrug as she takes the offered plate, picking at the cheese and crackers, making the occasional contented noise in the face of yet another rare indulgence. ]
You've really set the bar high. [ Sciel sighs, draining her second glass and setting it aside so it rests alongside the now near-empty plate. ] When tomorrow night I find myself eating rations dressed in my full uniform, I'll be so disappointed.
Did you ever hear about Sixty’s approach? [ Verso muses, crunching through another cracker. It was twenty-seven years ago, but some records might’ve survived at the Academy. ] They went about their expedition entirely nude, and they got astonishingly far across the Continent. Perhaps our group could steal a page out of their book.
[ Monoco would probably be more than game for it; the gestral barely adhered to social standards as-is. Maelle and Lune would be mortified. At least it’s a very funny mental image to consider.
And. Sciel probably hadn’t meant to dangle an implicit question there — the woman tends to says exactly what she means — but Verso soon finds his thoughts meandering towards it regardless. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. What then? ]
For the record. If you do find yourself in need of a similar distraction again, along the way— [ he starts, uncommonly hesitant but trying to say it outright. ] Then I’m available.
[ In their dwindling available time before they reach the Monolith and it presumably all goes to hell in a handbasket, he could think of worse diversions than winding down in the evening with Sciel. Sex wore at the muscles in a way which wasn’t combat and getting your arse handed to you by Nevrons. It tended to help him sleep; he’ll probably crash like a stone later tonight, after they get washed up and slink their way back to camp. ]
[ Sixty. Sciel probably wouldn't have been able to distinguish them from the others (to be fair, Gustave has fangirled about a lot of past Expeditions over the course of their friendship) except for the fact that they had been...well. ]
I remember. [ And she laughs, shaking her head hopelessly at the mental image. ] Hard to believe they managed as much as they did. But...even with my complaints, I think we're going about it the right way. I'm sure they had some nasty cuts where you don't want them.
[ Lune doesn't wear shoes, but that's one thing. To be completely naked and traipse all over the mountains gives Sciel a little chill, in spite of the pleasant night.
While she finishes the last bite of a particularly good morsel (a cracked laden with jam, a nibble of cheese placed on top), Verso goes quiet. Once he speaks up again, making his continued interest known, her preserves-sweet lip curls. ]
Very good to know. [ Comes the reply, her voice light. Because he's putting himself out there, though, and the whole subject has the potential to come with its own complications, she adds: ] I think it helps, and I'm definitely interested, if there's opportunity. But if you change your mind, then no hard feelings.
[ Keeping it casual is the name of the game. The way to keep a distraction, as he says, from taking root and becoming another item on a list of things to mourn.
With that mutual intention now voiced, Sciel stretches a little, inhaling and exhaling in a satisfied breath before starting to shift, flipping over and drawing herself into a seated position on the blanket. ]
Whenever you're ready. [ There's a little jerk of her head toward the river: the necessary and final step of their very enjoyable evening. And though the idea is to wash away the evidence of their little tryst, the memory itself will help carry her through some of the inevitable difficulties to come...and hopefully to the next, similar rendezvous, too. ]
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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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Sciel also doesn't comment directly on the amount of time since he'd last slept with someone, merely nodding as he opens up his history. There's certainly no judgment to be passed one way or the other: their lives are all very complicated, and his most of all. Whether he'd felt it easier to go all this time without involving himself physically with Expeditioners or if he'd sought out their company every year, it really isn't anyone else's to condemn. ]
I can understand that. [ She does finally say, of the idea that people might be more eager for something like this when any day could be their last. It's very much her philosophy, having found him attractive and having found the opportunity, and she's glad for it all, even if this ends up the first and last time they're able to meet this way. ] ...From both sides, really. [ There's more of a pause as she looks back at him, smile fading into something more somber before she continues, gently: ] It...wears you down, I'm sure.
[ Even if they're only flings, they probably hadn't meant nothing. So to then see those people die, or Gommage...
Taking him up on his wisp of humour as he bemoans the lack of social opportunity, Sciel shrugs her free shoulder. ] Well, if this Expedition doesn't work out, then that can be your next project, yeah? Build a bar in the Gestral Village. God knows any Expeditioners coming through will appreciate it. I wish I'd had something to drink mixed by a handsome, immortal man when I first got there.
[ The only relief she'd had from the knowledge that she might be the last living 33 had been an endless stream of arena fights. Quelle tristesse! ]
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Near their new theater, maybe. I could teach them how to build a still, so we don’t have to rely on the dwindling reserves on the Continent. I’d wipe down the counters and be a very charismatic listening ear. [ He could invent colourful tiki drinks in charming carved wooden mugs; the gestrals’ decor already lent itself towards it. He could roll up his sleeves and wear shorts and sleep in and hone the art of absurd cocktail mixology.
And that’d be one way to drown out the remaining years in a fugue of alcohol and casual sex. Not the best idea. But also probably not the worst. ]
How long has it been for you? [ he asks after a tentative moment, shooting Sciel a look. Cautious, like applying faint pressure on a wound he wasn’t sure had scabbed over enough yet. He’d considered avoiding the topic in case it ghosted too close to dead-husband-shaped grief, but that had always been the nature of their give-and-take and story-sharing, hadn’t it? Tit for tat. If we’re going to share, let’s share. ]
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There you go! Backup plan successfully worked out. [ It's a shame it's a hypothetical that would only come to fruition in a situation where she's certainly already dead, because it sounds like a place she very much wants to visit. ] Just keep it in mind. Always good to have something to work toward.
[ Because whether they defeat the Paintress or fail, there will be an after for him. If this is the first Expedition he's traveled with in a while and it goes badly, he may return to his pseudo-retirement. And...it's nice to think there might be something good for him, in that scenario, rather than just another stretch of isolation.
His question gently extricates her from pleasant hopes from the future to physical encounters of varying qualities from the past, and she hums thoughtfully. Sciel senses the hesitancy in his voice (which makes her think immediately of the delicate way he'd handled her scar), but makes it clear with her usual, airy attitude that he hasn't crossed any lines. ]
Mm, night before our departure, actually. [ Sciel, who'd by that point in the night housed several bottles of wine, had managed a quick encounter with Catherine. They were both drunk and mourning Sophie and buzzing with anticipation for the tomorrow to come, and the whole thing been both rough and fairly satisfying. ] Lots of emotions running high. Lots to drink, too.
[ Not that she regrets it. The only negative association she has with the whole affair is that Catherine had ended up another casualty of the Nevrons not long after the beach.
Her face sobers a little, turning more contemplative. ]
...It was a while, after Pierre. [ Without even knowing about her experience in the water or the resulting loss, Verso can surely understand why there was a gap. ] But...after that, I needed the distractions in the last few years. The silences could be...too loud.
[ It'd helped, picking up teaching. But then she'd go home to their flat (one she was unable to abandon, no matter how much it hurt), and the ghosts would threaten to suffocate her. ]
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[ Verso is so habitually cagey, more likely to cherry-pick the details he shares with the rest of them, only peeling off the slivers that feel palatable and like they still paint an acceptable picture of him. They could get dark and true and honest, but not too honest. Not tripping into any details which hit on the real heart of him.
But he’s feeling warm and loose-limbed and pleasant and a little tipsy, and his guard’s down. He takes another sip of the wine, glancing down at Sciel on the picnic blanket. (It’s so terribly dangerous, letting himself get attached to any of them—) ]
I fear I’m a creature of extremes. All-or-nothing. I would go through dry spells where I can’t bear the thought of getting close to anyone, and then— well, to put it indelicately, I’d seek any bed. Wanting the distractions, as you put it. Needing to have a warm body beside you, a voice in the darkness, a way to get out of your own head for a while.
[ Like a small child seeking comfort in someone else, hiding under the covers from the Lampmaster, all over again. ]
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She mirrors his taking another sip, watching him from her spot on the blanket, peering over the rim of her glass. ]
Exactly. [ Sciel affirms, lowering the drink. ] That about sums it up. Sometimes... [ Here she sighs, casting her attention out across the grass that lies ahead of her, stretching into the tree line and beyond. ] ...drinking or fighting just don't do enough.
[ Because she'd done those, too, of course. Trying to get out of her own head and into a bottle, or into training for the Expedition with an intensity that should've kept her mind occupied as her body was. And they'd often done the trick, but not always.
There is no exact replacement for this particular physicality. Idly, she shifts so she can reach out a hand to trace along the toned curves of his nearest arm, knowing the odds that this might end up as having been her last fling before the end. ]
I'm not glad you needed to escape anything like that, but...it's nice to talk to someone who gets it.
[ Better that they're on the same page. Once or twice, her partners had ended up wanting more than she was able to give, and things had ended more of a mess than the one she'd been trying to leave behind. ]
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[ Then again, most of her Expedition’s already dead by now, so. Whoops.
Verso still remembers the camaraderie of Zero, before it all fell apart: they were on a dire mission, but they were at least on a mission together. Part of him has felt like an outsider ever since; even when he tagged along with any given Expedition, even if Maelle gifted him with an armband to try to make him feel like one of the group, he still wasn’t one of them. They’ve been welcoming him in, but there’s perpetually that slight invisible barrier between them, the wall of all the things he wasn’t saying.
(How much of that was him getting in his own head about it, though? He knew about the lies and omissions, and either that made him imagine the distance, or maybe they could subconsciously tell there was something subtly wrong. Even when Lune was being friendly nowadays, she sometimes frowned at him in a way which made him panic that the woman could probably see right through him.)
The trail of Sciel’s fingertips along his arm is delightfully ticklish, and he drains the rest of his glass so he can roll over and lie down next to her, elbow-to-elbow. He wordlessly slides over the plate, so they could finally start digging into some nourishment after their exercise. ]
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[ Though Lune has, since the Expedition began, rescinded her having called friends 'distractions,' they'd left it at that. Sciel has no intention of pushing, and Lune is singularly focused on their mission, particularly now with Gustave gone. If ever the other woman does want to step outside of their dire quest for an hour to lose herself in simple physicality, Sciel will be there.
For now, though, there's at least one other person at camp on the same wavelength, which returns to her original point. ]
So...yeah. There's a lot of shared experience there, and shared perspective on some things, but not everything.
[ She offers a bit of a shrug as she takes the offered plate, picking at the cheese and crackers, making the occasional contented noise in the face of yet another rare indulgence. ]
You've really set the bar high. [ Sciel sighs, draining her second glass and setting it aside so it rests alongside the now near-empty plate. ] When tomorrow night I find myself eating rations dressed in my full uniform, I'll be so disappointed.
yours to 🎀?
[ Monoco would probably be more than game for it; the gestral barely adhered to social standards as-is. Maelle and Lune would be mortified. At least it’s a very funny mental image to consider.
And. Sciel probably hadn’t meant to dangle an implicit question there — the woman tends to says exactly what she means — but Verso soon finds his thoughts meandering towards it regardless. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. What then? ]
For the record. If you do find yourself in need of a similar distraction again, along the way— [ he starts, uncommonly hesitant but trying to say it outright. ] Then I’m available.
[ In their dwindling available time before they reach the Monolith and it presumably all goes to hell in a handbasket, he could think of worse diversions than winding down in the evening with Sciel. Sex wore at the muscles in a way which wasn’t combat and getting your arse handed to you by Nevrons. It tended to help him sleep; he’ll probably crash like a stone later tonight, after they get washed up and slink their way back to camp. ]
salutes
I remember. [ And she laughs, shaking her head hopelessly at the mental image. ] Hard to believe they managed as much as they did. But...even with my complaints, I think we're going about it the right way. I'm sure they had some nasty cuts where you don't want them.
[ Lune doesn't wear shoes, but that's one thing. To be completely naked and traipse all over the mountains gives Sciel a little chill, in spite of the pleasant night.
While she finishes the last bite of a particularly good morsel (a cracked laden with jam, a nibble of cheese placed on top), Verso goes quiet. Once he speaks up again, making his continued interest known, her preserves-sweet lip curls. ]
Very good to know. [ Comes the reply, her voice light. Because he's putting himself out there, though, and the whole subject has the potential to come with its own complications, she adds: ] I think it helps, and I'm definitely interested, if there's opportunity. But if you change your mind, then no hard feelings.
[ Keeping it casual is the name of the game. The way to keep a distraction, as he says, from taking root and becoming another item on a list of things to mourn.
With that mutual intention now voiced, Sciel stretches a little, inhaling and exhaling in a satisfied breath before starting to shift, flipping over and drawing herself into a seated position on the blanket. ]
Whenever you're ready. [ There's a little jerk of her head toward the river: the necessary and final step of their very enjoyable evening. And though the idea is to wash away the evidence of their little tryst, the memory itself will help carry her through some of the inevitable difficulties to come...and hopefully to the next, similar rendezvous, too. ]