[ Since they’ve established that the wine hasn’t turned rancid in the bottle, Verso takes another delicate swig. (He wishes he knew the flavour profiles better, but Renoir and Clea had always had the better sense for it; all he knows is this one isn’t awful.)
And his gaze drops, inexorable, to the divot of Sciel’s lips, that wine-dark red smear left behind. A lovelier prospect than their usual: a smudge of blood across someone’s cheek, hair matted with sweat and dirt and various unspeakable Nevron viscera. At least the worst they’ll face tonight is merely raspberry jam from the charcuterie board. ]
We’re all understandably under pressure. Say this for the gestrals: they know how to let off steam.
[ The corner of his mouth keeps ticking into a smile. ]
So, then. What forms of stress relief does the farmgirl like? [ Verso asks, his own impression of sheer innocence. He already has a good idea. They’re tiptoeing around it, and the warmth of the wine on his tongue and sinking into his chest makes it seem an even better idea.
It’s not the giddy drunkenness of the expedition all getting absolutely hammered together, pitched into gigglefits, Maelle rolling her eyes at their antics, Lune conscientiously trying to play the guitar through her wobbliness. This is something quieter, looser; something private, just for two. ]
[ Sciel is also not exactly a sommelier, having only a passing knowledge of some of the finer details that separate the common folk from the connoisseurs. She'd spent some time listening to their local suppliers bark their wares, had been around one or two fellow expeditioners as they touted the merits of some blend or another, but...well, Sciel is a simple woman. Generally easygoing, and therefore easy to please. Right now, the wine seems unlikely to poison her, and it tastes enough like berries or whatever the label might claim to satisfy her.
More importantly: it warms her from the inside out, helps fuel the playful smile that dances on her lips. ]
I always appreciated that about the gestrals. [ Says the arena champion. ] It...helped, being there. After. [ Being in a whole village of creatures she'd previously thought to be mythical was distraction enough, but also being able to funnel all of her time and energy into fighting when she wasn't sure whether or not any of the others had survived had been...vital in staying sane.
She rolls her neck, hanging it over one shoulder as she casts her gaze skyward, looking thoughtful. ]
...Even though they either had nothing to drink there, or kept it from me. [ At this, she turns back his way.
To his question... ]
Well, when I was still farming, there wasn't much downtime, to be honest. You usually had to work those sorts of things out in the field. Because once the long, long day was over, if you had time for much more than a meal and a bath, you were lucky...
[ It was gratifying work, though. She'd had few complaints about having grown up in that life. ]
As a teacher... [ With a realization that rises like a lump in her throat, she thinks, but doesn't say: it was a lot like this. She'd come home from work to her husband, and they'd have some wine, dinner, and disappear into the bedroom.
Even Sciel, ever-straightforward, knows better than to give that answer in this situation, though. So her expression keeps the same, impish nature as she continues: ] Mm, wine of course. A good book, if I could find something particularly interesting. A game of cards. [ There's a beat. ] Once I joined the Expedition, it was more of the same, when I had time. The training was a lot like farming in that it didn't leave quite so much time for relaxation.
[ The answer is informative, but doesn't quite accomplish what she's here to do, so she adds: ]
I like that, though: stress relief that's...physical. Even better if I'm able to find someone to join me.
[ Verso listens, his expression dark and thoughtful over the edge of his wine-glass as he watches her.
It’s dangerous territory, learning more about each other. It starts to fills in the outlines of her, painting the image with vibrancy and detail, every story and anecdote making Sciel more real, not just a faint sketch of a person that he could forget tomorrow. Learning her habits and preferences is dangerous work, potentially devastating if he slips too far into the personal or lets these people start to get under his skin.
What strikes him so often with the Expeditioners is that lack of downtime. Always busy, always pragmatic, ever-churning onwards. Tomorrow comes. Whereas the Lumière he remembers best was a normal, thriving city with a future, the cutting edge of art and technology, home of the Expositions Universelles. After the Fracture, he and Renoir had so much time. Too much of it, until it curdled in the bottle; the opposite of Sciel’s issue, where she was constantly outrunning that deadline. ]
I’m the same, [ he says after a moment, and this time it’s sincere, and not actually meant as a come-on. ]
Sometimes it’s music, of course, and that’s more cerebral— but otherwise, it’s fighting with the gestrals or the Nevrons. Swimming across the canal with Esquie. Hiking across the continent. Anything to work myself into a pleasant exhaustion so it’s easier to sleep.
[ So he hopefully won’t be hit with nightmares of the forgotten battlefield, or countless lost friends, or a fire he never knew. ]
And it’s been… a while since I last had company for it, but I like to think I still remember how it all works, [ Verso adds, with a self-deprecating twinkle in his eye. Another bit of honesty, showing his cards a little, a glimmer of vulnerability. ]
[ Verso and music. It's always a little unexpected to hear -- though less so when held side-by-side with his poetry -- but it colors his character in a good way. It's probably helpful that someone in his position have something...dreamy, artistic, to think about, when possible. God knows he's seen some awful shit over his long life, and she imagines (or hopes, at least) that these hobbies of his are instrumental in easing the difficulty of it all.
This is also her hope for what they'd actually come here to do today, but. One thing at a time. Or at least, while she's working toward that, she can make conversation about their respective interests.
(She manages not to shudder when he mentions swimming across the canal.) ]
I'm glad we're on the same page, then. And there are a lot of ways to 'work into a pleasant exhaustion,' but... [ She offers a half-shrug, drawing another sip of the wine. ] Like you said, it's been a while since I've had an option that called for company.
[ Mm...somewhat true. You could spar and achieve...at least adjacent results. And she could meet (and has met) her own sexual needs if that's the itch that needs scratching. But the last time she'd fooled around with another person?
Sciel lowers her glass, looking at him across the rim. ]
Don't worry; I won't judge you too harshly if you're out of practice. [ There's a pause, and then another sip, though this time she doesn't look away. ] And anyway, I'm somehow already confident you'll do just fine.
[ They're moving out of euphemism and more into the literal now, but she doesn't mind. Her style is generally straightforward, after all, especially when she's chatting -- or in this case, flirting -- while enjoying an increasing buzz.
The glass drifts down again and she breaks eye contact to glance almost lazily down to the food and back. ]
[ And there is a road, here, where they simply dig into the picnic first: assemble the cheese and jam and crackers, while away the time with food and conversation as normal, lick their fingers clean, and keep making dogged progress on this bottle of wine until they start making Choices. He put such effort into scrounging it together, after all.
But there’s a heat in Sciel’s voice and gaze which sets all of him askew, this delectable charged tension to this entire conversation, and Verso finds that he’s had enough of playing with his metaphorical food. That buzzing impatient restlessness where you just can’t sit still anymore, and you need to do something. And the wine, in fact the most important ingredient from the kitchen, has helped: it slunk its way in and made him braver, bolder. ]
Perhaps hungry for something else, [ he says, and now it’s the man’s turn to take a page out of Sciel’s book, blunt and straightforward, to be honest and simply admit what he so obviously wants.
Time. The whole problem is always time, and it sometimes feels like he has done so very little with his. So he drains the rest of his glass, throat working in a swallow, and sets it carefully aside on the blanket; moving closer to close the distance between them and catch Sciel’s mouth in a kiss instead, both of them tasting of the same wine they’d shared. ]
[ Don't worry, Verso: your efforts won't go to waste. After all, the food has survived this long in the confines of the manor, so what's another-...however long they might spend wrapped up in each other?
Sciel watches him like a hawk, desire plain on her face, eyes only leaving his to follow his glass as he raises to his mouth and subsequently lays it to rest nearby. Her own is not yet emptied either (though the wine smolders pleasantly in her blood), but she mirrors him in polishing off the few remaining sips as he approaches.
A single bead of scarlet slips down her chin and below, leaving a thin, sweet trail.
If the wine has been a gentle coaxing -- building steadily into a flame -- then the kiss is a firework. Her stomach leaps, the oft-neglected need now freshly stoked and burning throughout. Sciel meets his lips with the hunger she'd promised, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair, exploring every new sensation of Verso now that's it's been made available to her.
This isn't the shy kiss of a young lover, but the certainty and confidence of a woman who is no stranger to intimacy, but who has gone without. That void hadn't felt significant these last few years, and she'd certainly been able to make do, but engaging with him now is like a maddening grip around her very being. He smells good, tastes good. Feels good.
It'd been a surprise to read his message earlier. Now, in the throes of it, taking things in this direction seems horrendously overdue. Maybe even inevitable. ]
[ Sciel’s fingers wind into his unruly curly hair, and even that touch alone sets his nerves on fire, a prickling shiver from his scalp to his spine and lower, sparking a hunger where it goes. Esquie gives the world’s best hugs and Monoco is a warm furry radiator to snuggle up to on cold nights, but it’s no replacement for this: their mouths crashing together as if they could devour each other, no longer hesitating.
And frankly, let’s be honest, Verso in his twenties had been a charmingly promiscuous mess— late nights drinking in bars down the Lumièran promenade, cheerfully and thoughtlessly tumbling into the bed of any handsome man or pretty woman who struck the right chord— he’s grown more cautious and closed-off in all the decades since, but it turns out that he’s missed this so very much. How nice it is, simply to be touched by another human being. To turn off your incessantly-seething mind and lose yourself in sensation, in automatic physical instinct. Like a sparring match, pre-empting each others’ movement, aware of where the other person’s body is: her knee is here, his hand catching her jaw there.
The red wine had inadvertently spilled down Sciel’s chin; impulsive and a little playful, Verso breaks away slightly to mouth at her throat, hot tongue licking the liquid from her skin. ]
That’s one of the last bottles on the Continent, you know, [ he says against her jaw, warm and teasing, ] can’t let it go to waste —
[ In another life (and maybe even just as another person), she might taken things more slowly. Ease into their newfound tryst with a delicate and careful curiosity, taking her time exploring his body and how hers fits with it. But this is Sciel, and she is the first to advocate for seizing each day with the knowledge that tomorrow isn't promised. Her own impending Gommage aside: their little group is in more danger than ever these days, given that a nevron could burst unexpectedly from the surrounding trees at any moment and bite the pair in half before they could get their pants back on.
...Mm, no, she's confident they could manage that in time. But still, the point remains: the present is for living, and living hard. If right now that means losing herself in Verso, then she'll do so completely.
His mouth is at her throat and her lips part inadvertently in a sharp inhale, the contact sending a pleasant chill from top to bottom. Her teeth flash in an upturned smile when he speaks: the words pierce her with a newfound thrill, adding another element to savor. He's usually a little evasive, a little more likely to keep her at arm's length...though those had been conversations in a very different context. She finds she's almost as excited to hear what he has to say in an intimate setting as she is to actually see what he does. ]
By all means. [ Sciel laughs breathily, arcing back to give him better access. ] Best to be thorough.
[ He's at her neck and it's hot and wet and still not enough. There is an insatiable maw within her that is widening faster than she can keep up with it, yawning for more. So, deftly, she shifts so she's straddling him, all the while making sure he has more than enough room to maneuver as he has been, loathe as she is for him to break contact with the skin at her throat. He'll feel there the pounding thud of her pulse; he'll now feel below, too, the same insistent hum. ]
Mm, already I'm-...very impressed by the versatility. Of your tongue.
[ 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—
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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And his gaze drops, inexorable, to the divot of Sciel’s lips, that wine-dark red smear left behind. A lovelier prospect than their usual: a smudge of blood across someone’s cheek, hair matted with sweat and dirt and various unspeakable Nevron viscera. At least the worst they’ll face tonight is merely raspberry jam from the charcuterie board. ]
We’re all understandably under pressure. Say this for the gestrals: they know how to let off steam.
[ The corner of his mouth keeps ticking into a smile. ]
So, then. What forms of stress relief does the farmgirl like? [ Verso asks, his own impression of sheer innocence. He already has a good idea. They’re tiptoeing around it, and the warmth of the wine on his tongue and sinking into his chest makes it seem an even better idea.
It’s not the giddy drunkenness of the expedition all getting absolutely hammered together, pitched into gigglefits, Maelle rolling her eyes at their antics, Lune conscientiously trying to play the guitar through her wobbliness. This is something quieter, looser; something private, just for two. ]
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More importantly: it warms her from the inside out, helps fuel the playful smile that dances on her lips. ]
I always appreciated that about the gestrals. [ Says the arena champion. ] It...helped, being there. After. [ Being in a whole village of creatures she'd previously thought to be mythical was distraction enough, but also being able to funnel all of her time and energy into fighting when she wasn't sure whether or not any of the others had survived had been...vital in staying sane.
She rolls her neck, hanging it over one shoulder as she casts her gaze skyward, looking thoughtful. ]
...Even though they either had nothing to drink there, or kept it from me. [ At this, she turns back his way.
To his question... ]
Well, when I was still farming, there wasn't much downtime, to be honest. You usually had to work those sorts of things out in the field. Because once the long, long day was over, if you had time for much more than a meal and a bath, you were lucky...
[ It was gratifying work, though. She'd had few complaints about having grown up in that life. ]
As a teacher... [ With a realization that rises like a lump in her throat, she thinks, but doesn't say: it was a lot like this. She'd come home from work to her husband, and they'd have some wine, dinner, and disappear into the bedroom.
Even Sciel, ever-straightforward, knows better than to give that answer in this situation, though. So her expression keeps the same, impish nature as she continues: ] Mm, wine of course. A good book, if I could find something particularly interesting. A game of cards. [ There's a beat. ] Once I joined the Expedition, it was more of the same, when I had time. The training was a lot like farming in that it didn't leave quite so much time for relaxation.
[ The answer is informative, but doesn't quite accomplish what she's here to do, so she adds: ]
I like that, though: stress relief that's...physical. Even better if I'm able to find someone to join me.
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It’s dangerous territory, learning more about each other. It starts to fills in the outlines of her, painting the image with vibrancy and detail, every story and anecdote making Sciel more real, not just a faint sketch of a person that he could forget tomorrow. Learning her habits and preferences is dangerous work, potentially devastating if he slips too far into the personal or lets these people start to get under his skin.
What strikes him so often with the Expeditioners is that lack of downtime. Always busy, always pragmatic, ever-churning onwards. Tomorrow comes. Whereas the Lumière he remembers best was a normal, thriving city with a future, the cutting edge of art and technology, home of the Expositions Universelles. After the Fracture, he and Renoir had so much time. Too much of it, until it curdled in the bottle; the opposite of Sciel’s issue, where she was constantly outrunning that deadline. ]
I’m the same, [ he says after a moment, and this time it’s sincere, and not actually meant as a come-on. ]
Sometimes it’s music, of course, and that’s more cerebral— but otherwise, it’s fighting with the gestrals or the Nevrons. Swimming across the canal with Esquie. Hiking across the continent. Anything to work myself into a pleasant exhaustion so it’s easier to sleep.
[ So he hopefully won’t be hit with nightmares of the forgotten battlefield, or countless lost friends, or a fire he never knew. ]
And it’s been… a while since I last had company for it, but I like to think I still remember how it all works, [ Verso adds, with a self-deprecating twinkle in his eye. Another bit of honesty, showing his cards a little, a glimmer of vulnerability. ]
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This is also her hope for what they'd actually come here to do today, but. One thing at a time. Or at least, while she's working toward that, she can make conversation about their respective interests.
(She manages not to shudder when he mentions swimming across the canal.) ]
I'm glad we're on the same page, then. And there are a lot of ways to 'work into a pleasant exhaustion,' but... [ She offers a half-shrug, drawing another sip of the wine. ] Like you said, it's been a while since I've had an option that called for company.
[ Mm...somewhat true. You could spar and achieve...at least adjacent results. And she could meet (and has met) her own sexual needs if that's the itch that needs scratching. But the last time she'd fooled around with another person?
Sciel lowers her glass, looking at him across the rim. ]
Don't worry; I won't judge you too harshly if you're out of practice. [ There's a pause, and then another sip, though this time she doesn't look away. ] And anyway, I'm somehow already confident you'll do just fine.
[ They're moving out of euphemism and more into the literal now, but she doesn't mind. Her style is generally straightforward, after all, especially when she's chatting -- or in this case, flirting -- while enjoying an increasing buzz.
The glass drifts down again and she breaks eye contact to glance almost lazily down to the food and back. ]
Hungry?
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[ And there is a road, here, where they simply dig into the picnic first: assemble the cheese and jam and crackers, while away the time with food and conversation as normal, lick their fingers clean, and keep making dogged progress on this bottle of wine until they start making Choices. He put such effort into scrounging it together, after all.
But there’s a heat in Sciel’s voice and gaze which sets all of him askew, this delectable charged tension to this entire conversation, and Verso finds that he’s had enough of playing with his metaphorical food. That buzzing impatient restlessness where you just can’t sit still anymore, and you need to do something. And the wine, in fact the most important ingredient from the kitchen, has helped: it slunk its way in and made him braver, bolder. ]
Perhaps hungry for something else, [ he says, and now it’s the man’s turn to take a page out of Sciel’s book, blunt and straightforward, to be honest and simply admit what he so obviously wants.
Time. The whole problem is always time, and it sometimes feels like he has done so very little with his. So he drains the rest of his glass, throat working in a swallow, and sets it carefully aside on the blanket; moving closer to close the distance between them and catch Sciel’s mouth in a kiss instead, both of them tasting of the same wine they’d shared. ]
[ a la hulk hogan ] hell yeah brother
Sciel watches him like a hawk, desire plain on her face, eyes only leaving his to follow his glass as he raises to his mouth and subsequently lays it to rest nearby. Her own is not yet emptied either (though the wine smolders pleasantly in her blood), but she mirrors him in polishing off the few remaining sips as he approaches.
A single bead of scarlet slips down her chin and below, leaving a thin, sweet trail.
If the wine has been a gentle coaxing -- building steadily into a flame -- then the kiss is a firework. Her stomach leaps, the oft-neglected need now freshly stoked and burning throughout. Sciel meets his lips with the hunger she'd promised, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair, exploring every new sensation of Verso now that's it's been made available to her.
This isn't the shy kiss of a young lover, but the certainty and confidence of a woman who is no stranger to intimacy, but who has gone without. That void hadn't felt significant these last few years, and she'd certainly been able to make do, but engaging with him now is like a maddening grip around her very being. He smells good, tastes good. Feels good.
It'd been a surprise to read his message earlier. Now, in the throes of it, taking things in this direction seems horrendously overdue. Maybe even inevitable. ]
congrats 2 them
And frankly, let’s be honest, Verso in his twenties had been a charmingly promiscuous mess— late nights drinking in bars down the Lumièran promenade, cheerfully and thoughtlessly tumbling into the bed of any handsome man or pretty woman who struck the right chord— he’s grown more cautious and closed-off in all the decades since, but it turns out that he’s missed this so very much. How nice it is, simply to be touched by another human being. To turn off your incessantly-seething mind and lose yourself in sensation, in automatic physical instinct. Like a sparring match, pre-empting each others’ movement, aware of where the other person’s body is: her knee is here, his hand catching her jaw there.
The red wine had inadvertently spilled down Sciel’s chin; impulsive and a little playful, Verso breaks away slightly to mouth at her throat, hot tongue licking the liquid from her skin. ]
That’s one of the last bottles on the Continent, you know, [ he says against her jaw, warm and teasing, ] can’t let it go to waste —
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...Mm, no, she's confident they could manage that in time. But still, the point remains: the present is for living, and living hard. If right now that means losing herself in Verso, then she'll do so completely.
His mouth is at her throat and her lips part inadvertently in a sharp inhale, the contact sending a pleasant chill from top to bottom. Her teeth flash in an upturned smile when he speaks: the words pierce her with a newfound thrill, adding another element to savor. He's usually a little evasive, a little more likely to keep her at arm's length...though those had been conversations in a very different context. She finds she's almost as excited to hear what he has to say in an intimate setting as she is to actually see what he does. ]
By all means. [ Sciel laughs breathily, arcing back to give him better access. ] Best to be thorough.
[ He's at her neck and it's hot and wet and still not enough. There is an insatiable maw within her that is widening faster than she can keep up with it, yawning for more. So, deftly, she shifts so she's straddling him, all the while making sure he has more than enough room to maneuver as he has been, loathe as she is for him to break contact with the skin at her throat. He'll feel there the pounding thud of her pulse; he'll now feel below, too, the same insistent hum. ]
Mm, already I'm-...very impressed by the versatility. Of your tongue.
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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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ahhh sry i forgot how to write smut
♥
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yours to 🎀?
salutes