10-27-2018, 07:21 AM
Honestly, he does nothing much premeditated; he just does. It pleases and satisfies him though, that the small nips and bites and the temporary puncturing of her skin on her shoulders, are things she doesn’t mind about: that it just gets her heart to beat quicker, her gasps to grow shorter, he skin to glow hotter. And he wants to taste and tease and feel everything about her, all in the same time if it’s possible, though he knows her can’t - he’ll still try.
He smiles a bit at her closed eyes - it would make feeling so much more intense, but he needs her approval of what he does, and so he tries all those different touches on her, but apparently all is good or nothing is good enough, because she is so damned silent the whole time. It’s only when he grabs and enters her, that his own gasp gets echoed through her own throat, and he has his approval then, even if he’s entirely too far gone to stop if she had asked him to, right there and then.
It’s the little sounds she makes, the tension that grows in her muscles, and inside her, through which he knows (more or less subconsciously) how much she wants him, too. The moment his teeth sink into her, she’s maybe a bit too tense - he hardly notices, because she makes no disproving sound, and the shift of her body isn’t enough to let her out, let her go. Not until she trembles beneath him, not until she makes that small sound and seems to tighten and tense, does he stop or let go, and then all of a sudden they’re both done, and numb and shaking from the heights they reached.
She manages to speak while he’s still out of breath, and he simply pushes his nose to her shoulder. As if he wants to apologize for the damage or simply the fact that he can’t find enough breath to tell her all the things about her that he loves so much - the irregular spotted pattern, the mysterious ways she can just look at him and make him forget all that he was doing in the first place, melts his insides, and gets him so high just by her touch or the way she manages to surprise him with the small bites, or suddenly take his jokes and runs with it, sometimes taking his remarks serious, or simply turning them against him. There’s always a little something, that makes her different, and when she looks up at him like that, some kind of tiredness and satisfaction in the deep dark pools of her eyes, she knows exactly how to melt the ice out of his own eyes, and the fiery yellow and icy blue makes way for the warm brown of before - only briefly, for he’ll rather close his eyes and hug her, lean against her for support as he hardly keeps upright.
But she’s stubborn, and takes a step. I should, she says, and he manages a step to follow her. ”You shouldn’t,” he disagrees, and when she takes another step wraps his neck around her to prevent her from leaving. She’s still a little shaken, just like he, and he knows she won’t make it around the kingdom today, and he thinks she should trust the others - Castile, Rome, Ard - to keep the rest of the kingdom safe for a day. Scorch can meet whoever needs a diplomat - Breckin should really learn, or be told, to delegate her tasks more.
She settles finally, when she has tried and failed to move, saying she’s too much of a mess anyway. Fussing with her mane, he nods in the dark of the twilight-lit cave. ”Tomorrow,” he says to her, making it sound like a promise. He’s not quite sure if she’s heard it, or if she’s already asleep by then, as he holds her, fighting his own fatigue because he wants to make sure she gets her needed sleep, instead of slipping away and stubbornly try to do her kingdom duties anyway. Tomorrow they’ll wash up, and she can do whatever she feels she needs to catch up on. Waiting for her to fall to sleep like that, he whispers against he skin. ”I love you, daina.”
He smiles a bit at her closed eyes - it would make feeling so much more intense, but he needs her approval of what he does, and so he tries all those different touches on her, but apparently all is good or nothing is good enough, because she is so damned silent the whole time. It’s only when he grabs and enters her, that his own gasp gets echoed through her own throat, and he has his approval then, even if he’s entirely too far gone to stop if she had asked him to, right there and then.
It’s the little sounds she makes, the tension that grows in her muscles, and inside her, through which he knows (more or less subconsciously) how much she wants him, too. The moment his teeth sink into her, she’s maybe a bit too tense - he hardly notices, because she makes no disproving sound, and the shift of her body isn’t enough to let her out, let her go. Not until she trembles beneath him, not until she makes that small sound and seems to tighten and tense, does he stop or let go, and then all of a sudden they’re both done, and numb and shaking from the heights they reached.
She manages to speak while he’s still out of breath, and he simply pushes his nose to her shoulder. As if he wants to apologize for the damage or simply the fact that he can’t find enough breath to tell her all the things about her that he loves so much - the irregular spotted pattern, the mysterious ways she can just look at him and make him forget all that he was doing in the first place, melts his insides, and gets him so high just by her touch or the way she manages to surprise him with the small bites, or suddenly take his jokes and runs with it, sometimes taking his remarks serious, or simply turning them against him. There’s always a little something, that makes her different, and when she looks up at him like that, some kind of tiredness and satisfaction in the deep dark pools of her eyes, she knows exactly how to melt the ice out of his own eyes, and the fiery yellow and icy blue makes way for the warm brown of before - only briefly, for he’ll rather close his eyes and hug her, lean against her for support as he hardly keeps upright.
But she’s stubborn, and takes a step. I should, she says, and he manages a step to follow her. ”You shouldn’t,” he disagrees, and when she takes another step wraps his neck around her to prevent her from leaving. She’s still a little shaken, just like he, and he knows she won’t make it around the kingdom today, and he thinks she should trust the others - Castile, Rome, Ard - to keep the rest of the kingdom safe for a day. Scorch can meet whoever needs a diplomat - Breckin should really learn, or be told, to delegate her tasks more.
She settles finally, when she has tried and failed to move, saying she’s too much of a mess anyway. Fussing with her mane, he nods in the dark of the twilight-lit cave. ”Tomorrow,” he says to her, making it sound like a promise. He’s not quite sure if she’s heard it, or if she’s already asleep by then, as he holds her, fighting his own fatigue because he wants to make sure she gets her needed sleep, instead of slipping away and stubbornly try to do her kingdom duties anyway. Tomorrow they’ll wash up, and she can do whatever she feels she needs to catch up on. Waiting for her to fall to sleep like that, he whispers against he skin. ”I love you, daina.”
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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