[ It's strange, to have that alert nature, to be absolutely braced for anything-- but also to acknowledge that they have no reason to be going any further than this, beyond a sincere desire to want to. This won't give them points. This won't accomplish a higher purpose and there's no need for manipulation here.
Indeed... it's strange. They'd never truly relaxed around each other at the station and Primrose isn't foolish enough to assume that this means Childe is entirely open. She most certainly isn't, but even so, she can feel a clear difference in the way his hand travels up her arm and skates across her collarbone. In a sense, it makes him far more dangerous.
But she's never once thought that was worse than insincerity and false smiles. She welcomes that edge now, pressing into the kiss with ease and an equally tranquil confidence, rising up a bit to wrap her arms around his neck and press her breasts to his chest.
Her lips drift a bit, to the corner of his mouth, to speak-- ]
[He is, perhaps, more careful than might be expected as he lets his hand drift higher, his fingers trailing around to rest at the base of her neck. If he wanted to, he could easily tangle his fingers in her hair like this, coax her into something harsh and urgent, away from this slow sweetness they've fallen into. But he doesn't. Whether it's because this is what he wants, or what he thinks she needs, is anyone's guess.
He slides his other hand up the curve of her waist, settling it high on her ribs and stroking his thumb just under the swell of her breast. Her words make him smile, and he turns his head slightly, as if to chase her lips. He lingers, though, speaking quietly instead of diving immediately into another kiss. Admits--] I'm a little surprised.
[And maybe that says a lot more about him than it does about her, but, well. He's self-aware.]
[ One thumb idly rubs the back of his neck, body subtly humming with the return of a semi-familiar touch. Until the station, she hadn't made a habit of taking the same partner more than once, her "Master" aside. The heat rising within her is oddly comfortable, and she arches an eyebrow as he speaks. ]
Did you think I would discard the memory of you entirely?
[It isn't often that he shows this kind of uncertainty, but he has no reason not to be honest. He leaves his hands where they are for the moment, but he lets his lips trail across her cheek and down to the curve of her jaw, feather-light.]
I suppose I didn't think much about it. [She'll probably feel his smile, light and fleeting, pressed beneath her chin.] I tried not to have expectations one way or the other.
[People generally don't want anything to do with him after he shows the knife in his hand, after all. He would've understood, if the same held true for her.]
[ Baring her throat is a sign of not only vulnerability, but submission-- so Primrose doesn't, merely hums nigh-silently and knows he'll feel it, this quiet response to his smiling admission. Now perhaps isn't the time to be trying to hold a conversation, but nothing about this situation has been normal.
Nothing about Childe has ever struck her as normal, even before she'd known just how diamond-sharp his edges were. ]
Wise, to not have expectations. We place so much weight in them.
In the end, you didn't lose sight of what the game was truly about. Perhaps for you, there was very little to lose in the first place by choosing to act as you did.
I, too, did not intend to falter. [ And she had left without looking back. ]
But I do not forget those who leave an impression. For better or for worse.
[At first, it seems like that's all he intends to say. Like he's gotten distracted scraping his teeth delicately over her pulse point before he makes his way down to her shoulder, then her collarbone.
But then, he pulls back and away altogether--not far enough to break out of her hold, but his hands withdraw and he lifts his head to look at her again. Finally, he begins to ease his gloves off.]
There would've been little to lose if I were a wiser man. But even someone like me has a heart. [He winks at her.] For better or for worse.
[ A bit unfair of him to be so dressed when she is very clearly Not, and she's of a mind to point out that she isn't about to just let him make this a one-sided pursuit.
(She doesn't wish to be spoiled, doesn't know how to respond to such a thing, though she doubts he would.)
Still, she can still feel the phantom sensation of his teeth dancing over her pulse point, scraping at her collarbone, and she releases him-- if just to reach for one of his hands to take a glove off herself, if he so allows. ]
[LOOK... nothing is stopping her from undressing him too okay. He certainly won't stop her from doing anything she wants, and he proves it by surrendering his hand to her, easily.]
Who would ever say I lost when you're here with me now?
[And it's true, a genuine sentiment--but there's laughter in his voice as he says it, because that line is corny as hell and he knows they both know it.]
[ Primrose gives him a look, one eyebrow levelly raised as she brings his hand up-- and grips the fabric over one finger with her teeth to slowly drag that glove off. She just maintains long, unamused eye contact before she draws back and lets the glove fall into her free hand. ]
Truly, I do wonder how you've not successfully landed a particular kind of catch, with such saccharine lines.
No okay he's laughing properly now. It's a bright, cheerful sound, almost too big for what little space is left between them, though he tilts his head back as he does. She doesn't have to bare her throat, but he will--though it's anyone's guess whether it's because he trusts her not to harm him or because he'd enjoy it if she tried. Most likely, it's a combination of both.]
Terrible, isn't it? [He eases his pinky ring off as he speaks, then leans past her to set it on the bedside table. His newly bared hand finds its place at her hip again, his fingers cool against her skin; now that the ring is off, he'll leave the other glove to her, if she wants.] I heard something similar in a play, once. The young lady at the table in front of mine got up and left.
[ She'll slowly peel the glove off, lips twitching only once in a gently suppressed smile. The laugh is... endearing, honestly. Not something she's ever expected in any kind of intimate moment, but when she thinks about it-- has she ever heard him laugh like that in the first place? No light chuckle, no cheery but still guarded huff of amusement, just... laughter.
She can't remember the last time she laughed, either, of course-- and as she slips the other glove free, she brings Childe's hand up to lightly scrape her teeth over the knuckles. A kiss, of sorts. ]
The young lady has my utmost sympathy. I too would choose to make an exit rather immediately if I were to hear that line uttered again.
[He has too much self-control to shiver, but it feels nice, and his fingers curl into hers. Nearby, the column continues to send out pulses of heat, a sharp contrast to the chill of his fingertips.
He could probably make this easier on her (his shirt isn't that difficult to unfasten one-handed) but that would involve pulling his hands away from her, and he doesn't feel like doing that. So instead, he shifts, finally sitting down on the bed. As he does, he uses the hand he's got on her hip to guide her closer--normally she only comes up to his shoulder, but like this, it's much easier to draw her back into a kiss. This one is deeper than the last, enough to hopefully dispel any doubts she might've had about whether or not his desire for her truly lingered. It's there, just as it always was--it simply took an open invitation to draw it back out. A sign, perhaps, if she's looking for it, that he hasn't indulged like this since they parted.
It's tempting to get caught up in kissing her, but he doesn't. Instead, he nips at her lip before he drags his mouth back down her neck and over her collarbone, leaving a warm, wet trail on his way to her breast. When he speaks again, it's a low murmur, felt more than heard.]
[ A shame, she thinks the slightest tremble or shudder would be rather fetching on him. Well. The night is still young, and it's been a not insubstantial amount of time since they'd done anything together.
What does surprise her is what this next kiss tells her, quite clearly. She'd known he was interested-- he wouldn't have chosen to act any further or accept her semi-challenging invitation if he hadn't wanted to, especially when there's nothing to gain but this night and nothing to lose except for perhaps a bit of sleep. But she hadn't realized that he's either held back or been denied other partners, and it draws her breath away, just slightly.
She braces one knee beside him on the bed to support herself, not quite joining him yet because he's very woefully overdressed still. Difficult to remedy when his mouth is embarking on a journey and it's a sign of trust on her end when her back willingly arches, hair spilling down her back, briefly vulnerable to a blade or his mouth.
All the same, one hand is working to deftly unfasten his shirt. ]
Well now, I wonder. [ Soft and low. ] I'm beginning to think you missed me more than I realized, but perhaps I'd like to hear your plans for this evening.
[The night truly is still young--and really, it's only a matter of time before she has him falling apart beneath her talented hands. It won't be the first time, after all; and even if he had been inclined to seek out other lovers between their parting and their reunion, none of them would've had her skill.
For now, though, they're still on a relatively equal playing field. Unless she tells him to do otherwise, he'll follow his natural inclination towards generosity--or greed, from a different perspective--and keep his attentions on her. As she unfastens his shirt, he rests his newly freed hand on her back, following the lovely curve with his fingertips. He slides the other down from her hip, dragging his nails lightly across her skin until he can grip the underside of her thigh, urging her even closer. It seems a little like he's trying to tempt her into forgetting about undressing him in favor of settling on his lap instead, but it's not a serious effort--more like misbehaving, if anything, just for the sake of it.
It would be extremely funny if he really did choose this moment to pull a blade on her and start a sparring match--but no. For all that they both know intimate moments are no safer than any others, he has no reason to disrupt this one, or to turn against her. (And quite frankly, if any blood is shed tonight, it'll probably be his, and willingly.)
Though it could, perhaps, be argued that he's launching a different kind of assault, with the way he continues to mouth down her chest, until he can flick his tongue over her nipple. It would be very easy to give up and forego conversation entirely right now, and even as he pulls back a little, he stares like he wants to do just that... look. He can't help it. He's still a dumb young man with a beautiful naked woman in his lap, anyone would be distracted.
But after a moment, he laughs quietly, glancing up at her.]
You didn't believe me earlier?
[When he'd told her, simply and easily, that he had missed her--but his tone is playful, because he hadn't been thinking of this at the time.
He's hardly the most romantic or flirtatious man she knows. But he's honest unless he can't be, and he's hardly shy, so--]
I'd like to get my mouth on you, for starters.
[He's always been more inclined towards direct attacks, after all. This open sincerity is a skill of its own.]
Shall we say I hadn't expected your acknowledgment of our time apart to include this, specifically? I had no reason to doubt your words at the time, but they've certainly gained an unanticipated layer.
[ How Primrose is able to talk so steadily when he's still trying to tug her closer, tongue darting out to greet a nipple, which stiffens almost embarrassingly easily... well, she's made a profession out of this. But even then, she can't deny how very tempting it is to shed some of that cool restraint and fully, properly enjoy him, sink her nails into his skin, wrest a groan from a sweat-slicked throat.
She's getting ahead of herself and she gives him a look that's both admonishing and intrigued. ]
Yes, I had also thought to put my mouth to use tonight. But if you would like to cut in before I take the stage, I'm afraid you'll have to be appropriately dressed for the part.
Or I can assist you with my dagger if you've forgotten how?
[ Don't threaten (promise???) to cut his clothes off, Primrose. ]
[No she should definitely do that. Unfortunately for everyone, the look on his face is "don't threaten me with a good time", which really shouldn't be a surprise given everything else they've done together. I think about how he wouldn't say he's an M and I get tired.
Anyway, her first comment gets a light shrug--mostly because anything he'd want to say would sound too much like cheesy lines, even if he'd mean them. More importantly...
There's a fine art to pushing your luck--but Childe wouldn't be himself if he didn't court danger so much, so it's also probably no surprise that he dares to lean into the threat. He doesn't have spare pants in here?! But whatever, apparently he doesn't care.
He flashes her a grin before he moves to her other nipple, repeating the same action; but after that he leans back a little. He slides his hands back up her body to cup her breasts instead, letting his fingers take over so that he can speak without getting distracted.]
Surely you can't blame me for having other priorities?
[Oh no... his hands... they're busy... whatever will he do...]
Primrose has far too poise and composure to laugh, but her lips offer up the faintest of twitches.
Where the dagger came from remains to be seen-- but she holds it now, the hilt pressed under his chin, surprisingly steady for one currently getting quite a bit of attention to her breasts.
But then she lowers the dagger, hooking it deftly underneath one of his belt loops (he has them now if he didn't before, amazing). And she flicks her wrist, just slightly. ]
I'll think you'll find I very much can. Having a lady put forth additional effort instead of assisting makes for a unique partner most sensible young women would want nothing to do with.
[ Yet here she is. And she is indeed cutting off his pants. ]
[In almost perfect tandem with her movements, he tilts his head up, moving with her blade like they'd choreographed this dance ahead of time. There's no fear in his gaze, just a dark heat--and if his caresses turn just a touch rougher, just a little greedier, well. It's hardly bound to be a surprise, at this rate. He doesn't stop what he's doing, but there's a charged energy between them that's even sharper than her dagger. It breaks when she moves again, but the faint scent of thunderstorms lingers in the air.
She's too composed to laugh, but he isn't; he lets his head fall back with it, just for a moment. He could say, "there's a lot more people than that who want nothing to do with me", because it's entirely true. But even if it doesn't bother him, it's kind of objectively depressing, and that's hardly what he wants. So instead, with a warm, teasing lilt to his voice:]
Then I'd say it's a good thing I have no interest in "sensible" young women, wouldn't you?
[As far as he's concerned, that's just another way of describing boring civilians... aristocrats... certainly not someone willing to indulge his insatiable need to push his limits, the way she does. The way she is currently doing, in fact.
Still, apparently he does have some sense of responsibility. He doesn't stop her from taking her blade to his pants, but he does take his hands off of her long enough to remove his Vision and his Harbinger mask himself, setting them aside with care. They'll hardly break if he doesn't, and she doesn't know how to activate his Delusion anyway, but still. He kisses her again once he's done, but this one is brief and sweet, like an apology for pulling away even for a moment.]
[ So nice to know that Childe is having fun, despite the thickening tension that makes the air shiver between them-- or perhaps because of the tension. Primrose breathes out a silent sigh, still amused, but she's adroitly disposed of his pants in a few decisive slices and his underwear suffers the same fate once she's accepted his endearingly fleeting kiss. The dagger is set aside with the same care he'd shown with his Vision and mask, though within reach if need be. The Primrose Azelhart who let her guard down completely no longer existed, hadn't for years.
With this accomplished, Primrose lowers one hand to leisurely stroke at his cock, reacquainting herself with the feel of him as she finally fully settles onto the bed-- or. Well. Mostly in his lap. ]
But I do think we can stop these tentative first steps, don't you? I'd like a dance partner who can keep up with me.
[ And she'd been distracted before, mostly passive, languidly soaking up his touch-- but whn Primrose leans in to kiss him again, it's much fiercer, a flash of teeth in her press forward. ]
No just kidding, he does not do that. He does, briefly, glance down at the remnants of his clothes like he might pick them up--but then she's moving closer, and she's got her hands on him, and he definitely doesn't care enough to do anything but grasp her hips and scoot back so that they're more fully on the bed, not dangling halfway off of it.
It's true, though, he is having fun--he's even half-laughing at her words as she claims his mouth again. His laughter dies off quickly enough, though, as he matches the ferocity of her kiss with hedonistic delight.
For all his teasing and outward composure, it's obvious now that he's already hard, which, well. Duh. For now, he's still got too much self-control to move unconsciously, but he makes a pleased sound low in his throat. He tangles one hand in her hair, but the other slips down to stroke between her legs, deliberate and just on the other side of gentle. After a moment, he lets himself fall back against the bed, pulling her along with him.
If she's done playing, then he--well, okay, he's still going to play a little because he's a brat. But he's an indulgent lover, and he has no complaints about moving at her pace.]
[ He's always been attentive, and she'd been amused (and a little relieved) to know that much hadn't changed, the instant he'd laid his hands on her when she'd given him permission to do so. Perhaps he's just a man accustomed to spoiling. Given the evening he'd treated to, performance and a delicious meal, she wouldn't be surprised, were that the case.
But Primrose is additionally pleased to know he's not as composed as he acts-- which is similarly true for her; his hand slips between her legs and his fingers will be greeted by a slick warmth. She only shifts her hips subtly with a soft noise, a mild form of encouragement, far too experienced to give him too much of a reaction yet.
But her touch firms, an unyielding stroke over his cock that still manages to get more and more teasing every time she reaches the tip. He pulls her down and a softer laugh emerges when she turns her head aside for air.
[Her assessment certainly isn't wrong. But for all that he likes to spoil, he's still somewhat greedy, too. Perhaps he can't help it, surrounded by wealth and power as he is--or maybe it's not greed, but something else entirely, something deeper inside of him that feels her sharp edges and whispers safe.
Whatever the reason, it isn't long before he visibly eases back his tight grip on his self-control. He lets his hips rise to chase her hand, makes soft, pleased sounds into her mouth, open and unabashed in his pleasure.
Still, he doesn't let himself get too distracted. It's not a surprise, exactly, but he still hums in approval at her own arousal, shifting to wet his fingers before he goes back to stroking her. He lingers there--distracted, maybe, by her mouth or her hands--but if she doesn't seem averse, then it won't take long before he shifts again and presses two long, slender fingers into her, warm now from the heat of the room. When she breaks away, he takes the opportunity to mouth his way over beneath her ear, scraping his teeth against her skin with the clear intention of leaving a mark, one that's sure to be visible tomorrow unless she styles her hair just so.
He isn't possessive, not really--but there's something thrilling about the thought all the same. All the while, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, searching for just the right angle and speed to leave her breathless.
When he's satisfied with the mark, he breaks away just enough to press first a kiss to it, then a smile.]
Have I jogged your memory a little?
[Teasing, still, running his mouth--but hey, she had said she wanted to see what he could do with his hands, back at the theatre. It was a tease from her then, but apparently it's a challenge now, if the way he punctuates his words with a pointed curl of his fingers is any indication.]
[ This intent, almost merciless side of him hasn't changed either, and ordinarily, Primrose would keep her composure, maybe choose the perfect moment to let slip a sultry moan to make her partner think they were doing ever so well, but Childe is openly enjoying himself-- enjoying this, her touch on his cock, and it's... nice, to know how honest that reaction is.
It makes her want to return the favor, just a bit, even though he likely knows of her approval. Her body so easily accepts his questing fingers, twists against him to allow them to sink in deeper and settle into a speed that has her faintly quivering. It's also pleasant that his fingers aren't chilly-- temperature play could have been interesting, but the idea of frozen fingers parting her folds just doesn't sound appealing at all. This is much better. And so is the scrape of his teeth just under her ear.
Primrose's soft breathing is halted, not quite the breathlessness Childe had wanted, but more than she'd normally display. Vulnerability will never be easily won, but with him, her guard drops incrementally. Just enough.
Just enough to let him know she wants him. ]
You're certainly on my mind right now. [ It's said with a low chuckle, right before she shudders with a higher moan, grip tightening on his cock. ]
But indeed... you have. Should I properly welcome you back, I wonder?
[It's enough--and honestly, this small show of trust is even better, hard-won and deliberately given and all the more intoxicating for it. It makes him shudder in turn, another gift for her, and for a moment, he gives up focusing on anything but the curl of her fingers around him and the richness of her voice. He lets himself press up, shifting to catch her lips in another deep kiss.
But he drags his attention back, then, speaking in a low murmur, words she'll feel more than she'll hear.]
You first.
[Could it be that doting side showing itself again, young and sweet and eager to ensure his lover's satisfaction before his own? Or is it the sign of a man who just can't stop himself from reaching for the upper hand, too ready for a knife in the back even with someone he trusts? Even Childe, for all his self-awareness, doesn't know what's guiding him now. All he knows is that he's caught between the heady scent of her lust and the fantasy of her surrender, and he wants.
It's another sign of trust that he doesn't try to flip them over, to maneuver her underneath him and secure control. She doesn't have to listen to him. He wants to see her fall apart just like this first, and his fingers keep up their steady assault, relentless without being aggressive. But if she pushes his hand away and decides to use him as she likes, or if she decides she wants to take him apart first, then he won't do anything to stop her. He won't ask for her trust without offering her his, too, and he leaves the decision to her.]
[ She doesn't have to listen to him-- and as tempting as it is to lose herself in the steadily thickening heated haze, to drown in the kiss that threatens to drag her quite willingly under...
The thought that she doesn't have to listen and he would in all likelihood not be troubled by it is the headiest thought of all.
Her own pleasure, before the station, had never been a concern of anyone's. Rough, fumbling fingers, at best. The expectation that their ecstasy was all she needed, at worst. Primrose isn't certain what drives Childe now, a need to place her before his own desires, or just his natural competitive and challenging nature needing to "weaken" his opponent to hold an advantage--
But he doesn't pin her down, and she recognizes it for what it is. Regardless of what he wants, he's left the choice to her. To languidly let him draw her to the brink of pleasure, to fight back and seek to shatter him first, or...
Primrose makes her decision, moving her other hand to grasp his wrist and draw his fingers from her with alacrity. Then, just as swiftly, she grips his cock to hold him steady, shifts further, and moves firmly on top of him to take him into her.
The breath that shivers out of her as she adjusts is a little too loud for her liking, but she offers it freely. Her choice. ]
There is no pleasure before another's in a dance, Tartaglia. Pray, harmonize with me.
[ This. This is what she wants. With a burning gaze and a stubborn frown, no less. ]
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no subject
Indeed... it's strange. They'd never truly relaxed around each other at the station and Primrose isn't foolish enough to assume that this means Childe is entirely open. She most certainly isn't, but even so, she can feel a clear difference in the way his hand travels up her arm and skates across her collarbone. In a sense, it makes him far more dangerous.
But she's never once thought that was worse than insincerity and false smiles. She welcomes that edge now, pressing into the kiss with ease and an equally tranquil confidence, rising up a bit to wrap her arms around his neck and press her breasts to his chest.
Her lips drift a bit, to the corner of his mouth, to speak-- ]
It seems I still remember your taste.
no subject
He slides his other hand up the curve of her waist, settling it high on her ribs and stroking his thumb just under the swell of her breast. Her words make him smile, and he turns his head slightly, as if to chase her lips. He lingers, though, speaking quietly instead of diving immediately into another kiss. Admits--] I'm a little surprised.
[And maybe that says a lot more about him than it does about her, but, well. He's self-aware.]
no subject
Did you think I would discard the memory of you entirely?
no subject
[It isn't often that he shows this kind of uncertainty, but he has no reason not to be honest. He leaves his hands where they are for the moment, but he lets his lips trail across her cheek and down to the curve of her jaw, feather-light.]
I suppose I didn't think much about it. [She'll probably feel his smile, light and fleeting, pressed beneath her chin.] I tried not to have expectations one way or the other.
[People generally don't want anything to do with him after he shows the knife in his hand, after all. He would've understood, if the same held true for her.]
no subject
Nothing about Childe has ever struck her as normal, even before she'd known just how diamond-sharp his edges were. ]
Wise, to not have expectations. We place so much weight in them.
In the end, you didn't lose sight of what the game was truly about. Perhaps for you, there was very little to lose in the first place by choosing to act as you did.
I, too, did not intend to falter. [ And she had left without looking back. ]
But I do not forget those who leave an impression. For better or for worse.
no subject
[At first, it seems like that's all he intends to say. Like he's gotten distracted scraping his teeth delicately over her pulse point before he makes his way down to her shoulder, then her collarbone.
But then, he pulls back and away altogether--not far enough to break out of her hold, but his hands withdraw and he lifts his head to look at her again. Finally, he begins to ease his gloves off.]
There would've been little to lose if I were a wiser man. But even someone like me has a heart. [He winks at her.] For better or for worse.
no subject
(She doesn't wish to be spoiled, doesn't know how to respond to such a thing, though she doubts he would.)
Still, she can still feel the phantom sensation of his teeth dancing over her pulse point, scraping at her collarbone, and she releases him-- if just to reach for one of his hands to take a glove off herself, if he so allows. ]
And did you lose more than you wanted, Tartaglia?
no subject
Who would ever say I lost when you're here with me now?
[And it's true, a genuine sentiment--but there's laughter in his voice as he says it, because that line is corny as hell and he knows they both know it.]
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Truly, I do wonder how you've not successfully landed a particular kind of catch, with such saccharine lines.
[ CHEESY. ]
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No okay he's laughing properly now. It's a bright, cheerful sound, almost too big for what little space is left between them, though he tilts his head back as he does. She doesn't have to bare her throat, but he will--though it's anyone's guess whether it's because he trusts her not to harm him or because he'd enjoy it if she tried. Most likely, it's a combination of both.]
Terrible, isn't it? [He eases his pinky ring off as he speaks, then leans past her to set it on the bedside table. His newly bared hand finds its place at her hip again, his fingers cool against her skin; now that the ring is off, he'll leave the other glove to her, if she wants.] I heard something similar in a play, once. The young lady at the table in front of mine got up and left.
no subject
She can't remember the last time she laughed, either, of course-- and as she slips the other glove free, she brings Childe's hand up to lightly scrape her teeth over the knuckles. A kiss, of sorts. ]
The young lady has my utmost sympathy. I too would choose to make an exit rather immediately if I were to hear that line uttered again.
crawls back here after mg
He could probably make this easier on her (his shirt isn't that difficult to unfasten one-handed) but that would involve pulling his hands away from her, and he doesn't feel like doing that. So instead, he shifts, finally sitting down on the bed. As he does, he uses the hand he's got on her hip to guide her closer--normally she only comes up to his shoulder, but like this, it's much easier to draw her back into a kiss. This one is deeper than the last, enough to hopefully dispel any doubts she might've had about whether or not his desire for her truly lingered. It's there, just as it always was--it simply took an open invitation to draw it back out. A sign, perhaps, if she's looking for it, that he hasn't indulged like this since they parted.
It's tempting to get caught up in kissing her, but he doesn't. Instead, he nips at her lip before he drags his mouth back down her neck and over her collarbone, leaving a warm, wet trail on his way to her breast. When he speaks again, it's a low murmur, felt more than heard.]
What do you want to hear?
TAKES A WEEK
What does surprise her is what this next kiss tells her, quite clearly. She'd known he was interested-- he wouldn't have chosen to act any further or accept her semi-challenging invitation if he hadn't wanted to, especially when there's nothing to gain but this night and nothing to lose except for perhaps a bit of sleep. But she hadn't realized that he's either held back or been denied other partners, and it draws her breath away, just slightly.
She braces one knee beside him on the bed to support herself, not quite joining him yet because he's very woefully overdressed still. Difficult to remedy when his mouth is embarking on a journey and it's a sign of trust on her end when her back willingly arches, hair spilling down her back, briefly vulnerable to a blade or his mouth.
All the same, one hand is working to deftly unfasten his shirt. ]
Well now, I wonder. [ Soft and low. ] I'm beginning to think you missed me more than I realized, but perhaps I'd like to hear your plans for this evening.
AT LEAST IT WASN'T TWO MONTHS
For now, though, they're still on a relatively equal playing field. Unless she tells him to do otherwise, he'll follow his natural inclination towards generosity--or greed, from a different perspective--and keep his attentions on her. As she unfastens his shirt, he rests his newly freed hand on her back, following the lovely curve with his fingertips. He slides the other down from her hip, dragging his nails lightly across her skin until he can grip the underside of her thigh, urging her even closer. It seems a little like he's trying to tempt her into forgetting about undressing him in favor of settling on his lap instead, but it's not a serious effort--more like misbehaving, if anything, just for the sake of it.
It would be extremely funny if he really did choose this moment to pull a blade on her and start a sparring match--but no. For all that they both know intimate moments are no safer than any others, he has no reason to disrupt this one, or to turn against her. (And quite frankly, if any blood is shed tonight, it'll probably be his, and willingly.)
Though it could, perhaps, be argued that he's launching a different kind of assault, with the way he continues to mouth down her chest, until he can flick his tongue over her nipple. It would be very easy to give up and forego conversation entirely right now, and even as he pulls back a little, he stares like he wants to do just that... look. He can't help it. He's still a dumb young man with a beautiful naked woman in his lap, anyone would be distracted.
But after a moment, he laughs quietly, glancing up at her.]
You didn't believe me earlier?
[When he'd told her, simply and easily, that he had missed her--but his tone is playful, because he hadn't been thinking of this at the time.
He's hardly the most romantic or flirtatious man she knows. But he's honest unless he can't be, and he's hardly shy, so--]
I'd like to get my mouth on you, for starters.
[He's always been more inclined towards direct attacks, after all. This open sincerity is a skill of its own.]
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[ How Primrose is able to talk so steadily when he's still trying to tug her closer, tongue darting out to greet a nipple, which stiffens almost embarrassingly easily... well, she's made a profession out of this. But even then, she can't deny how very tempting it is to shed some of that cool restraint and fully, properly enjoy him, sink her nails into his skin, wrest a groan from a sweat-slicked throat.
She's getting ahead of herself and she gives him a look that's both admonishing and intrigued. ]
Yes, I had also thought to put my mouth to use tonight. But if you would like to cut in before I take the stage, I'm afraid you'll have to be appropriately dressed for the part.
Or I can assist you with my dagger if you've forgotten how?
[ Don't threaten (promise???) to cut his clothes off, Primrose. ]
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Anyway, her first comment gets a light shrug--mostly because anything he'd want to say would sound too much like cheesy lines, even if he'd mean them. More importantly...
There's a fine art to pushing your luck--but Childe wouldn't be himself if he didn't court danger so much, so it's also probably no surprise that he dares to lean into the threat. He doesn't have spare pants in here?! But whatever, apparently he doesn't care.
He flashes her a grin before he moves to her other nipple, repeating the same action; but after that he leans back a little. He slides his hands back up her body to cup her breasts instead, letting his fingers take over so that he can speak without getting distracted.]
Surely you can't blame me for having other priorities?
[Oh no... his hands... they're busy... whatever will he do...]
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Primrose has far too poise and composure to laugh, but her lips offer up the faintest of twitches.
Where the dagger came from remains to be seen-- but she holds it now, the hilt pressed under his chin, surprisingly steady for one currently getting quite a bit of attention to her breasts.
But then she lowers the dagger, hooking it deftly underneath one of his belt loops (he has them now if he didn't before, amazing). And she flicks her wrist, just slightly. ]
I'll think you'll find I very much can. Having a lady put forth additional effort instead of assisting makes for a unique partner most sensible young women would want nothing to do with.
[ Yet here she is. And she is indeed cutting off his pants. ]
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She's too composed to laugh, but he isn't; he lets his head fall back with it, just for a moment. He could say, "there's a lot more people than that who want nothing to do with me", because it's entirely true. But even if it doesn't bother him, it's kind of objectively depressing, and that's hardly what he wants. So instead, with a warm, teasing lilt to his voice:]
Then I'd say it's a good thing I have no interest in "sensible" young women, wouldn't you?
[As far as he's concerned, that's just another way of describing boring civilians... aristocrats... certainly not someone willing to indulge his insatiable need to push his limits, the way she does. The way she is currently doing, in fact.
Still, apparently he does have some sense of responsibility. He doesn't stop her from taking her blade to his pants, but he does take his hands off of her long enough to remove his Vision and his Harbinger mask himself, setting them aside with care. They'll hardly break if he doesn't, and she doesn't know how to activate his Delusion anyway, but still. He kisses her again once he's done, but this one is brief and sweet, like an apology for pulling away even for a moment.]
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[ So nice to know that Childe is having fun, despite the thickening tension that makes the air shiver between them-- or perhaps because of the tension. Primrose breathes out a silent sigh, still amused, but she's adroitly disposed of his pants in a few decisive slices and his underwear suffers the same fate once she's accepted his endearingly fleeting kiss. The dagger is set aside with the same care he'd shown with his Vision and mask, though within reach if need be. The Primrose Azelhart who let her guard down completely no longer existed, hadn't for years.
With this accomplished, Primrose lowers one hand to leisurely stroke at his cock, reacquainting herself with the feel of him as she finally fully settles onto the bed-- or. Well. Mostly in his lap. ]
But I do think we can stop these tentative first steps, don't you? I'd like a dance partner who can keep up with me.
[ And she'd been distracted before, mostly passive, languidly soaking up his touch-- but whn Primrose leans in to kiss him again, it's much fiercer, a flash of teeth in her press forward. ]
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No just kidding, he does not do that. He does, briefly, glance down at the remnants of his clothes like he might pick them up--but then she's moving closer, and she's got her hands on him, and he definitely doesn't care enough to do anything but grasp her hips and scoot back so that they're more fully on the bed, not dangling halfway off of it.
It's true, though, he is having fun--he's even half-laughing at her words as she claims his mouth again. His laughter dies off quickly enough, though, as he matches the ferocity of her kiss with hedonistic delight.
For all his teasing and outward composure, it's obvious now that he's already hard, which, well. Duh. For now, he's still got too much self-control to move unconsciously, but he makes a pleased sound low in his throat. He tangles one hand in her hair, but the other slips down to stroke between her legs, deliberate and just on the other side of gentle. After a moment, he lets himself fall back against the bed, pulling her along with him.
If she's done playing, then he--well, okay, he's still going to play a little because he's a brat. But he's an indulgent lover, and he has no complaints about moving at her pace.]
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But Primrose is additionally pleased to know he's not as composed as he acts-- which is similarly true for her; his hand slips between her legs and his fingers will be greeted by a slick warmth. She only shifts her hips subtly with a soft noise, a mild form of encouragement, far too experienced to give him too much of a reaction yet.
But her touch firms, an unyielding stroke over his cock that still manages to get more and more teasing every time she reaches the tip. He pulls her down and a softer laugh emerges when she turns her head aside for air.
This. This is enjoyable. ]
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Whatever the reason, it isn't long before he visibly eases back his tight grip on his self-control. He lets his hips rise to chase her hand, makes soft, pleased sounds into her mouth, open and unabashed in his pleasure.
Still, he doesn't let himself get too distracted. It's not a surprise, exactly, but he still hums in approval at her own arousal, shifting to wet his fingers before he goes back to stroking her. He lingers there--distracted, maybe, by her mouth or her hands--but if she doesn't seem averse, then it won't take long before he shifts again and presses two long, slender fingers into her, warm now from the heat of the room. When she breaks away, he takes the opportunity to mouth his way over beneath her ear, scraping his teeth against her skin with the clear intention of leaving a mark, one that's sure to be visible tomorrow unless she styles her hair just so.
He isn't possessive, not really--but there's something thrilling about the thought all the same. All the while, he pumps his fingers in and out of her, searching for just the right angle and speed to leave her breathless.
When he's satisfied with the mark, he breaks away just enough to press first a kiss to it, then a smile.]
Have I jogged your memory a little?
[Teasing, still, running his mouth--but hey, she had said she wanted to see what he could do with his hands, back at the theatre. It was a tease from her then, but apparently it's a challenge now, if the way he punctuates his words with a pointed curl of his fingers is any indication.]
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It makes her want to return the favor, just a bit, even though he likely knows of her approval. Her body so easily accepts his questing fingers, twists against him to allow them to sink in deeper and settle into a speed that has her faintly quivering. It's also pleasant that his fingers aren't chilly-- temperature play could have been interesting, but the idea of frozen fingers parting her folds just doesn't sound appealing at all. This is much better. And so is the scrape of his teeth just under her ear.
Primrose's soft breathing is halted, not quite the breathlessness Childe had wanted, but more than she'd normally display. Vulnerability will never be easily won, but with him, her guard drops incrementally. Just enough.
Just enough to let him know she wants him. ]
You're certainly on my mind right now. [ It's said with a low chuckle, right before she shudders with a higher moan, grip tightening on his cock. ]
But indeed... you have. Should I properly welcome you back, I wonder?
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But he drags his attention back, then, speaking in a low murmur, words she'll feel more than she'll hear.]
You first.
[Could it be that doting side showing itself again, young and sweet and eager to ensure his lover's satisfaction before his own? Or is it the sign of a man who just can't stop himself from reaching for the upper hand, too ready for a knife in the back even with someone he trusts? Even Childe, for all his self-awareness, doesn't know what's guiding him now. All he knows is that he's caught between the heady scent of her lust and the fantasy of her surrender, and he wants.
It's another sign of trust that he doesn't try to flip them over, to maneuver her underneath him and secure control. She doesn't have to listen to him. He wants to see her fall apart just like this first, and his fingers keep up their steady assault, relentless without being aggressive. But if she pushes his hand away and decides to use him as she likes, or if she decides she wants to take him apart first, then he won't do anything to stop her. He won't ask for her trust without offering her his, too, and he leaves the decision to her.]
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The thought that she doesn't have to listen and he would in all likelihood not be troubled by it is the headiest thought of all.
Her own pleasure, before the station, had never been a concern of anyone's. Rough, fumbling fingers, at best. The expectation that their ecstasy was all she needed, at worst. Primrose isn't certain what drives Childe now, a need to place her before his own desires, or just his natural competitive and challenging nature needing to "weaken" his opponent to hold an advantage--
But he doesn't pin her down, and she recognizes it for what it is. Regardless of what he wants, he's left the choice to her. To languidly let him draw her to the brink of pleasure, to fight back and seek to shatter him first, or...
Primrose makes her decision, moving her other hand to grasp his wrist and draw his fingers from her with alacrity. Then, just as swiftly, she grips his cock to hold him steady, shifts further, and moves firmly on top of him to take him into her.
The breath that shivers out of her as she adjusts is a little too loud for her liking, but she offers it freely. Her choice. ]
There is no pleasure before another's in a dance, Tartaglia. Pray, harmonize with me.
[ This. This is what she wants. With a burning gaze and a stubborn frown, no less. ]
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