[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. ]
[Childe's a patient man, but it would be a lie to say that waiting for her decision isn't a special kind of torture. It takes a different kind of restraint than the one he needs in battle. And when she grabs his wrist to stop him, it's only the last fragments of his restraint that keep him from twisting right back out of her grasp, ever-tempted to push buttons and boundaries.
But he wants this more. She makes her choice--chooses him, and maybe when his head's a bit clearer, he'll give more thought to that than he really should.
For now, though, it's all he can do to grasp her hips, hissing through his teeth and digging his nails into her skin to keep himself still and steady until she's settled. That playful audacity is almost fully gone now, and he doesn't even try to pretend he isn't watching her sink down onto his cock, enraptured.]
Prim. [His tone is an odd mix of reverence and warning. It's his only verbal response to her words, and it's swiftly followed by a sharp thrust of his hips. Later, maybe he'll be amused at how easily he surrenders to authentic pleasure--for now, his guard's as low as it's going to get, his focus now entirely on bringing them both to their peaks.]
[ Good. It's a darkly amused thought, to see him knocked from his playfulness a little more, to show him that she's in no mood for a lark of a tryst tonight. Maybe some other night-- and the amusement is there at herself now, sardonic, because why is she thinking this will become something more of a regular occurrence?
That nickname is one she's treasured, first gifted from a friend who had then been brutally murdered in front of her, another victim she had been able to do nothing for. It holds a special sort of value and to hear Childe speak it in a tone that's so layered it's almost decadent... it's Primrose's turn to falter a bit, then to hiss when he suddenly thrusts up. A warning, indeed. But she welcomes the fervor, leans forward to rest one hand over his heart (vulnerable, but he'd fight her and she's glad for it) and she grinds down on him with soft, panting breaths.
He won't have to do all the work. But he's quite a sight to see, isn't he? ]
In this moment-- [ Primrose speaks carefully, so as not to betray the shaky quality of her voice as he begins to break down her composure even more. ]
Who are you?
[ What does she call him? Tartaglia still? Childe? What does he wish to hear? ]
[Wouldn't it be funny if this threw him into an identity crisis and ruined the whole mood.
It's something he's been asked a thousand times, in a thousand different circumstances. Never like this, though, because... well. Mostly because the last time he'd shared a bed with someone who'd actually cared about him, she'd simply called him whatever she pleased.
(Because he's never been asked by anyone who truly wanted an answer.)
He is Childe, he is Tartaglia, he is Her Majesty's 11th Harbinger under any and all circumstances. One an alias, the other a title, but neither any less his identity, these days. Answering to them is as natural as breathing.
Beneath her palm, his heart pounds--the only lingering evidence that he is still anything close to human.
Who are you? she asks, and that heart hears you are like the ocean and I think you're still very much loved.
Maybe someone more romantic might've answered her with "yours". Childe, more openly breathless than she, answers with a name he hasn't given out since he was a teenager, the blood of his superior officers dripping from his crudely formed blades.]
--Ajax.
[Even in the heat of the moment, he's clearly a little startled by his own answer. But they're too far into this now, and he's always been adaptable. He can worry about his own honesty later, if it's necessary to do so.]
[ He could have told her anything and she would have gone along with it seamlessly. Primrose knows both how people value names - the way Azelhart remains a warm if bittersweet thought she keeps close to her chest - and how they don't. How she had felt sheer disgust to hear one nickname and a sense of comfort when she had heard another.
A man who had given her a different name to call him by than most and she thinks of him briefly, and how she had teetered on the precipice of falling but had chosen to withdraw when she had witnessed his reaction. When she knew where his heart rested and she had been grateful at the time, to know she would be leaving with no reason to look back.
And yet, here she is, with a man who she had never expected to see again and he gazes up at her, apparently surprised by his own sincerity as she is--
Primrose doesn't melt. She doesn't give him a bright smile. But she softens, just a little more, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm as she leans in to brush her lips over his. ]
Ajax. [ The name feels unfamiliar, but she gives care to it nonetheless, and it means so much more than any kind of romantic platitude ever could. ]
[It should feel weird, probably. Maybe it will later on, when their breathing has steadied and their skin has cooled, and he has the capacity to think beyond all of this. But right now, with all of his senses overwhelmed by her, it only sends a shudder lancing through him.
Abruptly, as if yanked up by some invisible thread, he shifts halfway upright, meeting her soft kiss with a deeper sort of ferocity that matches the pace they've built up to. He isn't loud, exactly, but he doesn't try to be quiet, either--if his moans are lost between them, it's only because he doesn't want to pull away long enough to let them be heard.
He does, however, force himself to dredge up a last shred of coherence as he moves one hand from her hip back to her clit. Because, if she wants them to come together--]
[ She does, and she's grateful for his memory. Again, most lovers, if she could have called them that, didn't think to try to bring her to the edge of pleasure and over it. They thought their own was enough. That she ought to be grateful.
But she's not ready to think of them, especially not now, and as his fingers target her clit, her hips buck and she lets out a quietly ragged noise against his mouth, speaking breathlessly-- ]
[There's no need for words, after that--acknowledgment comes in the form of another deep kiss, hips rising to meet hers in perfect tandem. (She did ask for a dance, after all.)
He couldn't outlast her at the station, and he can't do it here, either. She is irresistibly incandescent, and Childe's never been for resisting his desires anyway.
He can feel his pleasure crest, and he doesn't try to hold it back. Instead, he breaks their kiss to lean his head back and swear, tensing up beneath her and working sheerly on autopilot to bring her to her peak too. Hopefully she's as close as he was, because his focus is lost now. He is only a man, Primrose, take pity on him.]
But luckily for him, a combination of it having been far too long, his nimble fingers, just how well he matches her... does the trick. She squirms on top of him, breath faltering a bit at the sound of his cursing, but as he continues, she can't hope to hold out any longer. She can tell he's reached his peak, at least, which is always a sense of pride for her, but then Primrose can no longer focus on trivial things like pride (in that moment).
She shudders, gasps out his name - Ajax - her tone colored more by a warm emotion that she will not admit to later, and there's the pleasure that swamps her, threatens to pull her under.
She refuses to collapse on top of him, at least, though she's trembling from the effort. ]
[The way her pleasure washes over him elicits another full-body shudder, and the hand he'd left on her hip tightens to feel it, nails digging into her skin. It's too much, chasing after it for anything more--but he does anyway, just a little. Unable to help himself even when it draws out a soft, unintentional ah, ah, sensitivity rapidly approaching the edge of pain. Greed is instinctive, apparently.
She doesn't collapse on him, but when he finally pulls his hand away from her sex, it's to wrap his arms loosely around her and try to draw her down with him as he flops fully back onto the bed. A moment of respite, free from pride and pretense.
For all that he loves to run his mouth, he's quiet now, simply catching his breath and savor the high. It's almost too warm in the room, now, but he doesn't reach over to turn the heat pillar off. It's fine.]
[ It is fine. It's a more pleasant warmth than Sunshade's persistent, shimmering heat and therefore does nothing to make her feel uncomfortable, given past experience. She's grown to accept afterglow affection a little better since her time at the space station, so doesn't protest when he coaxes her down-- merely breathes out a very soft laugh and acquiesces, tucking her head under his chin.
She aches, pleasantly. Between her legs, little spots on her skin from where his teeth and nails had left their mark, but it's nice to feel all of it and she runs a gentle hand along his side, for no real reason at all. Just to enjoy touching him.
[This will surely become uncomfortable sooner rather than later, but honestly, he thinks it's worth it. By the time it occurs to him that she might not have wanted to lay like this, she's already settled, and he elects not to question it. She'll move if she wants to, he knows. Until then, he'll enjoy having her close.
Her touch feels nice, too. He still doesn't shiver, but he makes a soft, pleased sound when her fingers catch on the edge of his worst scar. Eventually, he lets his head loll to the side, and he breathes out a laugh as his gaze catches on the ruins of his clothes on the floor.]
I didn't think that through very well, did I?
[This is what he gets for 1. assuming she'd want her own room and 2. being unable to resist a little danger. Dumb man. Absolute idiot.]
[ Primrose lifts her head to follow the path of his gaze-- and arches an eyebrow first at the clothes (or remnants thereof) and then at him.
Ah, yes. When he'd wanted her to follow through. Of course. ]
Well, you find yourself with several options.
[ Stay and figure out what to do about it in the morning, or leave and figure out what to do about it now. She won't share a preference either way, just watching him with a more tranquil amusement. ]
Mm. I was just thinking you might want a bath in a little while, is all.
[Tomorrow, certainly, if not at some point tonight, before she sleeps. But Childe certainly isn't making any effort to move, not beyond lifting a hand to brush some of her hair back over her shoulder. Is he admiring his hickey handiwork... maybe... is he assuming they'll bathe together... also maybe. He got with the program eventually.]
It's alright, though. Not much sense in modesty amongst soldiers.
[And soldiers make up the vast majority of those under his personal command, so. He doesn't seem particularly bothered about what state his people might see him in, which probably isn't a surprise. He was never modest at the station, either. And why would he go get clothes when the naked pretty girl is right here? Seems like common sense to stay put, tbh.]
[ She bends her head toward him as he sweeps her hair back over her shoulder, well aware that he's left quite a mark on her. Fitting, though she won't voice that particular thought. Instead, Primrose just kisses him, slow and lingering, before she murmurs against his mouth. ]
Is the bath large enough for two or will this be the extent of your hospitality tonight?
[ She says as though they didn't just have passionate semi-poignant sex. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
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...]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
[ 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 subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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?
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
But he wants this more. She makes her choice--chooses him, and maybe when his head's a bit clearer, he'll give more thought to that than he really should.
For now, though, it's all he can do to grasp her hips, hissing through his teeth and digging his nails into her skin to keep himself still and steady until she's settled. That playful audacity is almost fully gone now, and he doesn't even try to pretend he isn't watching her sink down onto his cock, enraptured.]
Prim. [His tone is an odd mix of reverence and warning. It's his only verbal response to her words, and it's swiftly followed by a sharp thrust of his hips. Later, maybe he'll be amused at how easily he surrenders to authentic pleasure--for now, his guard's as low as it's going to get, his focus now entirely on bringing them both to their peaks.]
no subject
That nickname is one she's treasured, first gifted from a friend who had then been brutally murdered in front of her, another victim she had been able to do nothing for. It holds a special sort of value and to hear Childe speak it in a tone that's so layered it's almost decadent... it's Primrose's turn to falter a bit, then to hiss when he suddenly thrusts up. A warning, indeed. But she welcomes the fervor, leans forward to rest one hand over his heart (vulnerable, but he'd fight her and she's glad for it) and she grinds down on him with soft, panting breaths.
He won't have to do all the work. But he's quite a sight to see, isn't he? ]
In this moment-- [ Primrose speaks carefully, so as not to betray the shaky quality of her voice as he begins to break down her composure even more. ]
Who are you?
[ What does she call him? Tartaglia still? Childe? What does he wish to hear? ]
no subject
It's something he's been asked a thousand times, in a thousand different circumstances. Never like this, though, because... well. Mostly because the last time he'd shared a bed with someone who'd actually cared about him, she'd simply called him whatever she pleased.
(Because he's never been asked by anyone who truly wanted an answer.)
He is Childe, he is Tartaglia, he is Her Majesty's 11th Harbinger under any and all circumstances. One an alias, the other a title, but neither any less his identity, these days. Answering to them is as natural as breathing.
Beneath her palm, his heart pounds--the only lingering evidence that he is still anything close to human.
Who are you? she asks, and that heart hears you are like the ocean and I think you're still very much loved.
Maybe someone more romantic might've answered her with "yours". Childe, more openly breathless than she, answers with a name he hasn't given out since he was a teenager, the blood of his superior officers dripping from his crudely formed blades.]
--Ajax.
[Even in the heat of the moment, he's clearly a little startled by his own answer. But they're too far into this now, and he's always been adaptable. He can worry about his own honesty later, if it's necessary to do so.]
no subject
A man who had given her a different name to call him by than most and she thinks of him briefly, and how she had teetered on the precipice of falling but had chosen to withdraw when she had witnessed his reaction. When she knew where his heart rested and she had been grateful at the time, to know she would be leaving with no reason to look back.
And yet, here she is, with a man who she had never expected to see again and he gazes up at her, apparently surprised by his own sincerity as she is--
Primrose doesn't melt. She doesn't give him a bright smile. But she softens, just a little more, feeling his heartbeat beneath her palm as she leans in to brush her lips over his. ]
Ajax. [ The name feels unfamiliar, but she gives care to it nonetheless, and it means so much more than any kind of romantic platitude ever could. ]
no subject
Abruptly, as if yanked up by some invisible thread, he shifts halfway upright, meeting her soft kiss with a deeper sort of ferocity that matches the pace they've built up to. He isn't loud, exactly, but he doesn't try to be quiet, either--if his moans are lost between them, it's only because he doesn't want to pull away long enough to let them be heard.
He does, however, force himself to dredge up a last shred of coherence as he moves one hand from her hip back to her clit. Because, if she wants them to come together--]
Close.
no subject
But she's not ready to think of them, especially not now, and as his fingers target her clit, her hips buck and she lets out a quietly ragged noise against his mouth, speaking breathlessly-- ]
I'm with you.
[ Together. ]
no subject
He couldn't outlast her at the station, and he can't do it here, either. She is irresistibly incandescent, and Childe's never been for resisting his desires anyway.
He can feel his pleasure crest, and he doesn't try to hold it back. Instead, he breaks their kiss to lean his head back and swear, tensing up beneath her and working sheerly on autopilot to bring her to her peak too. Hopefully she's as close as he was, because his focus is lost now. He is only a man, Primrose, take pity on him.]
no subject
But luckily for him, a combination of it having been far too long, his nimble fingers, just how well he matches her... does the trick. She squirms on top of him, breath faltering a bit at the sound of his cursing, but as he continues, she can't hope to hold out any longer. She can tell he's reached his peak, at least, which is always a sense of pride for her, but then Primrose can no longer focus on trivial things like pride (in that moment).
She shudders, gasps out his name - Ajax - her tone colored more by a warm emotion that she will not admit to later, and there's the pleasure that swamps her, threatens to pull her under.
She refuses to collapse on top of him, at least, though she's trembling from the effort. ]
no subject
She doesn't collapse on him, but when he finally pulls his hand away from her sex, it's to wrap his arms loosely around her and try to draw her down with him as he flops fully back onto the bed. A moment of respite, free from pride and pretense.
For all that he loves to run his mouth, he's quiet now, simply catching his breath and savor the high. It's almost too warm in the room, now, but he doesn't reach over to turn the heat pillar off. It's fine.]
no subject
She aches, pleasantly. Between her legs, little spots on her skin from where his teeth and nails had left their mark, but it's nice to feel all of it and she runs a gentle hand along his side, for no real reason at all. Just to enjoy touching him.
What an odd thought. ]
no subject
Her touch feels nice, too. He still doesn't shiver, but he makes a soft, pleased sound when her fingers catch on the edge of his worst scar. Eventually, he lets his head loll to the side, and he breathes out a laugh as his gaze catches on the ruins of his clothes on the floor.]
I didn't think that through very well, did I?
[This is what he gets for 1. assuming she'd want her own room and 2. being unable to resist a little danger. Dumb man. Absolute idiot.]
no subject
Ah, yes. When he'd wanted her to follow through. Of course. ]
Well, you find yourself with several options.
[ Stay and figure out what to do about it in the morning, or leave and figure out what to do about it now. She won't share a preference either way, just watching him with a more tranquil amusement. ]
no subject
[Tomorrow, certainly, if not at some point tonight, before she sleeps. But Childe certainly isn't making any effort to move, not beyond lifting a hand to brush some of her hair back over her shoulder. Is he admiring his hickey handiwork... maybe... is he assuming they'll bathe together... also maybe. He got with the program eventually.]
It's alright, though. Not much sense in modesty amongst soldiers.
[And soldiers make up the vast majority of those under his personal command, so. He doesn't seem particularly bothered about what state his people might see him in, which probably isn't a surprise. He was never modest at the station, either. And why would he go get clothes when the naked pretty girl is right here? Seems like common sense to stay put, tbh.]
no subject
[ She bends her head toward him as he sweeps her hair back over her shoulder, well aware that he's left quite a mark on her. Fitting, though she won't voice that particular thought. Instead, Primrose just kisses him, slow and lingering, before she murmurs against his mouth. ]
Is the bath large enough for two or will this be the extent of your hospitality tonight?
[ She says as though they didn't just have passionate semi-poignant sex. ]
no subject
Oh, kiss. That's nice. He lets his eyes drift shut and lazily threads his fingers through her hair, losing himself in the kiss until she speaks again.
It would be very funny if he said "actually yeah anyway I'm out"--but no, he just grins at her before he steals another kiss right back.]
I think we'll manage somehow.
[Ohhhh noooo whatever will they do if it's a tight fit... guess they'd just have to cozy up...
It's a moot point because if the bath can fit him then it can certainly fit her, but, y'know.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)