Erik doesn't know how lucky he is, that she lacks the wit currently to make any jokes about warming him up. Still, his temperature is no barrier to her - she'll bestow heat freely, free arm snaking around his waist. He's not trapped, but held.
Beneath his fingers, at one point, there's a scar hidden under her hair. A neat, small line almost an inch long on the back of her skull.
When he asks about the headband, Fever blinks a little, and then smiles again.
"It makes things easier. Long story short, a while back in my life, I lost a fight I wasn't expecting to get into. It left some things broken in my head." Even though it's not really a story to set the mood. "This, and the one I had before I arrived here, helps me against the aftermath. With it, I can keep my focus, be less confused - it helps clear things up when I need to actually think. Just sort of...smooths over the rough edges."
Jokes like that lead him to getting his teeth involved. Which isn't very vulnerable for him, so best let that rest for now.
It's a strange thing, to let himself be held. Let really is the right way to put it, as he fights the habit to assert himself. He wants this, truly, but there's fear in getting what he wants. What if it isn't what he hopes? What if it is?
He tries to put those worries from his mind by tracing the scar beneath her hair, wondering if this came from that fight she's speaking of. Blunt force could cause many long-term issues. A shame he likely can't so anything for it.
"I'm sorry you must live with such an ailment, but you seem to have it well in-hand. You don't strike me as one who enjoys being pitied." He could be wrong. He trusts she'll tell him if he is.
"I took it for an heirloom, perhaps. Or a trophy of some kind. Forgive me, but I did not judge you to be royalty."
She laughs, bright and easy, far from being offended.
"Not in the slightest. I'd make an absolutely terrible royal. Or noble, for that matter. I'd make some grievous social error and then wind up fighting whoever tried to take me to task for it."
There's an ease in her, nothing hasty. He's handsome, but she's decent at being patient when the time calls for it. For now, she'll just keep her arms around Erik, close but without pressure. Give him time to breathe, to be himself. It's hard to fuck up something like this, when it's for one's own pleasure and it's understood.
Strange, she'll ponder later, that of all the people to confess a wish for vulnerability to, it's to the woman who may as well leave bloody marks on everything she touches. Someone smarter than her could make meaning from it.
"...There are other scars on me, from different sources. Nothing hurts, and nothing is off limits to be touched. Figure I should give warning - it's raised some eyebrows in the past when I haven't."
Live with them long enough, you forget they're novel to other eyes.
"Yes," he laughs along with her. "I could easily see that becoming a problem. But you would make an excellent guard. I spent most of my years sharpening my tongue rather than my sword. I relied heavily on my right hand, Josiah, to keep his weapons at the ready when words failed. Thankfully, that was not often." If one thing can be said for older vampires, it's that they are usually too risk averse to go to blows over anything trivial. That's how they've managed to live so long in the first place.
She may notice that the talking helps relax him into her embrace. It's as much defense as offense, even if he'll never admit to that aloud.
"Thank you for telling me. They won't shock me, I assure you, but I do always try to approach touching such marks with caution until otherwise told." Since he has aversion so his own being seen or touched too directly. "Scars are... a delicate topic for vampires. We usually do not have any--cannot have any." Yet, he does.
She thinks of Astarion's scars, and says nothing. That's his secret to dispense as he would if he ever sets foot here, not hers. Instead, she focuses on the man in front of her, notes how the talking seems to set him at ease. Good. The more he relaxes, the less he'll feel afraid, the more he'll understand he never had anything to fear when it comes to voicing his desires.
"No need for delicacy with these ones. I've been reckless and I've survived in turn."
Even the one that had made Hawkeye look askance, the one that tended to draw the most worried gaze, it's long healed. Fever never won't have that mark upon her, proof of what she went through, something that at times she feels was wholeheartedly earned.
"Is there anywhere you need me to avoid? Where I shouldn't be touching?"
The way he said that, he's all but confessing, so all she's doing is teasing it into the light by asking after it directly. She can't read his mind, and the last thing she wants is to kill the mood because she did something wrong.
A flicker of tension pulls his chest tight like a spasm, but it passes so quickly it could almost go undetected. Almost.
She's asking out of concern, he reminds himself. It isn't as if he hasn't told plenty of people about this boundary. So, why does it feel somehow more intimate this time?
"My upper back and shoulders are a sensitive area. I have old marks there that I don't like others to see. Touching through fabric is tolerable but I'd prefer they be avoided."
She drops a kiss on his lips, light, and then up on his cheekbone trying to soothe it away. At the pace they're going, it'll be easy to remember, to redirect herself even when caught up. Just be careful, and it'll be fine.
"I won't touch. I won't look. You won't have to think about them."
He'll only have to think about enjoying himself. Plenty of other places for her to treat well.
The final knot of worry in his chest loosens as she promises to avoid his tender back. He's trained himself, by now, not to openly react if anyone does approach that area but there is a real sense of relief to know he won't have to keep up that facade. He really can just... relax.
"You are more than enough to make me forget them," he answers in what should be a sultry low flirt but it comes out far more sincere. He can almost picture himself blushing beneath those kisses she feathers over his cheekbones.
Now, though, he's gaining the confidence to give back a little too. "Strip for me, Fever? Let me admire you and your storied battle scars. I have hungered to see you bare since I met you."
The smile on her lips has an edge of honesty that was absent earlier as she pulls away, reluctant to leave his proximity but knowing she's not going far.
"As you desire, my lord." The title is said with enough flippancy that he'll know there's no deference implied, only playful banter.
She strips leisurely, as she might have at home - not so much so that it becomes a tease, but comfortable in letting him see. The unveiling of how her freckles really do go everywhere, the exposure of her skin, her form, what a life lived by fighting does. The scars that are healing, that will fade when battle is no longer such an overbearing force in her life. Older and newer. And the mark left by the vivisection, uneven and arresting across her abdomen - hastily and sloppily stitched in anticipation of undoing it all the next day - but something that doesn't hurt. Just a foggy, distant image.
Fever casts her clothes to the side, knowing she can always get them later. Finally, she's bare before him save for the circlet, which she reaches up to remove infinitely slowly. This much, she'll tease with.
He never tires of people calling him that in such pleasant teasing tones--not above having his ego stroked and he won't even pretend to be.
As she undresses, his unblinking gaze never wavers away. This is far better than any strip tease because it's real. It's her allowing him to see behind the curtain. What a pleasant discovery to find that she is speckled from head to toe in those fetching freckles. Those are more interesting to him than the scars are. Scars he's seen plenty of.
"You don't have to remove that if you don't wish to," he tells her as he steps closer, reaching with his delicate fingers out to trace the constellation of spots across her shoulder. He keeps tracing them down until he comes to that vivisection scar. He traces that now, too, with the same gentle attention.
His touch is gentle, and there's the slightest tremble in her nerves of anticipation, a soft little inhale of breath. His touch on the scar is sensitive in a different way, one that's both there and not there at all. Never ceases to be interesting, that detail about herself, but she's glad he's not being overly cautious about it. There's a spark in her gaze at the title, he gives her - something about it is charming, even with her declaration that she'd make a shoddy noble. Or maybe it's just the way he says it.
"I can be queen just as well without a crown."
Taking the circlet off, she gently tosses it aside, moving in to press herself close and kiss him again. More's in it than earlier, but still restrained, pulling herself to heel even with her hands on his waist, moving to run up his front. Slow, luxurious. They have all this time, and she wants to use it well, to find what places respond well to a touch, a kiss. Perfect for Fever to turn her head and murmur her request in his ear.
"Will you let me see you in return? I'll even say please."
She could do it for him, she knows. Might have tried, in another situation, but she's keeping Erik's words about his back in mind. Better to ask than risk killing the mood. Let him keep the pace that they've set, intimate and close.
"Spoken like a true queen," he purrs. A satisfied smirk lights up his eyes as he drinks in her reactions. He shall have to think of a dozen more pet names to call her if she's going to look like that every time.
As she kisses him, he can't help but give in to the urge to tease her restraint. His fangs graze her bottom lip, not enough to break skin but the promise is there. At the same time, her fingers running across his pecks draw a deep and honest shiver out of him. He's noticeably leaning into her grip on his hips.
"Yes, My Lady."
He steps back from her grasp so she can have a better view as he pops open the buttons of his shirt, one by one, with practiced grace. Each move he makes, from the way he jerks his tie away, to the snap of his belt coming out of the loops has a sense of precise theatricality--like a stage magician redirecting his audiences' attention to exactly where he wants it. But there's nothing cynical about the performance. By the time he's stepping out of his trousers, there's a triumphant glint in his eyes.
He's down to just his undershorts and undershirt. The former are stripped down first. His manhood might not be the impressive girth of Max's, but Erik is a respectable average with the foreskin intact. He's also very nicely trimmed and groomed, as one might expect when that's part of his profession. The real show, however, is in the fact that, after a brief moment of hesitation, he reaches to draw his undershirt up and all the way over his head. Few get that privilege, but after the understanding she's shown, she's worthy of it.
After the shirt comes off, his eyes raise to meet hers, and in them is a look more vulnerable than any he's shown her yet. She's laid him bare in more ways than one, to his own surprise.
It all has its desired effect - her eyes watch him, intent and focused, viewing the show with all the appreciation and hunger one could desire from an audience. There are several comments she could make, but the words hardly matter when instead she's feeling her own resistance ebb. Gods, but it's hard to be slow when she wants to pounce on him instead, but she did promise. Still keeping herself in check, while a dozen filthy imaginings flit through her head, the trail of her eyes making absolutely no secret of it.
But when she steps close again, none of them gain a voice. Instead, she fits her hand to his cheek and exhales slow. As good at reading people as he is, he'll know the coiling tension in her, how she's keeping it in check. Steady, steady. No need to rush with this. It's exceptionally difficult. It's maddening. It's a fun challenge.
"...You're beautiful, Erik."
For all that she is, when she voices words like that, she means them. Not a trace of deceit or hesitation, only appreciation. There is no comparison to her other partners - why should there be? Every person is different, with different qualities. And right now, her thoughts are focused on him, on giving him the experience he's asked for. Even if she's only keeping her mouth close enough to tease, her entire self just away enough to not touch, save for her hand.
His breath catches in a very human way when she calls him beautiful. The way she says it, when she's looking at him like that, he can tell she means it more than skin deep. He expects himself to balk at it but... no. This time he can let himself get lost in the intensity of her gaze, the warmth of her hand on his face, and let himself believe it's true.
For once, he can't think of anything to say. He doesn't have the words to describe how deeply she's touched him. But, he can see how she strains at holding back. For him. Now it's he who cannot hold back. He drives his lips into hers, hungry for more of her heat. It's not enough, so he presses his naked body against her as if he's trying to become one with her and not even in the sexy way.
Warmth radiates from her, everywhere they touch, pouring into him. She kisses him back, clasping him close. Her touch runs down his arms, his sides, his hips - and yet, for all the desire that's so easy to read, it never once strays towards his back. Fever promised, after all, and if she thought she couldn't keep the promise, she would ask him to bind her hands so she could keep it.
Somehow, her hands wind up in his hair, running through it and using the leverage to gently coax his head back. All the easier then to kiss down his jaw, his neck. Where a pulse would beat if he had one, where she might be otherwise tempted to leave marks.
"All this time before us," she murmurs into the hollow of his throat. "I'll make good use of it." Until he can't doubt that he's being handled with affection. A different day, she might have sunk her teeth into him - but restraint. Something kinder than that.
Erik's head tips back in her grip as he gives himself over to the sensation of her fingers raking his hair. The heat of her mouth on his jaw, spreading kisses down his neck, makes him shudder in delight while the hairs on his body all stand at attention.
His hair is not the only part of him standing at attention. His cock throbs against her, as if in objection to her promise of a slow build. Patience, he cautions himself. He's the one who asked for this, after all.
"I'm already going weak in your arms, Fever. You're going to melt me into a puddle." He's going to enjoy every minute of it. He already is.
"I'll need to be careful to prevent that. Puddles aren't exactly sexy things."
He'll feel her smile and hear it in her voice, as she guides them to the bed, coaxing him with movement and kisses to lie on his back. There. Exposed, but protected. Means she can settle by his side and continue, learning his body under her hands and lips. Moving down, but decidedly avoiding where her attentions might be most desired. Her mouth ghosts over his hip instead, the gentlest suggestion of teeth over the bone.
"You would be surprised the things that can be made sexy."
As she coaxes him to lay down on the bed, he's surprised by how pleasantly empty his mind is, as if the thoughts that would usually plague him have been swathed in cotton and pushed far away. All that's left to focus on is the way she makes him burn with lust, each kiss and caress building that flame higher. A deep and desperate whimper rattles the back of his throat when her teeth ghost over his hip. He spasms beneath her so hard and fast that the bedframe croaks in worrying ways as he forces himself down against the mattress to keep from bucking her off his his full strength.
"All this, and I've only given you a little. Are you that pent up, Erik?"
Amused, but entirely unconcerned with going faster until he asks. This is about what he asked for, after all, though Fever wouldn't even try to hide how his reaction feeds her own hunger. It's a bright thing with teeth, and she wants, but she also wants to see if she can unwind him fully in exactly the method he asked for.
"If you can't wait, I should take you down my throat and see just how many pretty sounds you make. But I won't be through with you for a while yet."
A single kiss under his navel, while her hands fit to his sides, nails very lightly dragging over. No pain, just sensation."
Chagrinned, he laughs almost as much at himself as at the tease. "I may be a thousand year old vampire, Fever, but I am still only a man." A very horny man who is, as it turns out, more pent up than even he realized. Evidenced by how his cock stands up on its own when she mentions taking him down her throat. What, is he supposed to say no to an offer like that?
It's an offer he can't refuse, especially when she's still tantalizing him with that kiss and the light bite of nails. "Make me sing for you, Fever," he practically growls. "You'll find that I won't be done for a while yet, either."
Fever smiles and changes her position to be properly between his legs, settling there more comfortably. With permission granted, she lowers her head and licks up his cock, pressing a kiss to the head of it. Still teasing, even now, until she pushes a stray bit of hair back and commits herself to the act.
Slow and careful, taking him in her mouth, so she doesn't choke. So she can pay attention to every twitch of his, her tongue stroking him as she moves back and forth. Fever dares to look up during this - she wants to see his face at least once as she tends to him, to bask in his reactions.
"Ffffuck," he hisses under his breath. He loves the tease, loves the way she takes her time on him, yet, paradoxically, it makes him more frantic for each touch. He's thoroughly caught in that delicious dilemma between holding back and letting go and each dip of her head over his cock brings out a new mewl of pleasure he can't hope to stifle.
When she first peers up at him, she'll see his face drawn tight in a look that's almost agony for how powerful it is, but when he opens his eyes and catches her observing, it's carnal heat that fills his expression. He reaches a hand out to cup her head and hold back her hair at the same time. His hand moves with her head, never forceful, but she may notice each pass she makes closer to his balls has his fingers flexing in a telling way.
It's a very satisfying feeling to hear him, to feel him. To know that every sound, every twitch is her doing. And then to see that look in his eyes, it hits her as a rush. A look like that could set someone on fire if they weren't already there, and she's twice as eager now to do her duty.
Fever could draw back, make Erik more desperate until he begged, but that's not the point of today. Another time, perhaps, if he wants to repeat the experience. This time, it's about bringing pleasure, in being indulgent. And so, noting that movement of his, her free hand comes to caress his balls, toying with them as her mouth keeps going. Erik need think of nothing else beyond chasing down his own satisfaction, nothing else than enjoying the moment.
Fever truly could have gotten him to beg, his eyes have pleading in them already, but she doesn't, and a separate part of him is grateful for that. She gives him what he desires without needing to ask.
"Ohhh," he groans appreciatively, his hip twitching in time with her every caress. "Just like that."
He can feel the first hints of deep pressure kindling in his loins, and now he has a choice. It's easy enough to suppress it and keep going, often he does, but today is for his pleasure. Today, he will indulge in easy release. For once, he won't hold himself back. One last thread of tension in him snaps and, at that moment, he sags, bonelessly, beneath Fever.
"Just like that," he whispers, "and I'll be yours in short o-order."
Good, she thinks, deeply gratified to feel the change in him. Just like that. She relaxes her jaw so she can take him a little deeper, work him over better, suck harder. Let go. All he has to do is let go, and be hers, and she wants to see it. Not because he's the town's premier whore, or because he's a centuries old vampire, but because he asked this of her, and she can bestow it.
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lordoftheozarks) wrote2023-06-13 08:20 pm
no subject
Beneath his fingers, at one point, there's a scar hidden under her hair. A neat, small line almost an inch long on the back of her skull.
When he asks about the headband, Fever blinks a little, and then smiles again.
"It makes things easier. Long story short, a while back in my life, I lost a fight I wasn't expecting to get into. It left some things broken in my head." Even though it's not really a story to set the mood. "This, and the one I had before I arrived here, helps me against the aftermath. With it, I can keep my focus, be less confused - it helps clear things up when I need to actually think. Just sort of...smooths over the rough edges."
A pause, then.
"What did you think it signified?"
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It's a strange thing, to let himself be held. Let really is the right way to put it, as he fights the habit to assert himself. He wants this, truly, but there's fear in getting what he wants. What if it isn't what he hopes? What if it is?
He tries to put those worries from his mind by tracing the scar beneath her hair, wondering if this came from that fight she's speaking of. Blunt force could cause many long-term issues. A shame he likely can't so anything for it.
"I'm sorry you must live with such an ailment, but you seem to have it well in-hand. You don't strike me as one who enjoys being pitied." He could be wrong. He trusts she'll tell him if he is.
"I took it for an heirloom, perhaps. Or a trophy of some kind. Forgive me, but I did not judge you to be royalty."
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"Not in the slightest. I'd make an absolutely terrible royal. Or noble, for that matter. I'd make some grievous social error and then wind up fighting whoever tried to take me to task for it."
There's an ease in her, nothing hasty. He's handsome, but she's decent at being patient when the time calls for it. For now, she'll just keep her arms around Erik, close but without pressure. Give him time to breathe, to be himself. It's hard to fuck up something like this, when it's for one's own pleasure and it's understood.
Strange, she'll ponder later, that of all the people to confess a wish for vulnerability to, it's to the woman who may as well leave bloody marks on everything she touches. Someone smarter than her could make meaning from it.
"...There are other scars on me, from different sources. Nothing hurts, and nothing is off limits to be touched. Figure I should give warning - it's raised some eyebrows in the past when I haven't."
Live with them long enough, you forget they're novel to other eyes.
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She may notice that the talking helps relax him into her embrace. It's as much defense as offense, even if he'll never admit to that aloud.
"Thank you for telling me. They won't shock me, I assure you, but I do always try to approach touching such marks with caution until otherwise told." Since he has aversion so his own being seen or touched too directly. "Scars are... a delicate topic for vampires. We usually do not have any--cannot have any." Yet, he does.
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"No need for delicacy with these ones. I've been reckless and I've survived in turn."
Even the one that had made Hawkeye look askance, the one that tended to draw the most worried gaze, it's long healed. Fever never won't have that mark upon her, proof of what she went through, something that at times she feels was wholeheartedly earned.
"Is there anywhere you need me to avoid? Where I shouldn't be touching?"
The way he said that, he's all but confessing, so all she's doing is teasing it into the light by asking after it directly. She can't read his mind, and the last thing she wants is to kill the mood because she did something wrong.
no subject
She's asking out of concern, he reminds himself. It isn't as if he hasn't told plenty of people about this boundary. So, why does it feel somehow more intimate this time?
"My upper back and shoulders are a sensitive area. I have old marks there that I don't like others to see. Touching through fabric is tolerable but I'd prefer they be avoided."
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She drops a kiss on his lips, light, and then up on his cheekbone trying to soothe it away. At the pace they're going, it'll be easy to remember, to redirect herself even when caught up. Just be careful, and it'll be fine.
"I won't touch. I won't look. You won't have to think about them."
He'll only have to think about enjoying himself. Plenty of other places for her to treat well.
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"You are more than enough to make me forget them," he answers in what should be a sultry low flirt but it comes out far more sincere. He can almost picture himself blushing beneath those kisses she feathers over his cheekbones.
Now, though, he's gaining the confidence to give back a little too. "Strip for me, Fever? Let me admire you and your storied battle scars. I have hungered to see you bare since I met you."
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"As you desire, my lord." The title is said with enough flippancy that he'll know there's no deference implied, only playful banter.
She strips leisurely, as she might have at home - not so much so that it becomes a tease, but comfortable in letting him see. The unveiling of how her freckles really do go everywhere, the exposure of her skin, her form, what a life lived by fighting does. The scars that are healing, that will fade when battle is no longer such an overbearing force in her life. Older and newer. And the mark left by the vivisection, uneven and arresting across her abdomen - hastily and sloppily stitched in anticipation of undoing it all the next day - but something that doesn't hurt. Just a foggy, distant image.
Fever casts her clothes to the side, knowing she can always get them later. Finally, she's bare before him save for the circlet, which she reaches up to remove infinitely slowly. This much, she'll tease with.
no subject
As she undresses, his unblinking gaze never wavers away. This is far better than any strip tease because it's real. It's her allowing him to see behind the curtain. What a pleasant discovery to find that she is speckled from head to toe in those fetching freckles. Those are more interesting to him than the scars are. Scars he's seen plenty of.
"You don't have to remove that if you don't wish to," he tells her as he steps closer, reaching with his delicate fingers out to trace the constellation of spots across her shoulder. He keeps tracing them down until he comes to that vivisection scar. He traces that now, too, with the same gentle attention.
"You look queenly just like this, My Lady."
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"I can be queen just as well without a crown."
Taking the circlet off, she gently tosses it aside, moving in to press herself close and kiss him again. More's in it than earlier, but still restrained, pulling herself to heel even with her hands on his waist, moving to run up his front. Slow, luxurious. They have all this time, and she wants to use it well, to find what places respond well to a touch, a kiss. Perfect for Fever to turn her head and murmur her request in his ear.
"Will you let me see you in return? I'll even say please."
She could do it for him, she knows. Might have tried, in another situation, but she's keeping Erik's words about his back in mind. Better to ask than risk killing the mood. Let him keep the pace that they've set, intimate and close.
no subject
As she kisses him, he can't help but give in to the urge to tease her restraint. His fangs graze her bottom lip, not enough to break skin but the promise is there. At the same time, her fingers running across his pecks draw a deep and honest shiver out of him. He's noticeably leaning into her grip on his hips.
"Yes, My Lady."
He steps back from her grasp so she can have a better view as he pops open the buttons of his shirt, one by one, with practiced grace. Each move he makes, from the way he jerks his tie away, to the snap of his belt coming out of the loops has a sense of precise theatricality--like a stage magician redirecting his audiences' attention to exactly where he wants it. But there's nothing cynical about the performance. By the time he's stepping out of his trousers, there's a triumphant glint in his eyes.
He's down to just his undershorts and undershirt. The former are stripped down first. His manhood might not be the impressive girth of Max's, but Erik is a respectable average with the foreskin intact. He's also very nicely trimmed and groomed, as one might expect when that's part of his profession. The real show, however, is in the fact that, after a brief moment of hesitation, he reaches to draw his undershirt up and all the way over his head. Few get that privilege, but after the understanding she's shown, she's worthy of it.
After the shirt comes off, his eyes raise to meet hers, and in them is a look more vulnerable than any he's shown her yet. She's laid him bare in more ways than one, to his own surprise.
no subject
But when she steps close again, none of them gain a voice. Instead, she fits her hand to his cheek and exhales slow. As good at reading people as he is, he'll know the coiling tension in her, how she's keeping it in check. Steady, steady. No need to rush with this. It's exceptionally difficult. It's maddening. It's a fun challenge.
"...You're beautiful, Erik."
For all that she is, when she voices words like that, she means them. Not a trace of deceit or hesitation, only appreciation. There is no comparison to her other partners - why should there be? Every person is different, with different qualities. And right now, her thoughts are focused on him, on giving him the experience he's asked for. Even if she's only keeping her mouth close enough to tease, her entire self just away enough to not touch, save for her hand.
no subject
For once, he can't think of anything to say. He doesn't have the words to describe how deeply she's touched him. But, he can see how she strains at holding back. For him. Now it's he who cannot hold back. He drives his lips into hers, hungry for more of her heat. It's not enough, so he presses his naked body against her as if he's trying to become one with her and not even in the sexy way.
no subject
Somehow, her hands wind up in his hair, running through it and using the leverage to gently coax his head back. All the easier then to kiss down his jaw, his neck. Where a pulse would beat if he had one, where she might be otherwise tempted to leave marks.
"All this time before us," she murmurs into the hollow of his throat. "I'll make good use of it." Until he can't doubt that he's being handled with affection. A different day, she might have sunk her teeth into him - but restraint. Something kinder than that.
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His hair is not the only part of him standing at attention. His cock throbs against her, as if in objection to her promise of a slow build. Patience, he cautions himself. He's the one who asked for this, after all.
"I'm already going weak in your arms, Fever. You're going to melt me into a puddle." He's going to enjoy every minute of it. He already is.
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He'll feel her smile and hear it in her voice, as she guides them to the bed, coaxing him with movement and kisses to lie on his back. There. Exposed, but protected. Means she can settle by his side and continue, learning his body under her hands and lips. Moving down, but decidedly avoiding where her attentions might be most desired. Her mouth ghosts over his hip instead, the gentlest suggestion of teeth over the bone.
no subject
As she coaxes him to lay down on the bed, he's surprised by how pleasantly empty his mind is, as if the thoughts that would usually plague him have been swathed in cotton and pushed far away. All that's left to focus on is the way she makes him burn with lust, each kiss and caress building that flame higher. A deep and desperate whimper rattles the back of his throat when her teeth ghost over his hip. He spasms beneath her so hard and fast that the bedframe croaks in worrying ways as he forces himself down against the mattress to keep from bucking her off his his full strength.
"You really are driving me wild."
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Amused, but entirely unconcerned with going faster until he asks. This is about what he asked for, after all, though Fever wouldn't even try to hide how his reaction feeds her own hunger. It's a bright thing with teeth, and she wants, but she also wants to see if she can unwind him fully in exactly the method he asked for.
"If you can't wait, I should take you down my throat and see just how many pretty sounds you make. But I won't be through with you for a while yet."
A single kiss under his navel, while her hands fit to his sides, nails very lightly dragging over. No pain, just sensation."
"Your choice."
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It's an offer he can't refuse, especially when she's still tantalizing him with that kiss and the light bite of nails. "Make me sing for you, Fever," he practically growls. "You'll find that I won't be done for a while yet, either."
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Slow and careful, taking him in her mouth, so she doesn't choke. So she can pay attention to every twitch of his, her tongue stroking him as she moves back and forth. Fever dares to look up during this - she wants to see his face at least once as she tends to him, to bask in his reactions.
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When she first peers up at him, she'll see his face drawn tight in a look that's almost agony for how powerful it is, but when he opens his eyes and catches her observing, it's carnal heat that fills his expression. He reaches a hand out to cup her head and hold back her hair at the same time. His hand moves with her head, never forceful, but she may notice each pass she makes closer to his balls has his fingers flexing in a telling way.
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Fever could draw back, make Erik more desperate until he begged, but that's not the point of today. Another time, perhaps, if he wants to repeat the experience. This time, it's about bringing pleasure, in being indulgent. And so, noting that movement of his, her free hand comes to caress his balls, toying with them as her mouth keeps going. Erik need think of nothing else beyond chasing down his own satisfaction, nothing else than enjoying the moment.
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"Ohhh," he groans appreciatively, his hip twitching in time with her every caress. "Just like that."
He can feel the first hints of deep pressure kindling in his loins, and now he has a choice. It's easy enough to suppress it and keep going, often he does, but today is for his pleasure. Today, he will indulge in easy release. For once, he won't hold himself back. One last thread of tension in him snaps and, at that moment, he sags, bonelessly, beneath Fever.
"Just like that," he whispers, "and I'll be yours in short o-order."
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Let go. It's that easy.
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