[ He is not discomforted, not really; he shifts and allows himself to move a little against the pressure of her fingers, more curious than anything else, and it does feel strange - but not painful. Just new, and different, but he imagines that is because it is one of her fingers and not more.
The toy he had designed for her use will certainly feel much different. ]
I have no doubt about it. Are you always this talkative during?
( He's lucky she's not self-conscious or else his barbs might impede her performance, or at least her courage at fucking a man who barely knows her, and whom she killed. Instead she rolls her eyes and presses her finger in deeper, more pointedly, in an attempt to see him at least stutter. The strap-on though -- that will work, she's certain of it. )
Oh, did you not know? Talking is key to copulating. ( She says, doing her best to keep a straight face but utterly failing. It's not exactly untrue, but certainly not in the way she's prone to babbling on when in the throws of passion. ) One must always be certain to tell your partner or partners how good they are. I will lavish praise on you, Emet-Selch, as I fuck you into your bed. But you must tell me what you want so that I can better see to your needs.
( Which is why she slides another finger into him, pressing deep before working him open -- stretching him. )
[ If Emet-Selch were anyone else he might simply end the matter now with the slight press of her finger, the way she rolls her eyes - but he finds himself not particularly discomforted, finds himself instead watching her with dark, intense eyes, drinking her in and refusing to relent for even the barest of moments. He will not allow her to have more of an upper hand, so to speak. ]
I have never heard such a thing. [ Not that they speak of it often here, private matter as it is. ] Why do you ask when you already know? I want for you to fuck me, or I'd not have bothered the creation of your device.
[ He swallows back the groan, head tilting back and eyes closing. ]
( Something about the way he looks at her strikes a cord within her, drawing her in further -- he might have never done this before, and she might find herself enjoying that very fact, but the way he looks at her, the intensity threatens to leave her breathless. It is a blessing and a curse that he closes his eyes, for she watches his throat work, grinning.
Though she does laugh a little, a soft chuckle she decides to smother in the crook of his neck as she learns forward, pressing her lips against his skin in small, barely biting kisses. )
Because, oh eminent Emet-Selch, some people find it incredibly arousing when one is describing all manner of crude details. How do you want me to fuck you?
[ It's not as simple a process as Emet would have imagined it to be, but he also mislikes bowing to her wisdom entirely. He intends to be an active participant in their coupling, as it were, despite his inexperience and her far exceeding knowledge: he will not be completely undone.
Not yet, at least, and the scowl that seems to settle all too familiarly on his face is likely enough proof of that. ]
I don't know. [ His reply is tight, his eyes flicking away from her face. ] I did not know there was more than the fucking to be had.
( That's adorable, and Pahja laughs -- not meanly, just completely charmed by his refusal to simply bow to her expertise. She doesn't mean to be cruel, and slides another finger into him in order to show that she isn't going to taunt and torment him forever. )
Hm. How about this? I'll say what I want to do to you, and then you can tell me if you like the idea, or like the sound of my voice? ( Another kiss to the corner of his lips, trailing down to his ear so that she can whisper, low and near-breathless, into his ear. ) Because I want to fuck you, Emet-Selch. I want to press you into the bed and fuck you so hard that you will never forget me, even after I'm gone. I want to see you spread open for my cock, I want to hear you cry my name. You'll let me, won't you? My dear, dear Emet-Selch--
( Her fingers don't stop moving, increasing in pace -- thrusting, spreading him open, encouraging him -- as she talks. )
[ He only has certain amount of reason to trust her, and thus far he has felt prickly from her own confidence where he lacks. His eyes narrow before a finger presses and he shivers instead, breathing out a soft little noise. ]
You are a monster - [ Which is enough, and he shakes as he leans back, allowing her fingers to press and tease, allowing her to drag him open and bring him new pleasures. It makes his breathing pause in a sharp little gasp, his head tilted back as he finally relaxes and allows her to take her control.
( Ah, there it is. Pahja rewards his concession with removing her fingers -- only for a brief moment -- attempting to swallow his protests with her mouth before she places the head of the dildo against him. )
You are far too kind. ( He is, at his heart. He cares so much, all the time, and it will ruin him. No matter how much he tries to push aside the depths of his love and affection for his world, his people, he will fail and it will destroy him.
He knows as much, but denies it. She will let him have that, now, and does not think to speak of it. Not know, when he is finally willing beneath her. Pahja grins, eyes flashing, and she rolls her hips forward, slowly thrusting into him -- not so deep right away, but she wants him to feel every stretch. ) Only one of us here can change shape at will, but if you wish to bare that to me, it will change nothing.
[ When the fingers are gone he makes a soft, sad little noise, almost mourning the loss of it - but then there is a gentle pressure of something new, more, a little larger, and his eyes flicker for the briefest of moments.
Kind, she says, and he snorts a little noise. ] Kind, you say, as if you are not preparing to ruin me entirely. I think you are simply offering idle flattery. [ The thrust forward is enough to make him groan, a low, deep little noise, and he shivers as he leans back into the bed below him.
It is intense, but it is also wonderful; he wants more of it, wants to be drowned in the feeling, but he is trying to speak. Trying to find gasping words as he lifts his head to look at her. ] Change shape? Do you think that is what is on my mind?
( Perhaps she is, and she presses a kiss to the curve of his jaw, soft and far, far too tender. This should mean nothing -- an experience at best -- yet Pahja cannot help but cherish it. The vulnerability of the man below her; the way he groans as she thrusts in, pushing deeper. )
I have never known what is on your mind, Emet-Selch. ( Grief and eons-long anger, a mourning that never leaves the curve of his shoulders. But she has not known it, not like he. ) Why don't you tell me what is, so that I might better fuck you?
( That is punctuated with a sharp roll of her hips, though she keeps talking. )
You are handsome, and I will see that face of yours ruined 'ere morning. Does that sound good, oh Emet-Selch?
[ Emet-Selch does not, at least, notice the tenderness overmuch; he is too wrapped up in the sheer feeling of her moving forward and taking her in. He can barely wrap his mind around the notion of this being more than it is, because the weight of want and desire is still pressing down on him.
Lifting his head, he looks at her with hazy eyes. ]
I- I have yet to fathom what I could possibly ask for.
[ His voice is a touch of hoarseness, his head leaning back. ]
( Thankful that whatever lapses in judgement she might display are hidden from him -- their meaning, or the fact that he cannot see what they are -- Pahja continues. It is what he asks for, after all, and she would be cruel indeed to deny him it. )
Very well.
( The smile she gives him is weighty with her own sadness, but she shoves that aside and buries her face into his neck, nipping at the skin there just hard enough to leave a mark. She presses deeper still, slowly, achingly slow, so that he can better adjust until he has taken her into the base of the strap. A hand comes to cord through his hair, keeping him there. )
There, how good you are to take it all. ( She smiles against his skin, pressing a kiss against the marks she's made. Pahja lets him have a moment, waits, before she pulls nearly all the way out in one smooth motion. ) My dear, dear Emet-Selch.
( Pahja thrusts forward again, strong but not harshly, easily sheathing the dildo into him. And again -- long, strong thrusts as she moves to hook one of his legs over her shoulder. She's short enough it should work, Pahja thinks, hopes that it does. For she wants to see his face. )
[ None of this venture was expected for him, and all that Emet-Selch might do is accept her lead and follow as he can - which admits itself to why he is still so surely, still so glaring even when her tenderness is there and sure. Her touch is careful, gentle, and he finds himself undeserving of it.
He feels her pushing in, feels himself getting so desperately full, and for a moment he is entirely without voice. It is an intensity he had not dared to imagine, and even if he had he does not think he would have been able to find the proper inspiration. This is so uniquely different to any experience he has had before, and the breath leaves him as he tilts his head back to try and simply enjoy the pleasure.
There's is no demand, no order for her to move, and Emet-Selch simply basks in the way that her lips feel against his skin - before suddenly she is moving, the grind of her gifted cock pressing into him, scraping against him intimately, and all he can do is moan.
He does not protest as she moves his leg, as she changes the angle just so, and his hands grip the sheets as he squeezes his eyes shut, completely lost in his own pleasure. ]
( There is something so inherently captivating about seeing Emet-Selch give himself over to the feeling, of pleasure, and that she could give him this one thing, a unique experience amongst his wealth of knowledge. Will he remember it? She wonders, but does not concern herself with the thought overmuch, instead keeping her thrusts steady, even. )
That's it. ( Pahja says, practically cooing at him, against his skin, relishing every moan she can pull from him. He doesn't have to look at her now, now that she can tell from the way he looks, the sounds he make, that he is enjoying this. ) Don't think, just feel and let yourself go. I promise-- I promise to take care of you.
( It is an ache, a burning sorrow in her breast, that she couldn't give him this in her time. Couldn't convince him to set his burdens down before she took his life. Would they have fucked if she could have? Pahja thinks so, she would have wanted to, would have allowed herself to be pulled fully in by his sly charm. It is unfair--
She shudders, overcome by the thought before she can restrain herself, and rolls her hips up into him to hear him moan like that again, to say her name to chase away the ghosts in her head. He is not the only one who needs to let go, Pahja thinks wryly. )
Moan for me again, Emet-Selch. I want to hear you--
( Her hand slides between them as she thrusts, steady and sure and deep as if she can force out what remaining thoughts he has left. Wrapping a hand around his cock, her touch is gentle, soft. Not demanding -- and for a moment Pahja is lost in the feel of it, heavy in her hands and larger than she would have thought. She is caught by wants -- the desire to have it in her, the desire to take it in her mouth and see if it will fit -- but neither of those are things she can have, and so she settles on what she can: watching him come undone.
Which is why she starts to stroke him, matched with the slow pace of her thrusts. )
[ The skill that she displays is truly almost too much for him, as unaccustomed as he is; he was not prepared for how overwhelming it might feel, the way that he is completely at her mercy. It has been a long time since he allowed anyone such power over him, but he finds the bubbling voice in his throat is so close to begging her to give him it all, to demand that she never stop until their pleasure is all that hangs between them.
It hurts, a little, his ego that she does not stop talking. Her promises make him feel a little embarrassed, on edge, as though anyone might be able to overhear them, might be able to read him like an open book. He does not think anyone will recognise what he has done with this little creature any day from now, but the thought of it makes his skin prickle. ]
You speak too much. [ His voice is strained, hoarse, even as she continues to thrust into him, continues to make demands of him: to moan, to express himself, to fall apart. His hands twitch a little as he resists the urge to give in to her entirely. She might demand it, but he remains yet his own man. ]
Give me good reason -
[ And then her hand is around his cock, and suddenly the idea of fighting back against her seems nigh impossible. He groans, low and deep in his throat, feeling the shudder run through him, head tilting back.
It seems as though she truly has control over him, and he must accept that for what it is. ]
( Must he be so difficult? Pahja supposes it was always in his nature to be such a contrary, stubborn thing. It would be aggravating if it wasn't endearing in this moment, the way he tries to hold himself back. Well, since when has Emet-Selch ever done what was in his best interest where she was involved? She can't name a single time, and the thought makes her huff in laughter, pressed against the skin of his neck so he doesn't mistake her amusement as mocking him.
For she couldn't. Not right now, when he has been most accommodating for her own wants and desires. He who has indulged her in ways he isn't aware of, ways he will never know until the weight of the universe has bent him. )
And here I thought you were growing to enjoy the sound of my voice. ( She quips, with a pointed roll of her hips and a drag of her hand down his cock. ) But if it's silence you want, Emet-Selch, then--
( She will give him silence.
Pahja continues to mouth at the smooth column of his neck, just shy of marking the skin -- she can only imagine the fuss he'd make if she did so, unable to hide them with how his robe falls open -- her breath hot as she bites her tongue. It's harder than she thought it would be, to keep from trying to encourage him. But this way he's ensured that the only sounds he'll hear are his own, every gasp and moan he might make against the sounds of their coupling.
Her grip on his leg tightens, and she bites her lip -- turning her concentration fully on the matter at hand. Every thrust she aims to have him move with the force of it. Every stroke of her hand up and down his cock with the intent of drawing more gasps and sighs from him.
Withholding anything that could make his pleasure greater seems pointless when she wants him to break so beautifully as she suspects he can. And he will, she'll see to it. She moves slightly to adjust their angle, forcing Emet's hips up more to drive her deeper into him with as much force as she can put behind every thrust, pushing him further and further into pleasure -- she wants him to lose himself in it.
Let him free himself from the worries that crease his brow, at least for a time. )
[ There is no denying that he would not be himself if he were more willing to give in to her; there is a part of him that must always fight back, be a touch on the side of biting, to demand all that he is able to do of his self-control. He will not give in and give her the satisfaction until he is truly torn apart by her tender, clever hands.
Perhaps, if he knew her better, he would be more consolidatory, but he does not, and thus he will be a pain until the end. ]
You are - irritating - [ Said, sharply, between breaths, his eyes closing as he allows her to make good use of his body. It feels good, feels full somewhere deep inside of him, and he longs to push her hand away from his cock and take over himself. To have her be in so much control over his own body and pleasure makes him uneasy, if only because he feels so bared to her.
The thrusts are almost too much, and he feels a strange, thick feeling in his throat, like he might cry. ]
Do you intend to ruin me? [ It comes out breathless, desperate, and the shifting of his hips might well give away just how much he wants to give in, just how close he is. ]
( Ah, so now he wants her to talk. Pahja laughs, a huff of warmth against his skin. She'll indulge him because for all his moody, bad tempered grouching, he is still letting her indulge in this -- even if it makes him slightly uncomfortable. She can reward him, can't she? )
Never. ( She says, though it's far more of a whisper. ) I don't wish to cause you more harm than I have, not ever again.
( The way he moves helps to encourage her, and her thrusts continue, deep and as powerful as she can -- matching the strokes of her hand to push him over the edge, to let him break in the most exquisite of ways. A gift, she wants it to be a gift and not something painful, not something he will regret even if he remembers it in the far, far future. )
Come for me, Hades. Please, you can let go--
( And she will keep him safe for that moment, she swears. )
[ The laugh makes him a little sour, but it's not as though he can deny her the gentle humour of it - she is permitted to be a little grouchy, considering he has been quite sour with her in return. Let her tease him and test him; in the end, they are both receiving more than enough pleasure from this shared evening.
More harm than I have. He ought to ask her what it is, exactly, that she is to do to him in the future, what ills await him, but pleasure is growing and warming him from the inside out - there is no denying just how desperate he is to completely lose himself to his pleasure.
Tilting his head back, he swallows the lump in his throat, the way that he feels almost overwhelmed by it, and before he can do anything more he is arching his back and coming, almost at her command.
It is almost too much, especially when she continues to move, his hips jerking just a little as he breathes out, breathless and sharp. ]
( Watching him fall apart is just as good as she thought it might be, and Pahja takes a moment to etch the image in her mind, the way his spine curves up, the soft sound that he makes as he breathes. It's perfect, Pahja thinks, and she could never ask for anything more.
She thrusts into him until he comes back to himself, slowing her thrusts and the drag of her hand until he is spent. Pahja doesn't pull out right away, instead leaning over him to kiss him -- soft, achingly so -- and brush his sweat-damp hair away from his face. He'll most likely have something sharp to say about that as well, so she rolls her hips once more as if to counter any pointed words, before sliding out and letting her hand fall from his cock. )
There. That wasn't so bad, was it?
( He really will throw her out now, she thinks, but she will manage. )
[ It feels like too much and he's sure that she is aware of it, the over sensitive drag of the cock he made her aching through his body and leaving him feeling as though he might well be falling apart. There's a sharp desperation about it, the way that despite having come he longs for more, and he has to shove it aside and leave himself the determination to not want more.
She slips back and moves away, almost as if entirely separating herself from him, and it makes him shift, his body reaching out to draw her close and tuck her against his body. Idly, he thinks he ought to have cleaned the two of them up before he leaned in like this, but it is too late for it now.
Instead, he leans in and kisses her before he tugs on her arms, pulling at her. ]
( He is handsome -- beautiful, even. Whether that's simply the result of grief and affection mingling with her own desire doesn't matter, she is simply content to be held close, to kiss him back as deeply as he deserves. Stubborn, stupid man that he is. )
What--
( She's taken aback, but her surprise only lasts for a moment before she allows him to guide her up. Pahja hadn't expected anything in return -- content to give him his pleasure and then be responsible for her own -- not because she thinks he would be an inattentive lover, but she hadn't wanted to presume, to ask him for anything he did not want to give or feel comfortable in giving.
Not that she is about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or... well, have him have his mouth on her, as the case might be. Settling over him, she looks down -- a hand coming to rest in his hair. )
Are you certain?
( A stupid question, maybe, but one she feels like she must ask. )
[ What a foolish question. Emet-Selch shakes his head and shifts his position to grant himself a little more comfort as his arm wraps around her to hold her in place. It's easy to move his fingers and have the toy he made for her fall away - they can concern themselves with that particular clean up later - so that she is bared and ready for him instead.
As much as he enjoyed being taken, he wants to ensure that she is brought all the best of pleasures. He would not consider himself an expert in this, but he is adept enough that he can surely figure out what will fulfil her desires most assuredly.
His lips press gentle kisses to her thighs, eyes closing for a moment as he lets himself bask. ]
( The difference in their heights, their size, suddenly seems more pronounced now than it did moments before -- how easily he keeps her there; it sends a thrill through her that she'll ruminate over later. Once this has faded into her memory. )
Well, no-- ( And anything else she might say is dispelled as quickly as it comes with his lips on her thighs, warm and soft. They shake from the want that now floods through her; carefully banked so that she could see him break for her. And now that he has, well. ) Let's see how sharp your tongue can be.
( She does not want to overwhelm him at once, but cannot help but take him at his word, settling over him before lowing herself down -- thighs tight so she does not smother him completely. Unless he wants that, of course. His nose, somewhere in the process of finding something that works for both of them, presses up against her clit and the friction is enough to tear a small, shocked gasp from her. )
Oh--. ( It has been, she realizes, so long. Since Haurchefant, was it? And that was years ago. ) I'd forgotten--
( What it was like to want another, to be desired and pleasured in turn. )
[ It is not as though he has much in terms of proficiency with this, but it cannot be too difficult.
The movement of tongue and fingers, a not so idle dance; certainly he will have room to improve in future, but he will put himself to good use now. It would not do for his partner to leave unfulfilled, especially when she has offered him great pleasure, and he is doing all that he is able to ensure that she finds the evening as enjoyable as he has, in all senses of the term.
His fingers move along to grip the back of her thighs, up to her backside, and he lets himself touch the soft skin, enjoy the weight of her against his body. It is more pleasant than he had imagined, and he feels his lips twitch just a little.
The way she gasps is enough of an indication of where he ought to start, so he does so: his tongue drags along her as he holds on, finding her clit and beginning to press against it, to test the waters of her sensitivity and seek the best destination going forward. ]
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The toy he had designed for her use will certainly feel much different. ]
I have no doubt about it. Are you always this talkative during?
[ It's not a complaint, just a question. ]
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Oh, did you not know? Talking is key to copulating. ( She says, doing her best to keep a straight face but utterly failing. It's not exactly untrue, but certainly not in the way she's prone to babbling on when in the throws of passion. ) One must always be certain to tell your partner or partners how good they are. I will lavish praise on you, Emet-Selch, as I fuck you into your bed. But you must tell me what you want so that I can better see to your needs.
( Which is why she slides another finger into him, pressing deep before working him open -- stretching him. )
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I have never heard such a thing. [ Not that they speak of it often here, private matter as it is. ] Why do you ask when you already know? I want for you to fuck me, or I'd not have bothered the creation of your device.
[ He swallows back the groan, head tilting back and eyes closing. ]
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Though she does laugh a little, a soft chuckle she decides to smother in the crook of his neck as she learns forward, pressing her lips against his skin in small, barely biting kisses. )
Because, oh eminent Emet-Selch, some people find it incredibly arousing when one is describing all manner of crude details. How do you want me to fuck you?
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Not yet, at least, and the scowl that seems to settle all too familiarly on his face is likely enough proof of that. ]
I don't know. [ His reply is tight, his eyes flicking away from her face. ] I did not know there was more than the fucking to be had.
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Hm. How about this? I'll say what I want to do to you, and then you can tell me if you like the idea, or like the sound of my voice? ( Another kiss to the corner of his lips, trailing down to his ear so that she can whisper, low and near-breathless, into his ear. ) Because I want to fuck you, Emet-Selch. I want to press you into the bed and fuck you so hard that you will never forget me, even after I'm gone. I want to see you spread open for my cock, I want to hear you cry my name. You'll let me, won't you? My dear, dear Emet-Selch--
( Her fingers don't stop moving, increasing in pace -- thrusting, spreading him open, encouraging him -- as she talks. )
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You are a monster - [ Which is enough, and he shakes as he leans back, allowing her fingers to press and tease, allowing her to drag him open and bring him new pleasures. It makes his breathing pause in a sharp little gasp, his head tilted back as he finally relaxes and allows her to take her control.
He is too weak to resist. ] Anything.
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You are far too kind. ( He is, at his heart. He cares so much, all the time, and it will ruin him. No matter how much he tries to push aside the depths of his love and affection for his world, his people, he will fail and it will destroy him.
He knows as much, but denies it. She will let him have that, now, and does not think to speak of it. Not know, when he is finally willing beneath her. Pahja grins, eyes flashing, and she rolls her hips forward, slowly thrusting into him -- not so deep right away, but she wants him to feel every stretch. ) Only one of us here can change shape at will, but if you wish to bare that to me, it will change nothing.
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Kind, she says, and he snorts a little noise. ] Kind, you say, as if you are not preparing to ruin me entirely. I think you are simply offering idle flattery. [ The thrust forward is enough to make him groan, a low, deep little noise, and he shivers as he leans back into the bed below him.
It is intense, but it is also wonderful; he wants more of it, wants to be drowned in the feeling, but he is trying to speak. Trying to find gasping words as he lifts his head to look at her. ] Change shape? Do you think that is what is on my mind?
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I have never known what is on your mind, Emet-Selch. ( Grief and eons-long anger, a mourning that never leaves the curve of his shoulders. But she has not known it, not like he. ) Why don't you tell me what is, so that I might better fuck you?
( That is punctuated with a sharp roll of her hips, though she keeps talking. )
You are handsome, and I will see that face of yours ruined 'ere morning. Does that sound good, oh Emet-Selch?
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Lifting his head, he looks at her with hazy eyes. ]
I- I have yet to fathom what I could possibly ask for.
[ His voice is a touch of hoarseness, his head leaning back. ]
Simply continue. Please.
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Very well.
( The smile she gives him is weighty with her own sadness, but she shoves that aside and buries her face into his neck, nipping at the skin there just hard enough to leave a mark. She presses deeper still, slowly, achingly slow, so that he can better adjust until he has taken her into the base of the strap. A hand comes to cord through his hair, keeping him there. )
There, how good you are to take it all. ( She smiles against his skin, pressing a kiss against the marks she's made. Pahja lets him have a moment, waits, before she pulls nearly all the way out in one smooth motion. ) My dear, dear Emet-Selch.
( Pahja thrusts forward again, strong but not harshly, easily sheathing the dildo into him. And again -- long, strong thrusts as she moves to hook one of his legs over her shoulder. She's short enough it should work, Pahja thinks, hopes that it does. For she wants to see his face. )
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He feels her pushing in, feels himself getting so desperately full, and for a moment he is entirely without voice. It is an intensity he had not dared to imagine, and even if he had he does not think he would have been able to find the proper inspiration. This is so uniquely different to any experience he has had before, and the breath leaves him as he tilts his head back to try and simply enjoy the pleasure.
There's is no demand, no order for her to move, and Emet-Selch simply basks in the way that her lips feel against his skin - before suddenly she is moving, the grind of her gifted cock pressing into him, scraping against him intimately, and all he can do is moan.
He does not protest as she moves his leg, as she changes the angle just so, and his hands grip the sheets as he squeezes his eyes shut, completely lost in his own pleasure. ]
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That's it. ( Pahja says, practically cooing at him, against his skin, relishing every moan she can pull from him. He doesn't have to look at her now, now that she can tell from the way he looks, the sounds he make, that he is enjoying this. ) Don't think, just feel and let yourself go. I promise-- I promise to take care of you.
( It is an ache, a burning sorrow in her breast, that she couldn't give him this in her time. Couldn't convince him to set his burdens down before she took his life. Would they have fucked if she could have? Pahja thinks so, she would have wanted to, would have allowed herself to be pulled fully in by his sly charm. It is unfair--
She shudders, overcome by the thought before she can restrain herself, and rolls her hips up into him to hear him moan like that again, to say her name to chase away the ghosts in her head. He is not the only one who needs to let go, Pahja thinks wryly. )
Moan for me again, Emet-Selch. I want to hear you--
( Her hand slides between them as she thrusts, steady and sure and deep as if she can force out what remaining thoughts he has left. Wrapping a hand around his cock, her touch is gentle, soft. Not demanding -- and for a moment Pahja is lost in the feel of it, heavy in her hands and larger than she would have thought. She is caught by wants -- the desire to have it in her, the desire to take it in her mouth and see if it will fit -- but neither of those are things she can have, and so she settles on what she can: watching him come undone.
Which is why she starts to stroke him, matched with the slow pace of her thrusts. )
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It hurts, a little, his ego that she does not stop talking. Her promises make him feel a little embarrassed, on edge, as though anyone might be able to overhear them, might be able to read him like an open book. He does not think anyone will recognise what he has done with this little creature any day from now, but the thought of it makes his skin prickle. ]
You speak too much. [ His voice is strained, hoarse, even as she continues to thrust into him, continues to make demands of him: to moan, to express himself, to fall apart. His hands twitch a little as he resists the urge to give in to her entirely. She might demand it, but he remains yet his own man. ]
Give me good reason -
[ And then her hand is around his cock, and suddenly the idea of fighting back against her seems nigh impossible. He groans, low and deep in his throat, feeling the shudder run through him, head tilting back.
It seems as though she truly has control over him, and he must accept that for what it is. ]
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For she couldn't. Not right now, when he has been most accommodating for her own wants and desires. He who has indulged her in ways he isn't aware of, ways he will never know until the weight of the universe has bent him. )
And here I thought you were growing to enjoy the sound of my voice. ( She quips, with a pointed roll of her hips and a drag of her hand down his cock. ) But if it's silence you want, Emet-Selch, then--
( She will give him silence.
Pahja continues to mouth at the smooth column of his neck, just shy of marking the skin -- she can only imagine the fuss he'd make if she did so, unable to hide them with how his robe falls open -- her breath hot as she bites her tongue. It's harder than she thought it would be, to keep from trying to encourage him. But this way he's ensured that the only sounds he'll hear are his own, every gasp and moan he might make against the sounds of their coupling.
Her grip on his leg tightens, and she bites her lip -- turning her concentration fully on the matter at hand. Every thrust she aims to have him move with the force of it. Every stroke of her hand up and down his cock with the intent of drawing more gasps and sighs from him.
Withholding anything that could make his pleasure greater seems pointless when she wants him to break so beautifully as she suspects he can. And he will, she'll see to it. She moves slightly to adjust their angle, forcing Emet's hips up more to drive her deeper into him with as much force as she can put behind every thrust, pushing him further and further into pleasure -- she wants him to lose himself in it.
Let him free himself from the worries that crease his brow, at least for a time. )
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Perhaps, if he knew her better, he would be more consolidatory, but he does not, and thus he will be a pain until the end. ]
You are - irritating - [ Said, sharply, between breaths, his eyes closing as he allows her to make good use of his body. It feels good, feels full somewhere deep inside of him, and he longs to push her hand away from his cock and take over himself. To have her be in so much control over his own body and pleasure makes him uneasy, if only because he feels so bared to her.
The thrusts are almost too much, and he feels a strange, thick feeling in his throat, like he might cry. ]
Do you intend to ruin me? [ It comes out breathless, desperate, and the shifting of his hips might well give away just how much he wants to give in, just how close he is. ]
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Never. ( She says, though it's far more of a whisper. ) I don't wish to cause you more harm than I have, not ever again.
( The way he moves helps to encourage her, and her thrusts continue, deep and as powerful as she can -- matching the strokes of her hand to push him over the edge, to let him break in the most exquisite of ways. A gift, she wants it to be a gift and not something painful, not something he will regret even if he remembers it in the far, far future. )
Come for me, Hades. Please, you can let go--
( And she will keep him safe for that moment, she swears. )
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More harm than I have. He ought to ask her what it is, exactly, that she is to do to him in the future, what ills await him, but pleasure is growing and warming him from the inside out - there is no denying just how desperate he is to completely lose himself to his pleasure.
Tilting his head back, he swallows the lump in his throat, the way that he feels almost overwhelmed by it, and before he can do anything more he is arching his back and coming, almost at her command.
It is almost too much, especially when she continues to move, his hips jerking just a little as he breathes out, breathless and sharp. ]
Oh...
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She thrusts into him until he comes back to himself, slowing her thrusts and the drag of her hand until he is spent. Pahja doesn't pull out right away, instead leaning over him to kiss him -- soft, achingly so -- and brush his sweat-damp hair away from his face. He'll most likely have something sharp to say about that as well, so she rolls her hips once more as if to counter any pointed words, before sliding out and letting her hand fall from his cock. )
There. That wasn't so bad, was it?
( He really will throw her out now, she thinks, but she will manage. )
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She slips back and moves away, almost as if entirely separating herself from him, and it makes him shift, his body reaching out to draw her close and tuck her against his body. Idly, he thinks he ought to have cleaned the two of them up before he leaned in like this, but it is too late for it now.
Instead, he leans in and kisses her before he tugs on her arms, pulling at her. ]
Up.
[ Sit on his face, Pahja. ]
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What--
( She's taken aback, but her surprise only lasts for a moment before she allows him to guide her up. Pahja hadn't expected anything in return -- content to give him his pleasure and then be responsible for her own -- not because she thinks he would be an inattentive lover, but she hadn't wanted to presume, to ask him for anything he did not want to give or feel comfortable in giving.
Not that she is about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or... well, have him have his mouth on her, as the case might be. Settling over him, she looks down -- a hand coming to rest in his hair. )
Are you certain?
( A stupid question, maybe, but one she feels like she must ask. )
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[ What a foolish question. Emet-Selch shakes his head and shifts his position to grant himself a little more comfort as his arm wraps around her to hold her in place. It's easy to move his fingers and have the toy he made for her fall away - they can concern themselves with that particular clean up later - so that she is bared and ready for him instead.
As much as he enjoyed being taken, he wants to ensure that she is brought all the best of pleasures. He would not consider himself an expert in this, but he is adept enough that he can surely figure out what will fulfil her desires most assuredly.
His lips press gentle kisses to her thighs, eyes closing for a moment as he lets himself bask. ]
Make good use of me, Pahja.
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Well, no-- ( And anything else she might say is dispelled as quickly as it comes with his lips on her thighs, warm and soft. They shake from the want that now floods through her; carefully banked so that she could see him break for her. And now that he has, well. ) Let's see how sharp your tongue can be.
( She does not want to overwhelm him at once, but cannot help but take him at his word, settling over him before lowing herself down -- thighs tight so she does not smother him completely. Unless he wants that, of course. His nose, somewhere in the process of finding something that works for both of them, presses up against her clit and the friction is enough to tear a small, shocked gasp from her. )
Oh--. ( It has been, she realizes, so long. Since Haurchefant, was it? And that was years ago. ) I'd forgotten--
( What it was like to want another, to be desired and pleasured in turn. )
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[ It is not as though he has much in terms of proficiency with this, but it cannot be too difficult.
The movement of tongue and fingers, a not so idle dance; certainly he will have room to improve in future, but he will put himself to good use now. It would not do for his partner to leave unfulfilled, especially when she has offered him great pleasure, and he is doing all that he is able to ensure that she finds the evening as enjoyable as he has, in all senses of the term.
His fingers move along to grip the back of her thighs, up to her backside, and he lets himself touch the soft skin, enjoy the weight of her against his body. It is more pleasant than he had imagined, and he feels his lips twitch just a little.
The way she gasps is enough of an indication of where he ought to start, so he does so: his tongue drags along her as he holds on, finding her clit and beginning to press against it, to test the waters of her sensitivity and seek the best destination going forward. ]
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tsundere baby time
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