[ her head feels heavy, weighed down by contentment and comfort — when he speaks, it takes her a moment to blink, to rouse herself into responding; when she does, it's calm, almost sweet as her mouth curves into a lazy smile. ] They're better, [ gentle reassurance ] Don't worry.
[ she's past the point of fear and fragility. now, her only instructions are to avoid repetitive injury — so no sparring, to avoid blows to the ribs, and no getting into fights to avoid breaks anywhere else. she's allowed to run and walk and resume her daily activities, so long as she gives herself breaks.
not that she thinks that's what he means. no, daisy remembers their conversation too. though she doesn't mean to let herself get her hopes up, her heartbeat ticks a speed higher all the same, warmth and wanting blanketing her limbs. ]
[ it is a very nice feeling that he would be content to envelope himself for the rest of the evening. but he'd asked that question fro a reason and now that she's answered, it's hard to think of anything but that.
for awhile, he stays just like that, nuzzling against her neck and saying nothing. he stays there for almost too long. long enough that she might think he's going to do nothing more than that.
he finally pulls himself back, hands coming up to frame her face. ]
But, I can do more than nice.
[ he can. he's trusting her that her injuries are healed that if doing this isn't going to injure her. that he can use the strength and tension in his limbs in a good, pleasurable way without aggravating her recovery.
so, he makes the statement and watches her to ensure this is what she wants too. ]
[ she knows he can. she knows exactly what he's capable of, how hard a blow he can strike and how strong he can be — but in this, it's uncharted territory. thrilling, exciting, nervewracking; her mouth suddenly feels a little dry as he looks down at her, tongue pushing out through her lips to sweep side to side.
in some corner of her mind, she knows what this is. a line in the sand, a last call at backing out before they step into something very different. this is the time for daisy to crack a joke or change the subject, to feign sleep or to get up for a drink of water, to do anything other than express her complicit agreement with whatever it is he has in mind. once they start, stopping won't be nearly as easy.
but she doesn't want to get up, or to stop, or to change the subject. she wants whatever he's been thinking of, whatever he's willing to give her. so rather than smile or laugh or joke, she offers just one word of encouragement. ]
[ it's one word, two syllables but it seems to set off a little explosion in his chest. he doesn't move immediately though he wants to. he wants to grab her and push her down, he wants to cover her with his body and leave marks on her but he doesn't just yet. ]
You say something if you want to stop.
[ he doesn't intend to get too out of control with anything but he feels that has to be said. they are still new to each other no matter how much time has been spent together. he thinks he has a fairly strong grip on what she likes and what she doesn't like but there's no way he knows it all.
not yet. ]
All right?
[ his hands are already creeping down to the bottom of her (his, it's his damn shirt) to get a hold of the hem but going no further for the moment. ]
I don't. [ at all. no part of her wants to stop. her entire body trembles for a moment in sheer exhilaration before her hands dart down, curling around the hem and yanking it upright, over her head, before it's tossed aside. it falls ... somewhere. over the side of the bed, most likely. ] I don't want to stop.
[ so there. a dare, in a sense. hitting the gas instead of the brake, gaze locked on his, breath caught in her throat as her heartbeat hammers in her chest. god help her, she couldn't stop if she wanted to right now.
but she can stoke the fire, so she does. ]
Please, Illya.
[ breathy, a little ragged around the edges, the way she usually groans his name when he's got her nearly there. no question of what she wants, anymore. ]
[ he is pretty sure that he stops breathing at least once. he doesn't know if it's when she says she doesn't want to stop or when she pulls the shirt over her head and tosses it aside like she won't be needing it anymore. but, he knows that he stops breathing and then she says please (again) and he exhales noisily.
he's heard that tone of voice many times by now but never before they've actually done anything.
it's enough.
it's enough to finally turn that switch completely where it needs to be. it's enough to make him surge forward, slotting his mouth against hers and tumbling them both to the bed. he reaches for both of her hands, moving them above her head and pressing them down, effectively pinning her down, fingers digging roughly into her skin.
he bites at her lower lip once, twice before pulling back and peering down at her. while the clothes he's wearing are thin and meant to keep him cool, he still feels overly dressed in comparison to her. but it's also a rush, being like this when she's completely naked.
he makes a sound low in his throat and nudges her legs apart with his knee so he can shift a little bit closer. he lowers his head and finds the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and presses a gentle kiss there right before licking the spot and then sucking at it sharply.
he does not know what a hickey is but she might be getting one anyway. ]
[ the moments pass by in a blur, as he drops her to the bed and pins her down, as his hands dig into her wrists, as his teeth drag against her lips and then her neck and then the spot he's claimed as his own. the spot that, when his mouth brushes against it, daisy's head tips to the side, exposing more skin to the greedy path of his lips and teeth and tongue.
she knows, in the haze of her mind, what he's doing. the kind of claim he's making, the mark that won't fade overnight; it's a brand, a tangible reminder of this thing between them, and as the reality of it washes over her, daisy moans, head tipping back as her eyes flutter closed. she shifts underneath him, hips rising, trying to angle for more of the weight and pressure he's giving between her legs, to get any more of him that she can.
there's a time for slow and there's a time for fast, and right now, there's no room for patience. there's no room for anything but want and need, tight in her belly, and the echo of his groaned desire between them. ]
[ it would be easy, he realizes, to spend far too much mouthing at her neck and he doesn't want her to think that he's changing his mind. he's not. it's just too easy to get caught up in how she smells and how she tastes and how she feels.
he would have never admitted to being a man who could get so caught up in things like that but here they were while it was happening. don't ask him to admit it out loud but he'll admit to himself. it's true.
eventually, he does pull away when there's a nice bruise forming against her smooth skin. hopefully she'd be able to hide it. but, not thinking about that now, not when he's licking his way back into her mouth and giving his hips just the barest press down and against her, worrying her lower lip between his teeth so he can get a good look at her while she feels him. ]
wanted to write smut, wrote fuckin garbage emotions instead
[ she won't hide it. she's not thinking about it now, but come morning, daisy will leave it be. she might smile, might trace a fingertip around its edge and remember the sharp pain and pleasure that had flooded through her as his teeth had dragged across her skin, but she won't feel shame.
she isn't ashamed of him. she isn't ashamed of any of this — not of him, not of what he does to her, not even of how he makes her feel. there's pleasure, yes, but there's more than that. even as his tongue sweeps across her teeth, warmth blooms across her skin, bleeding through them both through their bond, her own adoration clear as the lust that threads around it. this isn't about getting off. there were a million people in this city who had a body she could climb onto. this was about something else.
this was trust, and as her wrists rock underneath his grip, a wave of it pulses through the bond, steady and sure. a four letter word she's not ready to even think passes through the haze of her arousal, and daisy swallows hard, groans his name, and keens. ]
Please, [ she begs, but she's not sure what for. more. always more, of him, of this, of the pressure he's so teasingly providing. ]
[ will he ever get used to feeling what she feels? probably not. it used to be that when he was with anyone, he could shut off that side of him, the side that wanted to feel anything. he could take comfort in the other person as a way to release stress and tension but nothing more.
not here. even the slightest hint of a touch opens him up to emotions he's tried to bury. and it allows him to feel what people think of him. so, getting even a taste of what she feels nearly leaves him panting. and then she has to go and beg, to sound so wanting of him that he actually does gasp though it's quiet, quick. he covers it up by pushing himself into a kneeling position so he can tug his own shirt off. ]
What are you asking me for?
[ for once, he's asking not because he's confused but because he's genuinely curious as to what he can do to make this better for her. he knows what he wants to do, how he wants to touch her, how he wants to bend her and pull her and bite at her but they're together and he wants to know what she thinks as well. ]
I want — [ and for once, daisy struggles to put it into words. it isn't as simple as a command or a direction, not as straightforward as encouragement might be. it's permission, in a way, something she's already given but stands to be repeated. she has to swallow again, blinking rapidly as she tries to clear her mind enough to put the words together; there's a moment of silence, the only sound their breathing, before she manages to speak again. ] I want all of it. All of you.
[ his hands have stilled, loosened their grip, and so she's able to gently pull one of her own free; it lifts to find purchase along his jaw, nails scratching along the thicker patches of his beard. in the quiet, she finds the words, and the self-awareness to smile up at him, not quite a smirk but bright all the same. ]
I trust you. I wouldn't have asked you to fuck me senseless if I didn't.
[ is that clear enough for you, comrade, because she's not quite sure how else to put it. ]
[ sometimes he wishes he had her ease with words. her ability to be so open and honest about what she wants. even if he'd already known this for the most part, she speaks it clearly and without shame and he doesn't think he'll ever be able to be like that.
but, he understands. he gets it, he knows what she wants and he wants to give it to her if he can. one of the reasons he wishes he could talk as openly as her would be that he could tell her this isn't exactly a request he gets often. it's not the first time but he hopes that maybe it would explain some of his hesitance.
she trusts him though, three words that make him a little dizzy. he nods, leaning down to give her a deep, dizzying kiss before he pulls back and makes to move off of her. ]
Turn around.
[ if she wants to put herself in his hands, he'll do his best to make sure she's exhausted and sore by the end of things. ]
[ if the intention is to shut her up, a kiss like that does a damn good job. she's lucky to be able to manage a nod of acknowledgement before rolling onto her stomach, shifting to prop her head and shoulders up on her forearms. the rest of her lays flat, though she doesn't doubt that he'll move her as he needs to for whatever he has in mind.
her mind is happy enough to fill in the blanks with suggestions, but there's something particularly thrilling about the mystery of it all. ]
[ more than he could have asked for, more than he deserved. truly, he has no idea why she might have chosen him of all people but he also knows better than to ask. because he knows the look that he would get and there is an outside chance it would start an argument.
but he thinks about it nonetheless because what does he have to offer? very little. and yet here she is, trusting him and wanting him and giving herself to him in a way that makes him shudder.
he stretches out over top of her again, hands on either side of her while he lines kisses down her spine, down to the small of her back and then up again, licking the back of her shoulder.
soft and sweet and delicate and good for other situations but not right now. so, it's a good thing that he reaches up and gets a hand in her hair and tugs back on it, enough to sting probably but he's not being cruel. he can't do that.
with her head pulled back, he lowers his face down to her neck and kisses it again. he's building up to things and he needs to move things forward (and he will) but he just can't help himself where she's concerned. ]
[ the touch is — reverent, daisy thinks, the realization weaving around waves of warmth and pleasure with each brush of his lips against her back and shoulder; even the tangle of his fingers in her hair and the tug backwards to expose more of her skin to his wandering devotions is insistent, but not unkind. demanding, but with the knowledge that she'll give it, fully and without complaint. she wants to. she wants him — each breath, each combination of inhale exhale that slips through her open mouth rolls around a soft moan, reminding him just how much.
and when he asks her to move, she does. she obliges without argument, her hips lifting to allow her legs to spread; a free hand reaches for a pillow and nestles it under her stomach, leaving her hips a little higher for him. he doesn't ask her to, but she can anticipate still, and try to help. ]
Please.
[ it's not for show. it's a needy word, breathy and wanting, muffled into the sheets. ]
[please says again and he mutters something in russian, a sharp curse because that words keeps burrowing under his skin, chipping away at the control she wants him to lose. even if she'd given permission, told him she wants all of him, allowed him this, there's still a measure of restraint on his end.
but, it's eroding.
it crumples even more when she situates herself just so. his mouth goes dry and if he wasn't turned on before, he is now. he definitely is now. he clears his throat and focuses. he cannot just stare at her all night.
he sweeps a hand against one of her legs, fingers stretching down her thigh. he moves to brush his other hand down her back, adding that lighter touch just as he slides one finger against and then inside of her.
gently. yes, he knows. he knows and he's trying to let go completely. but, at least he doesn't hesitate to slide in deeper. his eyes flick to her face to watch for her reaction to gauge what he would and should do next. ]
[ his hands are warm. the thought is a brief flash of clarity in her mind as his hands skim over her back and legs, gently guiding her forward, angling her just so — and then that clarity's gone, replaced by a sudden awareness of need and what can only be described as a whine low in her throat.
it's not enough, and yet, daisy's head tips forward, ducking down until her forehead presses in firm to the sheets, the nape of her neck exposed to his gaze and the air above. her breath is hot against her own skin, the sound of her own panting echoing in the hollow space created by the shift in position. a hand lifts, curving tight around the back of her own neck, nails scratching in mottled red streaks of half-moon paths across her shoulder as he moves.
if it's a reaction he wants, daisy's never been one to hide hers, and now is no exception. her hips, arching by instinct alone into the touch for more, ought to tell him exactly what she wants if nothing else does. ]
[ does he react this viscerally, he wonders? he can't. he's never been the type to be emotive and though he's been with her more than he's been with anyone else in his life (a realization that pulls him up short for a second) and is comfortable around her, he's still quiet and low key when it comes to bedroom activities.
for a few moments, he's content to let things stay as they are. maybe it's the way she's breathing or the fingers on her shoulder but those few moments pass quickly and he slides back into action. he lowers himself down and mouths a kiss at the base of her neck, breath hot near her ear while he adds a second finger because she can take it. he knows she can. he knows she wants more.
she can take it and she can handle him pushing harder, rougher, letting a little more of his restraint drop away. she's all right, she's okay and he's not going to hurt her. it's a mantra he has to repeat even as his fingers press forward once again. ]
[ as much as illya wants to set the pace for her, to make sure she's comfortable and consenting to every touch, the pace is still maddeningly slow. she can't help but rock back against him, instinctively seeking out more of what he's been so teasingly providing; he increases the pressure and she groans out a stammered approval, a thank you across a low exhale, soft gasps rolling over silence the syllables leave in their wake. ]
God, [ less devout than it ought to be, perhaps, but sincere all the same ] don't stop, please...
[ the words repeat themselves, fading out into nothing as her arms stretch out to slid under the pillows and curve fingertips over the hidden edge of the mattress, securing a grip that leaves her feeling only marginally steadier. ]
[ she needn't worry, he doesn't intend to stop. he's pretty sure that if he tried, she might actually kick him. their positions were such that it would be easy for her to catch him with a heel to the chin so he was just going to do his best to avoid that.
his fingers, good as they seem to be doing with her, aren't really what he wants to use but with the way she seems to be reacting and writhing, he's not going to pull them out just yet either. could he add another, see how much she could take?
yes, he thinks he's going to do that while at the same time leaning over and whispering something in her ear: ]
Do you want me to keep going like this? Or should I do something else? Or...both?
[ not at the same time. but he wonders if she has enough in her to go back to back. she'd mentioned senseless after all. ]
[ the greedy answer, stammered out in between breaths, softened by an exhale that seems to take all the air from her lungs as she adjusts. it's strange, how slow and almost contemplative he is, and yet how demanding it feels — she'd expected ... well, not this. she's not complaining, not by a long shot, but she is surprised.
but it doesn't feel like it's the right answer. or, at least, not the full answer. that takes a little more courage, and so daisy lets herself pant, catch her breath, just enough that she can turn her head towards him and whisper back. ]
I want you to do what you want. [ full stop. ] I promise I want it too.
[ that should be obvious considering he's got three fingers inside her and she's still telling him she wants more, but hey. the man's occasionally in need of a little clarity. ]
[ one day he is going to have to really tell her how hard it is for him to do what he wants. he's used to orders, regimented and restrictive routines that he follows to the letter. day in and day out, that was his life so to come here and be given choice and freedoms that he's not used to is going to take some adjustment.
even now, when she's desperately trying to get him to loosen up and relax and drop some control, he resists because that's what it feels like he has to do. but, there's really no way to resist now, not when he's in this deep with her and she's not about to just let him back away.
he nods and twists his fingers inside of her, trying to focus there instead of the future, instead of what he's going to do next. he stops trying to be so precise and elegant and instead goes for deeper and harder, trying to work her up and work her over in a way that she enjoys and wants more of. ]
[ maybe both was overzealous. maybe she overestimated exactly how much she could withstand before she came apart, his name gasped out into the sheets as her body stretches forward like the bow of a violin. but it's a hell of a way to go either way, so daisy's not complaining.
no, he fucks her — because how else do you say it, how else do you describe the unrelenting speed he picks up, the sharpness of his hand gripping around her hip, holding her in place, the heat of his breath against her back? — and she comes apart, arousal slick around his hand as she trembles, body falling slack and slumping into the mattress after a moment or two to gasp at a mouthful of air.
give her a minute. let her rest, let her heart rate slow down just enough to manage thinking about words, and then she'll roll over onto her back, peering up at him with a giddy, breathless smile. ]
Hi. [ hands lift to reach for his shoulders, pulling him in for a lazy, open-mouthed kiss. when they part, foreheads touching, she offers a little encouragement. ] Was that good for you, because it was pretty good for me.
[ pretty good. next time he will have to aim higher, do something different, set a better goal. just be glad he does not go so far as to maker her critique his method so as to completely ruin the mood of the evening. ]
I like seeing you enjoy yourself. [ and he wasn't so clueless that he thought she'd had a bad time. maybe he could do better but she certainly hadn't had a bad time. ]
So yes, it was good for me. [ very good for him in that regard. one corner of his mouth even lifts, a barely there smile appearing while he watches her come down and gradually settle after everything. ]
[ pretty good is a figure of speech. he'd gotten her off, hadn't he? granted, she was mostly just laying here for a reprieve, not begging off completely, so he doesn't need to be too worried about his final judges' score just yet.
unless he wants to be. that might be a disappointment. ]
Yeah? Good. [ with the blood finally settling in her body, she pulls herself upright, sitting up to face him. that small smile gives her all the encouragement she needs. ] But I happen to remember you asking me if I wanted something else, too.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[ she's past the point of fear and fragility. now, her only instructions are to avoid repetitive injury — so no sparring, to avoid blows to the ribs, and no getting into fights to avoid breaks anywhere else. she's allowed to run and walk and resume her daily activities, so long as she gives herself breaks.
not that she thinks that's what he means. no, daisy remembers their conversation too. though she doesn't mean to let herself get her hopes up, her heartbeat ticks a speed higher all the same, warmth and wanting blanketing her limbs. ]
This is nice.
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[ it is a very nice feeling that he would be content to envelope himself for the rest of the evening. but he'd asked that question fro a reason and now that she's answered, it's hard to think of anything but that.
for awhile, he stays just like that, nuzzling against her neck and saying nothing. he stays there for almost too long. long enough that she might think he's going to do nothing more than that.
he finally pulls himself back, hands coming up to frame her face. ]
But, I can do more than nice.
[ he can. he's trusting her that her injuries are healed that if doing this isn't going to injure her. that he can use the strength and tension in his limbs in a good, pleasurable way without aggravating her recovery.
so, he makes the statement and watches her to ensure this is what she wants too. ]
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[ she knows he can. she knows exactly what he's capable of, how hard a blow he can strike and how strong he can be — but in this, it's uncharted territory. thrilling, exciting, nervewracking; her mouth suddenly feels a little dry as he looks down at her, tongue pushing out through her lips to sweep side to side.
in some corner of her mind, she knows what this is. a line in the sand, a last call at backing out before they step into something very different. this is the time for daisy to crack a joke or change the subject, to feign sleep or to get up for a drink of water, to do anything other than express her complicit agreement with whatever it is he has in mind. once they start, stopping won't be nearly as easy.
but she doesn't want to get up, or to stop, or to change the subject. she wants whatever he's been thinking of, whatever he's willing to give her. so rather than smile or laugh or joke, she offers just one word of encouragement. ]
Please.
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You say something if you want to stop.
[ he doesn't intend to get too out of control with anything but he feels that has to be said. they are still new to each other no matter how much time has been spent together. he thinks he has a fairly strong grip on what she likes and what she doesn't like but there's no way he knows it all.
not yet. ]
All right?
[ his hands are already creeping down to the bottom of her (his, it's his damn shirt) to get a hold of the hem but going no further for the moment. ]
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[ so there. a dare, in a sense. hitting the gas instead of the brake, gaze locked on his, breath caught in her throat as her heartbeat hammers in her chest. god help her, she couldn't stop if she wanted to right now.
but she can stoke the fire, so she does. ]
Please, Illya.
[ breathy, a little ragged around the edges, the way she usually groans his name when he's got her nearly there. no question of what she wants, anymore. ]
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he's heard that tone of voice many times by now but never before they've actually done anything.
it's enough.
it's enough to finally turn that switch completely where it needs to be. it's enough to make him surge forward, slotting his mouth against hers and tumbling them both to the bed. he reaches for both of her hands, moving them above her head and pressing them down, effectively pinning her down, fingers digging roughly into her skin.
he bites at her lower lip once, twice before pulling back and peering down at her. while the clothes he's wearing are thin and meant to keep him cool, he still feels overly dressed in comparison to her. but it's also a rush, being like this when she's completely naked.
he makes a sound low in his throat and nudges her legs apart with his knee so he can shift a little bit closer. he lowers his head and finds the spot where her neck meets her shoulder and presses a gentle kiss there right before licking the spot and then sucking at it sharply.
he does not know what a hickey is but she might be getting one anyway. ]
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she knows, in the haze of her mind, what he's doing. the kind of claim he's making, the mark that won't fade overnight; it's a brand, a tangible reminder of this thing between them, and as the reality of it washes over her, daisy moans, head tipping back as her eyes flutter closed. she shifts underneath him, hips rising, trying to angle for more of the weight and pressure he's giving between her legs, to get any more of him that she can.
there's a time for slow and there's a time for fast, and right now, there's no room for patience. there's no room for anything but want and need, tight in her belly, and the echo of his groaned desire between them. ]
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he would have never admitted to being a man who could get so caught up in things like that but here they were while it was happening. don't ask him to admit it out loud but he'll admit to himself. it's true.
eventually, he does pull away when there's a nice bruise forming against her smooth skin. hopefully she'd be able to hide it. but, not thinking about that now, not when he's licking his way back into her mouth and giving his hips just the barest press down and against her, worrying her lower lip between his teeth so he can get a good look at her while she feels him. ]
wanted to write smut, wrote fuckin garbage emotions instead
she isn't ashamed of him. she isn't ashamed of any of this — not of him, not of what he does to her, not even of how he makes her feel. there's pleasure, yes, but there's more than that. even as his tongue sweeps across her teeth, warmth blooms across her skin, bleeding through them both through their bond, her own adoration clear as the lust that threads around it. this isn't about getting off. there were a million people in this city who had a body she could climb onto. this was about something else.
this was trust, and as her wrists rock underneath his grip, a wave of it pulses through the bond, steady and sure. a four letter word she's not ready to even think passes through the haze of her arousal, and daisy swallows hard, groans his name, and keens. ]
Please, [ she begs, but she's not sure what for. more. always more, of him, of this, of the pressure he's so teasingly providing. ]
but you know i love the garbage
not here. even the slightest hint of a touch opens him up to emotions he's tried to bury. and it allows him to feel what people think of him. so, getting even a taste of what she feels nearly leaves him panting. and then she has to go and beg, to sound so wanting of him that he actually does gasp though it's quiet, quick. he covers it up by pushing himself into a kneeling position so he can tug his own shirt off. ]
What are you asking me for?
[ for once, he's asking not because he's confused but because he's genuinely curious as to what he can do to make this better for her. he knows what he wants to do, how he wants to touch her, how he wants to bend her and pull her and bite at her but they're together and he wants to know what she thinks as well. ]
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[ his hands have stilled, loosened their grip, and so she's able to gently pull one of her own free; it lifts to find purchase along his jaw, nails scratching along the thicker patches of his beard. in the quiet, she finds the words, and the self-awareness to smile up at him, not quite a smirk but bright all the same. ]
I trust you. I wouldn't have asked you to fuck me senseless if I didn't.
[ is that clear enough for you, comrade, because she's not quite sure how else to put it. ]
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but, he understands. he gets it, he knows what she wants and he wants to give it to her if he can. one of the reasons he wishes he could talk as openly as her would be that he could tell her this isn't exactly a request he gets often. it's not the first time but he hopes that maybe it would explain some of his hesitance.
she trusts him though, three words that make him a little dizzy. he nods, leaning down to give her a deep, dizzying kiss before he pulls back and makes to move off of her. ]
Turn around.
[ if she wants to put herself in his hands, he'll do his best to make sure she's exhausted and sore by the end of things. ]
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her mind is happy enough to fill in the blanks with suggestions, but there's something particularly thrilling about the mystery of it all. ]
Is that … is this what you had in mind?
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[ more than he could have asked for, more than he deserved. truly, he has no idea why she might have chosen him of all people but he also knows better than to ask. because he knows the look that he would get and there is an outside chance it would start an argument.
but he thinks about it nonetheless because what does he have to offer? very little. and yet here she is, trusting him and wanting him and giving herself to him in a way that makes him shudder.
he stretches out over top of her again, hands on either side of her while he lines kisses down her spine, down to the small of her back and then up again, licking the back of her shoulder.
soft and sweet and delicate and good for other situations but not right now. so, it's a good thing that he reaches up and gets a hand in her hair and tugs back on it, enough to sting probably but he's not being cruel. he can't do that.
with her head pulled back, he lowers his face down to her neck and kisses it again. he's building up to things and he needs to move things forward (and he will) but he just can't help himself where she's concerned. ]
Move your legs apart. I want to touch you.
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and when he asks her to move, she does. she obliges without argument, her hips lifting to allow her legs to spread; a free hand reaches for a pillow and nestles it under her stomach, leaving her hips a little higher for him. he doesn't ask her to, but she can anticipate still, and try to help. ]
Please.
[ it's not for show. it's a needy word, breathy and wanting, muffled into the sheets. ]
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but, it's eroding.
it crumples even more when she situates herself just so. his mouth goes dry and if he wasn't turned on before, he is now. he definitely is now. he clears his throat and focuses. he cannot just stare at her all night.
he sweeps a hand against one of her legs, fingers stretching down her thigh. he moves to brush his other hand down her back, adding that lighter touch just as he slides one finger against and then inside of her.
gently. yes, he knows. he knows and he's trying to let go completely. but, at least he doesn't hesitate to slide in deeper. his eyes flick to her face to watch for her reaction to gauge what he would and should do next. ]
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it's not enough, and yet, daisy's head tips forward, ducking down until her forehead presses in firm to the sheets, the nape of her neck exposed to his gaze and the air above. her breath is hot against her own skin, the sound of her own panting echoing in the hollow space created by the shift in position. a hand lifts, curving tight around the back of her own neck, nails scratching in mottled red streaks of half-moon paths across her shoulder as he moves.
if it's a reaction he wants, daisy's never been one to hide hers, and now is no exception. her hips, arching by instinct alone into the touch for more, ought to tell him exactly what she wants if nothing else does. ]
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for a few moments, he's content to let things stay as they are. maybe it's the way she's breathing or the fingers on her shoulder but those few moments pass quickly and he slides back into action. he lowers himself down and mouths a kiss at the base of her neck, breath hot near her ear while he adds a second finger because she can take it. he knows she can. he knows she wants more.
she can take it and she can handle him pushing harder, rougher, letting a little more of his restraint drop away. she's all right, she's okay and he's not going to hurt her. it's a mantra he has to repeat even as his fingers press forward once again. ]
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God, [ less devout than it ought to be, perhaps, but sincere all the same ] don't stop, please...
[ the words repeat themselves, fading out into nothing as her arms stretch out to slid under the pillows and curve fingertips over the hidden edge of the mattress, securing a grip that leaves her feeling only marginally steadier. ]
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his fingers, good as they seem to be doing with her, aren't really what he wants to use but with the way she seems to be reacting and writhing, he's not going to pull them out just yet either. could he add another, see how much she could take?
yes, he thinks he's going to do that while at the same time leaning over and whispering something in her ear: ]
Do you want me to keep going like this? Or should I do something else? Or...both?
[ not at the same time. but he wonders if she has enough in her to go back to back. she'd mentioned senseless after all. ]
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[ the greedy answer, stammered out in between breaths, softened by an exhale that seems to take all the air from her lungs as she adjusts. it's strange, how slow and almost contemplative he is, and yet how demanding it feels — she'd expected ... well, not this. she's not complaining, not by a long shot, but she is surprised.
but it doesn't feel like it's the right answer. or, at least, not the full answer. that takes a little more courage, and so daisy lets herself pant, catch her breath, just enough that she can turn her head towards him and whisper back. ]
I want you to do what you want. [ full stop. ] I promise I want it too.
[ that should be obvious considering he's got three fingers inside her and she's still telling him she wants more, but hey. the man's occasionally in need of a little clarity. ]
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even now, when she's desperately trying to get him to loosen up and relax and drop some control, he resists because that's what it feels like he has to do. but, there's really no way to resist now, not when he's in this deep with her and she's not about to just let him back away.
he nods and twists his fingers inside of her, trying to focus there instead of the future, instead of what he's going to do next. he stops trying to be so precise and elegant and instead goes for deeper and harder, trying to work her up and work her over in a way that she enjoys and wants more of. ]
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no, he fucks her — because how else do you say it, how else do you describe the unrelenting speed he picks up, the sharpness of his hand gripping around her hip, holding her in place, the heat of his breath against her back? — and she comes apart, arousal slick around his hand as she trembles, body falling slack and slumping into the mattress after a moment or two to gasp at a mouthful of air.
give her a minute. let her rest, let her heart rate slow down just enough to manage thinking about words, and then she'll roll over onto her back, peering up at him with a giddy, breathless smile. ]
Hi. [ hands lift to reach for his shoulders, pulling him in for a lazy, open-mouthed kiss. when they part, foreheads touching, she offers a little encouragement. ] Was that good for you, because it was pretty good for me.
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I like seeing you enjoy yourself. [ and he wasn't so clueless that he thought she'd had a bad time. maybe he could do better but she certainly hadn't had a bad time. ]
So yes, it was good for me. [ very good for him in that regard. one corner of his mouth even lifts, a barely there smile appearing while he watches her come down and gradually settle after everything. ]
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unless he wants to be. that might be a disappointment. ]
Yeah? Good. [ with the blood finally settling in her body, she pulls herself upright, sitting up to face him. that small smile gives her all the encouragement she needs. ] But I happen to remember you asking me if I wanted something else, too.
[ a quirk of her brow, a slight challenge. ]
You weren't just teasing, were you?
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