off-dash.

it takes time, seconds she cannot count and perhaps minutes, before she can focus again, mismatched tiffany hues coming down once more to make contact with the thick forests of his emerald gaze locked up her way. it does something to her that is perhaps more violent than the orgasm had been — it makes her think, if only for these few moments, that he cares, at least enough beyond the orgasm that he's not rushing. it allows the act to be enjoyable outside of the bubble she's forced it into.

later, the thoughts will swirl. fingers will try to mimic the way his had moved, the warmth of tongue that hadn't even dipped into the honeys digits had earned so easily.

he gives commands, and nelrathe is crafted to follow them without question, letting her legs slip back down so feet can hit the floor and she can whirl around with soldier's grace, plant her hands on the same lip of granite that's hot from where her body had just flown through the seven stages of arousal, and she is shuffling her heels apart to spread her legs for him once more. not yet does she aide.

no, she's focused on the woman that he's also divying some attention to. where the drake would be envious of the split in another scenario, here, she folds her arms on the granite lip and rests her chin on them, horn butting against the wall as she offers a smarmy smile over to the woman fingering herself just far enough away from the action she won't be blamed; be roped in when the show-stoppers come barreling in. tongue slips out, rolls against fangs and upper lip's central plush as the man behind her pulls his cock free — she can hear it. the soft grunt he releases just before he issues another command.

there, nelrathe lifts up onto the balls of her feet, pushing her ass up into the air to give him a little more leeway. an easier entrance that he takes without hesitation, and gods below how she's thankful for it. spine arcs downward as he slides in, filling her out almost perfectly until he's tucked all of the way in, his pelvis pressed tight against the plump swell of her ass.

only here does she lift back up off her forearms, pushing palms into the granite and tilting her head back some, careful of where he's at behind and above. here, a confession, quiet only for him and made in the form of a request.

all eyes upon her, green burns bright behind twin rows of thick lashes as his hands grip her hips tight enough the color lightly bleeds from his joints. spit slick lips remain parted just enough that when he breathes over them? the air is cool and a stark contrast to how fucking hot he feels all over. the way she tightens around him makes him shudder as if the chill moving over his mouth sank into his bones. ben can smell the heat from the woman across the room. inhuman senses bring her want through the air over to them. he can hear her breathing. mixed with nellie's scent, her breaths? fuck! it's intoxicating! perfectly how he likes it. consuming. blotting out the entire planet that might come walking by and leaving just him and her and their watcher in a room that is so close but so far off from anyone else's attention.

..not that it'd matter if the whole fucking thing filled up with spectators behind them now. not when he's pulling out and watching the way his cock glistens with her dampness as it slips almost free. at her request, he shoves himself back in hard enough to jar them both. the way she takes him? incredible! fucking addictive is what it is. soldier boy groans. heavy and low as he ruts against her ass keeping himself locked inside velvet walls that grip him hard enough he swears he wouldn't be able to pull out of he wanted. bending in as his pants finish falling the rest of the way to his feet, he bites at her earlobe and murmurs. "you got it, darlin'," as fingers dance up her side and soon? curl around her mouth. all but one. his pointer that slips inside fucking against her tongue with the same rut of his hips against her ass.

"ahhh, fuck." he hisses picking up the pace he fucks himself into her. every ridge. every part of hardened flesh traces the contours of her insides. claims it. demands it with every drip that's starting to leak from a tip that will not see the light of day until he comes inside. beyond pulling out now--he rests his forehead against the bend of her neck and shoulder breathing hot against her skin. reluctant to let go of her hip, he keeps her spread open for him by putting one foot against the inside of hers and kicking her leg open so his fingers can disappear between her folds.

at first? all he does is use his pointer and middle finger to trace and stroke the hole his cock's thrusting into. feeling himself moving in her. feeling how she gives and tremors around him. how we she is because now she's not just wet by herself but by the traces he's already begun to push deeper inside. that's his favorite part. feeling the way he's all but stuffed in as far as he can get. pulling out only enough to buck and jerk his way against the spot inside her that's warmer than all the rest while a rough thumb finds her clit and presses in.

did she think she was allowed to only flood the floor once? oh no. he wants that painting his thighs. his legs. they can leave her fucking trashed and he wouldn't give a shit. wear it with a badge of pride while every other man watched wondering if they'd ever have the balls to do what they're doing. surprise! they don't! behind them--the woman's muffled cry draws his attention only by him cracking his eyes open in a partially blocked view past nellie's throat. he watches her start to cum. and smiles against flushed, hued skin. deep voice purrs, "look at what we did.. watch her." encouraging her more? he pulls out and slams back in as his thumb begins rolling her hardened nub with faster, lighter flicks. the moan it rips out of him is pitched and wanting as he uses the hand covering her mouth to turn her head in their watcher's direction.

she's heard stories, the tales of his proclivities and promiscuity whether true or false — she does not care. if anything, it will have taught him how to play her strings like a professional, and oh how he is proving himself so early in the game that this is quite possibly the truth. he does not rush, does not push to gratify himself, but gives, and before he's even really begun working her, she's thankful.

every centimeter of her skin that he grazes lights with the fire she's not felt in how long? his touch the kindness she'd wanted, dreamed for, and where it lacks the aggression she had also mentioned, she finds herself whimpering the praises back to him instead of asking for more. the chords that are strung through the inner lengths of her thighs tighten, flexing muscles that had almost atrophied in the time of their disuse as knees fight themselves not to press together. not until the tide has shifted enough that she is on that lip of a counter and holding onto its edge instead of his knees, her legs still spread on a whim that is not entirely her own.

softer than the sounds she allows to slip out of her mouth, head hung lower than before with a curtain of fire and cream curls draped around her face to hide it from the crowd, are the little squelches of her core reacting to him and his ministrations. each push inward, a cry out of wetness — each pull back, a dismayed sigh of fear he won't return.

stomach pulls inward, those combative knees trembling in their battle with themselves as he draws the bit of her inner thigh deemed worthy into his mouth to suck, to draw blood to the surface that comes willingly to his call, entering that first stage of light bruising immediately when he parts from her again in pale shades of violet. music falls from her lips, but she dares not say his name even if it lingers there on the tip of her tongue.

if only he could see the body she'd crafted, donned in ink and gemstones that had been lost in the forced changes back and forth. she thinks, for a brief second, he'd appreciate it so much more.

he plies her apart like she's nothing, yet everything, and it is the blow that causes the storm. head jerks upwards, hands leaving the ledge to find his skull not at the back to draw him in further, but at the front to push him away enough that when the flood comes, he does not drown. it's small, but it is still an apex of arousal nonetheless, trickling down onto the floor beneath her and perhaps his lap if he's close enough.

seeing her come undone against his fingers alone--his mouth had yet to even close upon her folds--soldier boy watches with an absolute fascination as she shudders and her release flows over his palm and wrist. hits the floor next to his knee and almost dampens the fabric. not that he would've cared. honestly? he's almost disappointed it missed. next time. maybe he'll wear the scent of her for an entire evening. just to watch other men or women tighten their hands when no one's looking in an attempt to pull their shit together. because something in her scent? is fucking intoxicating.

smirk upon his face--he waits for her to finish. not once stopping the way his fingers thrust, his thumb curls or how he smiles--directly up at her. hair a mess under her grip and face flushed with his indulgence. tongue snakes out after she's come to a quivering stop--just to lap the taste of her from the insides of her thighs. one long lick after another. not once does he close his eyes. instead? keeps his head angled just enough that she can see him on every upswing to the front of her thigh before he disappears to the back.

one final long caress of a curled tone splits her open for him once again. fingers withdraw and move to grip her hips as he begins to stand. once he is on his feet? a quiet murmur comes as both a request and a simple instruction. "turn around... grip the edge," his belt jingles as he unzips his pants fully. in the meantime? he'll lick the taste of her off his fingers before slipping his hand into soft cotton briefs. someone behind them gasps and he can smell the strange woman's arousal from where they are. has half a mind to invite her over--but he's having too much fun enjoying himself exactly where he is.

the smell of her and nelly reach his nose, however. their viewer's got her hand up under her dress. in a dark little spot tucked away just within eyesight if he glances from the corner of his eye. and he does just as she pulls her panties back and sinks a finger into herself. good. leaning forward, he murmurs against nelly's ear. "be a good girl," his hand smooths a gentle caress over the swell of her ass once it faces him. deft fingers pull himself out of his pants and he squeeze, gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath at the relief a simple touch sends up his spine.

it is here she admits to herself that she has blocked out every encounter she has had before with anyone on this planet, and before, it had only been the deathwalker. deep azure flesh tough as stone with scales that matched hers, made her feel at home despite their species being entirely different. for a split second as she's looking down at ben's crotch to work at the fastens of his pants, she swears she hears the voice of the deathwalker in her ear, goading her on. rewarding her for enduring everything that she has. ben does not have tusks or the imposing build of her late husband, but he knows her pain.

maybe it is this that draws her so deeply in, allows her to shed the embarrassment that comes not with the gaggle of folk behind her, watching her — this is nothing new, for the spirits have seen her at her most vile —, but with the eyes of someone she is choosing perhaps foolishly to trust with everything in herself.

a hum rumbles low in soldier boy's throat as he takes in the sight of her. pretty and perfectly crafted. green eyes glisten as they take her in. the want growing inside of him plays out in the twitch of his jawline. how his tongue snakes out and catches his bottom lip. pulls it between a pointed incisor and the teeth underneath. listening to her answer his question brings a light, cornered smile to that bitten flesh.

the supe only lets it escape just to murmur, "good," before his free hand dips fingers down to the smooth flesh of her inner thigh. over scales that frame her core. a thumb grazes between her folds and he shifts from watching the way they part for him to glancing up for her reaction.

then holds her gaze captive as thumb drags over a small pearl of hardened skin. pointer and middle finger drag themselves lower. lower. and hover--pressing against slick skin before both ease themselves inside with a practiced slowness that demands entry but measured just right to open her bit by bit so that she's hugging them tight.

the sigh that leaves him could easily be mistaken for what a man might sound like finally slipping himself inside a warm, wet grip after hours of waiting. there are eyes upon them and soldier boy couldn't care less. give them a show. something to jerk off to later when they imagine the two of them. of her legs open as she's perched upon his lap. of how his hand shifts as his fingers begin to curl and his thumb coils around her clit.

another part of his lips and he looks almost smug. proud of himself as skilled fingers straighten and his hand retracts to the point of them nearly slipping free--then curl as they slide so easily back in. a steady rhythm picks up and he ignores the ache in his own pants focusing instead on how she's coating his fingers and palm. emerald gaze takes in every thrust, twitch and press against her. only after he's stamped the sight to his memory does he shift and gives her no option other than to go along for the ride. the small lip of what he figures is a bar to sit their drinks upon between her back and the wall has her ass firmly planted upon it. his fingers are still inside her, still moving as he kneels between her thighs.

Ben's constant presence does not bother him, even though he does make it seem otherwise. The supe amuses him, especially the shit that comes out of his mouth, and Stiles likes that he can mostly throw it back in his face. There's another sip taken from his can of Coke before it's placed off to the side, and he goes for the pizza again, taking a big bite from it like someone who has not eaten all day long. His tongue came out to lick the sauce left behind on his bottom lip, whiskey-colored eyes shifting in the others' direction once again.

"why? aching to use your tongue and help?" knowing smirk tossed stiles's way and he goes back to shoveling some pizza in his mouth. bare balls still firmly planted upon that leather sofa. robe doing god's work to try and give a man who couldn't have to fucks left to give about modesty a sliver of any it might be able to. "could spread my thighs nice and wide for you. make some room. let a professional in to do the work." god damn, he just keeps going. whether or not his mouth is full of pizza or not. gloating with a grin after a clipped burp, he swallows down soda (fucking of course this fairy wouldn't have decent beer) to wash his mouth out.

head falls back to rest upon the couch, seemingly unaware that he's being watched. or enjoying the fact that he is. and ignoring him isn't anywhere near close to what he's actually doing. why not let stiles enjoy the view. poor fuck acts like he hasn't had anyone naked in a five foot radius in fucking forever.

smirk, huff. his shoulders jerk as he puffs out a laugh with the offer. setting what amounts to an inch of pizza left and the crust back on the plate--and the plate meets the table beside where he's sat--he doesn't put forth the effort to even lift his head as it rolls in stiles's direction. green eyes landed upon him. there's a certain twinkle in his gaze that says he's enjoying himself as much as stiles is. then something darker. more primal. layered so thinly underneath that mask, it's borderline dangerous. fingers work to untie the silk belt around his waist. doesn't make a damn movement to remove the fabric from where it pools in his lap. nah. why? cause that's about to be stiles's job. knees swing apart. bare feet firmly plant themselves on the floor.

Look at you. It shouldn't have such an effect on Hughie, but it does. Of course, it's not just those words but the way he says it, the feeling of his voice rumbling, how he looks at Hughie, grinning and hungry. It's the thumb firmly tracing the outline of his erection, the heat of having his entire, undivided attention. It almost takes Hughie by surprise. That Soldier Boy is even giving him such attention, that his pleasure is considered. Soldier Boy is from that era, he portrays himself as The 20th Century Male, masculine and hedonistic, taking only what he wants and not giving a shit for anyone's pleasure or consideration.

It's like Soldier Boy knows Hughie wants to look away, to hide in some sort of sense. The moment the thought emerges, to perhaps tuck himself in the crook of his neck, Soldier Boy's voice turns from a wanton purr to a firm command. Thumb and finger are a vice upon his chin, tilting his head back, forcing eye contact. Hughie's adam's apple slides up and down, and from his swollen lips spills out a "Yessir", as though he subconsciously wants to add to his own humiliation.

Dextrous fingers work his belt and before he knows it, button and zipper are loose. Just one firm tug and a small noise from himself, Hughie's pants are around his thighs. He can't tell if Soldier Boy is doing this just to humiliate him, or if it's a test of his obedience, because their eye contact doesn't break, Hughie remains wanting and untouched, the only feedback he gets is a warning tut.

To both his relief and chagrin, Soldier Boy's hand delves down. "Oh!" It isn't enough, Soldier Boy teases, before he's enveloping Hughie, fingers and palm curling and closing. Keeping still or quiet proves to be a challenge. Thighs quiver and clench as an experienced hand rolls up and down, waves of pleasure throbbing from the sensation. He isn't given the option to muffle sounds behind clenched teeth, as Soldier Boy forces his mouth open, dragging a thumb over his teeth like Hughie's an animal at auction.

Hughie swears that at the mere thought of it, his mouth begins to water. Pleasure is swiftly followed by pain. Fingers dig deep into his curls, pulling hard, pulling from Hughie a half cry, half moan, making sure that wherever it goes, Hughie will have no choice but to follow. It's a slow, clumsy descent to the floor, his pants still bunched at his thighs, his erection now leaking against his thigh. He looks up at Soldier Boy through his lashes. There's no sort of escape. No closing his eyes. Hughie is to be present for every single second of this. "Yessir," is his breathless, eager answer.

He's nowhere near as smooth as Soldier Boy was in taking down his pants. His hands tremble, his fingers fumble. He's excited and nervous and he still can't believe this is really happening. Somehow, he manages it, while making sure his gaze never strays. He swallows, a hand splayed out on of his thighs, the other at the base, guiding Soldier Boy's cock into his mouth. He leans in and down, licking one wet stripe to the underside, from base to leaking head.

spine still dancing with the sound of hughie's cry as the lanky man moves to his knees as lead with a yessir melting from those pretty, spit slicked lips--soldier boy feels himself stiffen impossibly more. hasn't been this hard since sheri lewis stopped mouth fucking that lamb she kept her fist shoved up the ass of and turned that pretty red mouth and those magic fingers in his direction.. good times.

once hughie is settled onto his knees, keeping direct eye contact as he was told--solider boy lets out a groan. deep. damn near a muffled growl of want. between his legs? damn near painful, he strains thicker and feels his fucking blood rushing south so fast it makes him suffering half-blood loss drunk kinda dizzy. only better. anticipation floods his nerves. heightening what's already been amplified by what's contained in the blood running through his veins.

if the damn near tumbling descent didn't do it? that face? those eyes? that throat exposed the way it is because of his fist gripping his hair? how perfectly that mouth is angled at just the right position to fuck? would've sunk him completely. yes. you will watch me through the whole thing. no mind wandering. no one else to see? imagine? right now? hughie is his and his alone and there is to be no doubt in his mind days, weeks, months from now when he has a sudden aftertaste creep from his mind to his tongue? that it's soldier boy stamped there. a reminder. and he'll come asking for more. that he may or may not get.

"you're only allowed to look away.. when--" he breaks off, panting down at him as a shudder rattles up his back as a hand wraps around the heavy ache that's all hughie's doing. lips soon join in and he swallows hard, nostrils flare as a velvet tongue glides along his shaft. tasting him. learning the feel of his skin. fucking finally. relief and pleasure coils around his cock and he can't stop himself from leaning his hips closer. "--when i let you.." oh, he moans that out watching tears bead up at the corner of hughie's eyes. by letting him? hughie will definitely know.

his own eyelids flutter as he watches himself disappear between those lips causing long, deceptively delicate lashes to swing shut before he forces them open. two slits marked by darkening green that are watching every move. once he's in as far as hughe seems to be able to take him, he coaxes him. almost sounds sweet. "you can take more, be a good boy," then proves it by twisting that fist and pushing him slowly and carefully (for now) down til he feels himself hit the back of a throat that has yet to give for him but will soon learn how. or he'll choke. either way? it'll feel fucking perfect.

his touch is so much, a kindness where soft skin has only known pain for so many years. she cannot even remember if she's had the grace to give herself attention in such a way since the portal had opened and swallowed her, dropped her down on the table under the man with white hair.

her head shakes to diffuse that thought — the idea of him alone something that would kill her desire to follow through with this. and fuck how she needs it right now, with all the frustration and fear that lingers in the form of unchecked anger in her belly — in that tower.

she focuses on ben. on his hands and the way they push up her skirt enough to expose the plain, thin white cotton that covers, but does not hide. the faint violet ambrosia of blushed flesh is visible where the fabric is already damp, at least when she pulls her skirt further up to show him when he speaks of it. fangs pull at her lower lip as she leans herself back some, giving him a better view. she has no gage for women's bodies on earth, so she does not speak, only lets the radiant sun-like heat from her core and the sight of her through that white fabric do it for her.

he may taunt, but she will not. not this time, not when they both want the same thing. the dress is pulled up, over her head and let to fall to the floor in a puddle of satin beside the chair, so that now all that separates her bare flesh from him is that pair of cotton panties. her skin is pale, even for her, thanks to years of supplementing sunlight with vitamin injections, but the scales that run along her outer arms, outer legs, and her sides are soft. cared for with balms that he can certainly smell the lavender and vanilla of now that they are not kempt in the dress.

it's not coyness that has her placing her hands on his chest, sort of covering her breasts with her upper arms, but genuine fear. he can have anyone he wants. has in the past. and she does not even have the v to hide behind as a reason for her appearance.

her dress hits the floor with a near silent swoosh of fabric. ben's hearing picks it up and it draws his attention from where her thighs are parting to peek into her eyes. his own? dark jade and hungry. some might take that as a warning--if they're anything close to shy about being fucked right there? they'd better take their out while they can get it. her skin? oh he's seen all kinds of skin. in his years. the v works wonders across people's bodies. turns them into whatever it chooses. or, perhaps, what was in them from the very beginning. scales. hair. feathers in places there should be none. more. crystals lining skin. tiny and gleaming. claws. talons. they are creatively made creatures, are they not? she's no different. honestly? it makes her far more interesting. alluring. fucking gorgeous to the point his mouth's about to go dry just staring at her.

beyond their little place tucked out of the way in the room? there are people mililng about. close enough that the dull murmur of their voices can be heard as she exposes herself for him. hungry eyes move down a perfect frame to take in the sight of her though that thin strip of fabric. the way the heat radiates through his pants is intoxicating. amps up the way his inner thighs feel like they're practically boiling as he stiffens impossibly more in the tight confines of his pants. his fingers trace the very edge of the white strip of fabric blocking the rest of her from view. and he watches them as her hands plant themselves upon his chest.

her hands go to his belt and fuck, he's thankful for that. doesn't mean she's off the hook though. as his head tilts and he murmurs, "what have you imagined? when you thought about it.." his pointer and middle finger slip past that cotton and pull it aside. soldier boy takes in the sight.. before they part her open for him. grazing, exploring the dampness that practically pulls them exactly where he wants them to be. though. learning her. every inch of what's between her legs? how could he not enjoy that first?

his fingers spread her open. just enough that his thumb can slide in while his others dip down to the source of that heat, tracing.. circling. not once slipping inside as he grazes his thumb over a small, rigid bundle of nerves he locates within seconds. he can feel his belt dangling, his zipper opening gives him just enough relief that he groans. parted lips breathed in a sharp inhale he exhales an open mouthed grin as his free hand slips up her back, arm wrapping around her ribs. a slight lean forward and he begins to pull her backwards forcing her thighs to part wider..

Jesus Christ. It's his voice, that low, drawling timbre. Just a single word sends sparks through his system. Hughie actually hears it now, now that it isn't coming out with something violently ugly, spitting out something to induce shock and disgust. It's beautiful, enticing and Hughie knows he'll never be able to say it out loud, but the truth of it is still there.

There's a part of Hughie that's scared it's all a joke. That the atmosphere Soldier Boy has created, the tension between them, that it's all just Soldier Boy messing with his head. That he'd shove him away, laugh in his face and call him a fag and complete fucking idiot for ever thinking that he was serioys; it probably isn't a good sign that the thought of such ruthless rejection comes first over his neck being snapped. It doesn't feel like his life is on the line any more though. It's just everything else.

For once (at least that's how it feels), Hughie takes a gamble and it pays off. Soldier Boy's hand doesn't move to shove. It moves over his cheek, alarmingly gentle, before reaching back to find his curls, fisting them, using them to drag him deeper into the kiss. Hughie's arms instinctively wrap around him, curling around his neck, his waist, finding something to hold onto. He needs to.

good. tearing that bottom lip open was almost tempting enough to try. and he'd accomplish. just to taste the blood that'd pour out of hughie's mouth into his. soldier boy refrains (for now) and instead? knocks their teeth together. slams their mouths so tight taht he knows there's going to be a bruise on the inside of that pretty bottom lip. will his boyfriend notice it there? wonder where he got it? wouldn't that be a conversation he'd love to listen in on? deep down, he knows hughie's not fucking the brit but it's so god damn fun to see him squirm every time he brings him up. there's a sense of pride in soldier boy the second that thought crosses his head. that he's the one to have hughie falling apart under his hand, against his mouth. between his thighs and not the oi cunt on repeat record scratch basket case.

hughie's all his. for tonight. do to whatever he wants with. does the simple human understand the power balance between them is so fucking off that he should be scared? if he was smart? he would be. instead--hughie's rutting into his hand like a bitch in heat and solider boy's grinning against his bottom lip as he squeezes giving him more friction as a thumb traces the entire hard outline hidden away inside his pants and panties. "look at you," he breathes out in the air he claims between them once their mouths are quickly ripped apart. teasing. taunting. grin spreads and sparks a dangerous glint of want inside hues of darkening green.

belt? not a problem. rough fingers curl around hughie's chin and keep the back of his head pressed against the wall. eye contact. soldier boy demands it. "don't you dare look down. understand," he nods once. not encouragement. in demand. agree with me or this stops. the tone says it all. the other set of fingers? go to work on that pesky barrier. hips are jostled as it's worked loose. button and zipper follow. one blind shove and those pants are down just far enough that hughe's exposed for him. leaking and stiff. soldier boy's lips part. a warning. a point. "ah ah," he tuts when the air coils velvet, aching skin.

his thumb presses against the tip. toying. gathering enough pre-cum to make the touch glide. coaxing ridge to pulse. just for him. the grip on hughie's chin tightens as fingers coil around him, stroking. he's thick. long. fitting for his height. soldier boy can tell without a peek. thumb breaching the other's bottom lip--he presses the pad against a row of pearly white teeth, dragging his jaw open. "you'll be putting this to use if you want more," he murmurs bending in just close enough that he's practically licking his own knuckle. "put that smart mouth of yours were it belongs, hm? let's see if that tongue can do anything but talk shit."

perhaps it is that they are both creatures that makes this come a touch easier to her — the way that when he allows her to settle on his knee and touch him in a fashion that's just there on the brink of intimacy while taking hold of her, asking her something dangerous like what do you want.

with him leaned closer, it's easy to cup the side of his scruffed visage in her palm, tilt her own head so when she speaks, the lips that have come to regularly wear quite the patriotic red brush against his cheek. how fuckin' funny it is — they hide her away so strictly, and she's not american at all, yet she's about as star spangled as firecracker and homelander combined when in uniform. now, though, she's just a regular person, if one can look past the scales that plaque over her outer thighs and biceps, and the horns.

"i want to feel something," she whispers back to him, just vague enough that it's pure honesty. even before this place, this world, it had been difficult to navigate desires outside of the necessities. there are times she can still feel the grasp of the deathwalker around her heart, but now, she just needs to have some kind of sensation anywhere on her person. whether it be stirring her insides physically or giving her a reason to roll out of that california king bed in the morning that isn't just obligation.

pulling herself back from his immediate bubble some, she reaches for that half drained glass, looking back up to meet his emerald stare with her mismatched tiffanies so that when she takes that last swig as a shot, he knows the entirety of her statement is that intentionally vague. she doesn't need everything, just something.

a brief thought skates across her brain to ask him what he wants, but it fades when she realizes that this is not the best time. it will be clear when they are done, or it won't.

fingers gently creep along her sides. a tingling touch that flutters over fabric that you'd swear he was worried he might tear apart should his touch be anything but practiced restraint. green eyes narrowed but playful. they take her in with the fascination of man who has stopped giving a single damn about any outside distraction other than the perfectly poised woman perched upon his thighs. the heat of her skin penetrates their clothing. his own want doubles down and he feels himself growing hard.

she's gorgeous. taking her in as she leans back to swallow her drink is nothing short of a delicacy that even soldier boy isn't so unrefined to admire. oh, if they only knew his story, his lineage, how refined he can truly be and was--to an obnoxious degree one would accuse of being stuck up or stuck on themselves. narcissistic in that way that screamed... i know i'm above you but in mannerisms, tradition and class. drilled into him by a father that would accept nothing short of perfection. beyond that, actually.

from an organization that dangled fame, fortune and perfection personified in front of him like a carrot he chased so blindly that he thought it was complete willingness and would proclaim so today just to reassure himself he was never wrong. never steered astray. rather than chose it because he wanted it.. because being pulled apart the way he was? if it was done unknowingly or half unwillingly? would be a weakness he couldn't swallow..

or has. then choked on it. learned his lesson to never let it happen again.

instead, he choses this. the partnership of a creature as wild and untamed as he is. tumbles head first into escapism to tangle himself up with. she rides his thigh and he glances down to watch. whether or not tonight's a noose or a two-ended leash? that's yet to be determined. but the grin that spreads over his mouth when she tells him she wants to feel something. questions if he is the one to give that to her?

This is playing with fire. Actually, it's more like sticking his entire hand in the flames with the vain hope that he won't get fucking burned. Hughie hadn't intended for things to go this far, but now that they were, he wasn't trying to pump the brakes. He could. He had no problem with throwing his hands up and admitting that things got out of hand and that he went too far. It wasn't what he had intended to happen, it wasn't where he had expected for this to go, but now that they were here... he wanted it.

He hadn't known that he did, it hadn't been an elaborate scheme on his part to rile Soldier Boy up to this point. He'd just got tired of him talking about how much Hughie fucked and sucked, like Hughie was actually like that, acting like it made him less than, like it hadn't constantly been on Soldier Boy's mind and that was why it was the number one topic of conversation for him.

Hughie had never once assumed that it was actually on the table. He hadn't been able to forsee this hapening, Soldier Boy's hand prickling his stubble, one another's breaths in each other's mouths. He has no idea how he's managed to keep eye contact thus far. His face is burning, his breathing laboured. Fear and excitement stir together in his chest. Soldier Boy's fingers remain upon him.

soldier boy can see all those little internal thoughts play out in hughie's eyes. how the pupils dilate, retract and widen. taking in the sight of him as the lanky male attempts to weigh all the pros and cons of everything about to come out of (or go into, depending on where the next few minutes tales them) his mouth. one that he keeps that thumb pressed against doing nothing to let hughie make any room for himself. no space given back. no breath that hughie takes will touch his tongue, mouth, lungs without the flavor of soldier boy lingering in the aftertaste.

i.. hughie stutters, dropping his gaze and severing eye contact. "i," that deep, whiskey voice murmurs back. repeating in the form of a question that raises that tone just slightly at the edge before it melts into a dull hum upon receiving the confession that drips from hughie's lips right across the edge of soldier boy's fingertip and sends a shockwave down a strong arm, to a stomach that trembles before head spreads right between his legs. stiffening him in its wake. blood rushes south to follow and those green eyes glisten. a predator's drive kicks in. that's when he realizes that he's enjoying watching hughie stammer.

unravelling without barely a touch. only insinuation mingled with a question. a search for permission before he sets his goal on making the man wonder if he ever would've wanted any other option other than yes to be offered. taken. savored and then.. turned into all the little sighs and moans. the panicked pants. dozens of pleas the supe plans on pulling from that spitfire mouth so prone to arguing for what he believes is so self-sanctimoniously right. his way. or the highway. they have that in common, the two of them. both are barely rarely ever willing to BUDGE once their mind is made up..