#ferdiedetta

She won’t look at him, fingers crimping soft lavender silk as her gaze remains trained on her reflection, lip trembling and her demeanor skittish. “This was a mistake,” Bernadetta says. “I’ve really gone and done it now. This was a stupid idea.”

“Nonsense,” Ferdinand says. 

“It’s not me,” she says, fingering the edge of the hem. 

She isn’t wrong; the lingerie really isn’t her, but isn’t that the point? It’s a simple slip, nothing fancy, all lavender silk and lace. It hangs on her frame well, pulling in her waist and making her hips look wider. It suits her bustline as well, cut in such a way that her cleavage swells attractively. 

It isn’t her, but it looks good, it looks so good, and Ferdinand is finding it very difficult to remain a gentleman in her presence. So, he tries another tactic, his own fingers moving to swirl through the soft silk wrapped around him instead. 

“Don’t you want to see mine?” he asks.

Bernadetta’s head cocks to the side at that, interested. “You didn’t have to--”

“Nonsense,” Ferdinand says. He’d do anything to please her, really, even if it meant indulging in slightly… odd fantasies, such as wearing lingerie. But it’s soft and silky over his skin, and fits even his frame well, showing off defined pecs and strong thighs and well--

If she’d just look, he knows that she’ll like it. And he always likes what she likes.

“Bernadetta,” he says softly, soothingly, like he’s trying to talk to a skittish colt. “Come here, come take a look.”

Finally she looks at him, pulling her nervous gaze from the mirror, eyes ghosting over him as her lips part in surprise. “Oh,” she says, gaze raking over him, legs shifting slightly. “Oh,” she breathes, eyes narrowing to a half-lidded gaze, a shy smile spreading across her face and--

There it is, Ferdinand thinks. He shifts slightly, spreading across the soft duvet, making a show of what he’s wearing. Red silk slides over his skin, lace tugging softly as the hemline rides up his thigh. 

“So not a mistake,” Bernadetta says. “Definitely not a mistake.” 

Ferdinand hums in agreement and motions for her to come closer. She does, standing before the edge of the bed and he reaches out, sliding a hand along the curve of her hip. “I like this,” he says to her. “Definitely not a mistake,” he repeats with a small chuckle. 

She burns at the words, cheeks bright pink as she flounders a little, but Ferdinand only smiles at her before sitting up properly and tugging her closer. Bernadetta complies, moving between his legs, knees pressing into the mattress. Her head’s barely above his at this angle, but he looks up at her adoringly, hands sliding over her sides and then upwards. 

“It is a perfect color,” he says, fingering the soft silk. “Shapes you well.” His fingers cup her bust, thumbing over a nipple through the soft material, and Bernadette gasps, grasping onto his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin. 

“S-same,” she breathes. He pauses and she looks at him boldly. “You’re, um-- What I mean to say is…” She pulls at the strap of his slip, snug against his broad shoulder, tugging it gently. “

“I know, Bernadetta,” Ferdinand says. She doesn’t have to say it, she doesn’t have to embarrass herself and he’s not out to tease her.  But she likes him in the flimsy number, the soft silk and carefully woven lace, and he can tell. Her fingers are itching to reach out and touch, so he grabs her hand and pulls it to his chest. 

Her expression changes and his breath catches. Bernadetta is so rarely assertive in bed, but she’s been taken over by a hungry look, gaze sweeping over him with half-lidded eyes. Heat instantly pools in Ferdinand’s groin. 

Her small hand pushes him back, and he sinks into their mattress as she settles over him. 

“Bernadetta,” he says, hands going to her waist, squeezing gently. Her knees flank his thighs, as she leans over him, one hand pressed against his sternum. 

“I picked a good color, uh-- Yeah. A good color.” She pauses. “Are you sure that you like it?”

“You picked it out, darling, of course I do,” Ferdinand tells her, and he isn’t sure that she can turn any pinker but-- Oh, she’s damn adorable when she’s like this. 

Bernadetta bites her lip as she looks down at him, ghosting her fingers along the lacy edge of the slip he wears, cresting over the edge his pec. “The lace is nice,” she says, fingers dipping back to the middle of his chest, petting the soft hair there. “The silk too. So different than what I normally see you in, always such a prim and proper Prime Minister.” 

Ferdinand smiles up at her cheekily. “Oh? Tell me more.” Sometimes, she just needs gentle coaxing, and he smoothes circles cross the sharp jut of her hip bone as she swallows thickly. 

“Such a material,” she continues, sitting back on the meat of his thighs, hand slipping down his middle. “Soft and silky, just like your hair. I like it. Do… um, do you?”

“I’ve already answered that, darling,” he says. 

“But--”

He grabs her hand suddenly, pulling it down to his lap where his cock is tucked away, half hard and close to her leg. 

“Oh,” she breathes. Then she gives him a gentle squeeze through the silk, and he groans slightly, head falling back against the pillow, eyes slipping closed at the touch. “Oh,” she murmurs. 

There it is, that tone, that voice, the one when she finally finds herself and-- 

She squeezes tighter, palming him through the material. The slip is soft against his skin, the silk cool to the touch, but his cock is still burning, aching for more friction and a slicker touch. “You’re going to get this all dirty,” she sighs, lips tugged into a little pout. 

“And it will be your fault, I assure you,” he teases. 

Bernadetta tilts her head, lips quirking to the side, before she pulls away her hand suddenly. His hips chase the motion just slightly, and she tuts above him, her lips curling into a tiny little smirk. Her hands find his pecs again, pulling at the fabric there as she slots her hips over his, closer to his cock, closer to where he’s already burning alive, and he can’t help the soft moan the escapes his throat. 

“I like you like this,” Bernadetta says, voice a little stronger, demeanor more resolved as one hand snakes down the toned muscles of his abdomen. “Like a warm puddle underneath me, skin pale under neath this. Um--” She bites her lips, thinking, and then moves to slide the silk up one side. 

Ferdinand watches her, eyes half lidded as her gaze flickers down to where he’s hard and wanting, and she’s so beautiful, cheeks pink with desire, firm in what she wants and-- 

She takes his cock into her hand again, squeezing around the tip gently before pumping it once.

“Bernadetta,” he hisses, hips bucking into her grip, eyes falling closed. 

“So good for me,” she says to him, releasing him to lick at her hand, and the praise goes straight to his groin, burning right through him. Her next touch is slicker, wetter, hotter, tight around him as she lavishes his length with attention. “Wearing such a thing, indulging me.”

“Always, darling,” he says, gripping her hips tightly, thrusting into her tight grasp. 

Bernadetta gives him a devious half-smile, and Ferdinand isn’t sure he’s excited or apprehensive. “How do you want me?” she asks, punctuating her words with a slick twist of her wrist around the crown of his cock. 

It’s a simple question, but there are so many answers, so, so many things that he can request. His attention is on her hand though, and her well-placed grip and practiced motions as she jerks him just the way that he likes. Ferdinand knows that he won’t last long, because she looks so gorgeous in the lavender silk and lace, especially when she finds her confidence in their bedroom, hanging over him, full of lust and love and--

“Your thighs,” Ferdinand says. “I won’t-- darling, goddess above.”

“Already there,” Bernadetta muses. “Perfect.”

“On your side,” he pleads. “Bernadetta, on your--”

“Yes,” she murmurs, letting go of his length. He groans at the loss of warmth, the tightness of her fingers and palm. She crawls over him, only to lay along her side of the bed, back to his chest and he turns to her, hand resting gently on her thigh. Then she tugs the fabric of her slip up, and Ferdinand watches the swell of her ass, her hip are slowly revealed.

He hums, pressing close and pulling her back to him by the hips. Ferdinand slips a hand around her front, dipping between her thighs, moaning at her wetness and she sighs at the touch. “Bernadetta,” he murmurs close to her ear, licking a strip up the back of her neck, fingers settling deeper, slicking through her folds, circling around her clit. She moans at the touch, bucking into his hands, grinding and trying to find friction against his fingers. 

“Ferdinand,” she hisses, keening into his touch, “Ferdinand,” she moans, and he doubles his efforts, his other hand squeezing her breast through lavender silk. She’s perfect, Bernadetta is so perfect, soft and supple in his grasp, wanton and pliant under his touch. 

She goes taught in his arms, grinding hard against his hands, and he knows, Ferdinand knows that she’s just crested that edge, and he murmurs soft words against her ear, petting her gently as she rides out her orgasm. 

Ferdinand takes the opportunity to slip his cock between her legs; not into her properly, but just against her. “Goddess,” she breathes, arching her back against him as Ferdinand slides into her slick, soft thighs. She squeezes them tightly, encouraging him, and while it’s not that same as being in her, it’s still good, it’s so good, it’s still everything that he wants. 

His hand moves to her thigh, hiking the silk up and over her hip, squeezing the flesh there. “So good,” Ferdinand breathes against her, pressing his forehead into her shoulder as thrusts into the tight space between her legs. “So-- Goddess.”

She reaches back, fingers curling into his hair, tugging at the long locks. His scalp burns, but he loves it, he loves everything, he loves--

“I love you,” he says into her skin, words tattooed across the back of her shoulder as he thrusts against her again and again. Bernadetta mewls underneath him, arching back to meet his movements, the crown of his cock sliding against her clit at the perfect angle, just brushing across the soft and wet entrance of her core. 

It sneaks up on him, the burning, yearning that pulls at his entire being, until it boils up and over. He doesn’t just fall over the edge, he blasts right through it, coming with Bernadetta’s name on his lips, whispers of I love you’s against her skin. 

They’re both breathing heavily as they lay there, sticky with sweat, silk and lace rucked up in a mess around them. Ferdinand presses a soft kiss against the back of her neck, brushing her hair to the side to nose at the skin there. 

“Not a mistake,” Bernadetta murmurs.

Ferdinand chuckles at the absurd comment. “Never,” he tells her. “And definitely again.”

“I like you in silk,” she says, turning to look back at him. 

“I like me in silk too.” Ferdninand smiles cheekily. “But right now, we’re a mess, and I don’t want this beautiful thing to stain.”

“Oh? And what will you do about it?”

Ferdinand let’s go of her, pulling from between her thighs as he gently rearranges her onto her back. He’s half leaning over her, eyeing her form before his gaze travels southward with a hungry glint. Her thighs are a mess from the both of them, but she’s delectable, the lace, the silk, Bernadetta-- all of her, positively delicious. 

He settles between her, dropping a kiss to her nose. “I’ll have to clean you up, I suppose,” he says.

“Such a gentleman,” Bernadetta sighs, leaning back into their bed, settling into their pillows as she look at him. His lips curl into a devious smirk as he sinks downwards, downwards--