#hormara

She bites your throat, gently, and turns you to lay backwards on the bed, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips. Damara’s claws drag down the exposed skin of your chest and hook at the waistband of your boxers, her lips against your neck curling up into a grin at the shudder you make. You breathe her name, and a few more ‘yes’-es than you maybe need to to get the point across, and she laughs her gorgeous, deep laugh.

You smile crookedly at her, flushed and barely managing not to beg. You let her arrange you with pushes so light you almost don’t feel them, first lifting your hips and then removing your hands from your face when she bites at your newly-exposed hip. “Hands on the bed.” She doesn’t use her ‘orders’ voice, but you decide to take it as one anyway.

You love her, in this moment and outside of it. But especially in this one.

She pulls the shirt she borrowed from you off, and you sweat harder, seeing the bruises on her thighs and sides from where she had you hold her yesterday. She said she wanted there to be no doubt who had you, and you had clung to her and forced yourself not to cry.

Her bulge is twisting wet against her inner thigh, and you lick your lips, ears flicking down, while she crawls over you. By the time she settles, you’re lifting your head to lap at it, and her hands are wrapped around your horns to keep you there. You let your mouth go slack and she slides her bulge in, into your throat, crooning praises too soft for the act of it.

Your thighs twitch together when she moves, shallowly rocking her hip. She switches to one hand on your horn, and uses the other to brush your hair off your face where the sweat’s made it stick. She never complains about the sweat, even when you accidentally stained her shirt just cuddling her, and you love her.

“Good boy.” She purrs, stroking your cheek and pulling back enough that you can only kiss the tip of her bulge. “You’re so pretty, Horuss.” She makes your name feel like a compliment, somehow. “My pretty blue flush.”

Your bulge twists around your thigh and you chirp submissively, your hands gripping the sheets, because you want to kiss her so much. “Th-thank you, thank you.”

Damara giggles, moving down to where she can kneel between your legs, and you watch her pull your bulge up and out of the way. She pushes your legs apart with her knees and leans down, pressing her tongue at the edge of your sheathe because she knows it makes you writhe. She mouths at the side of your bulge, her fingers slicking over your nook, teasing more than anything. She only keeps it up until you can’t help but breathe “please”, and then she crawls over you, licking her blue-stained lips.

“Please what, blue?” Her voice is husky and rough and you kiss her, moaning into her mouth when her hips slot down against yours. You tangle a hand in her hair and grind up against her. “Fuck yeah, Horuss.”

Her bulge is hot and you lift your hips to let it slide home, even while your own bulge twists to press into her. She moves to make it easier, tossing one leg over yours and grinding against you, her mouth falling open in a pleased growl as you press into her. One of your hands moves from her hair to her hip, and she kisses you harder, her teeth dragging at your lips.

Once she’s wiped her hands on your sheets, she cups your face, purring low enough that it rattles in your chest, and you gasp when she pulls back from the kiss. “I love you.” You’re weak. You can barely just hold onto her, let alone move in any real way, but she’s smiling, moving slow and fluid.

“I love you too.” She says, so easily, like she can’t feel your heart thudding out of control at having said it. You kiss her again, and she whispers against your lips, her voice so soft. “I love you so much, blue.”

You’re content, and needy, and her claws dig into your hornbeds when she starts moving faster, and you’re ruined for her. You love her. You say her name, and then devolve from there, hips twitching against her, and her eyes glow and she’s stunning, and you gasp when she spills, heat pouring into your nook and making you dizzy with the difference. Your fingers dig into her thigh and you pant, pushing yourself to move just enough to finish with her, your nook clenching on her deflating bulge.

Damara makes a filthy mewl when you spill, seating herself securely on your bulge and not moving (besides her knees twitching) until your material is finished spilling. You release her thigh, apologizing while she says you should bite her neck.

You get your legs back first, and carry her to the bath, where you soak in water a little hotter than you like, until you fall asleep and wake up to the prickling feeling of her psions floating you to your coon, over the stripped platform. You kiss her, saying you love her again, and she smiles, saying it back. You love her. You’re so lucky.