#specrene

...

She's kneeling on her bed, the moon's glow casting her face in a pale halo of radiance.

"...What should I call you tonight...?" Irene entreats her, almost overwhelmed already.

She turns, that razor-sharp smile dimpling her cheeks.

"Whatever passes your lips most sincerely. Whatever name you can give your heart to. Whatever name you can entrust your body to the worship of."

Oh. Specter tonight, then. Irene figured as much after hearing from the medics and from Skadi what was going on, but she never wanted to simply assume, no matter the extensive lengths to which she and her paramour had discussed regarding intimacy between not only Laurentina and Irene, but Specter and Irene.

"Specter..." Irene tries to put a little more authority into her tone. It is about as effective as trying to confine air to a box. Her eyes glitter like rubies in the night as she stares back curiously, "...I heard how long you've been awake. I must insist that you come to bed, one way or another."

"One way or another?" Specter curls her knuckles beneath her chin, pouting into her long, slender fingers and casting a sidelong glance her way. "If me coming to bed quietly as told is one way...then what is 'another' way? Is it with you? Is it for you? Or maybe..."

Shark smile. Gleaming and bright, its own crescent moon across her lips.

"...maybe my most favorite way of all? In you. My precious little bird."

Irene's heart skips over a beat in her chest.

It wasn't what she'd originally planned. But her practical mind is working out the details far before her rational one can catch up.

She could get her to exhaust the last of her energy, and she could get her to do so voluntarily. A boon, for she stands no chance of overpowering her physically and taking her to bed.

Irene knows firsthand how she can be when she is obsessed with something, or someone.

And in honesty, the idea of having her beloved to herself all night after such long stints away from each other between missions is a powerful incentive to lean into her expression of desire.

"Y-Yes..." Irene swallows, her hands coming to the collar of her dress to loosen it. She can't help but feel a pinprick of dawning pride for the way Specter's eyes widen, just a touch, "...won't you...come have me? I'll be a good bird-"

Irene lets the dress slouch open, hanging off her elbows with only a few errant ribbons dancing against her skin.

"-in the palm of your hand."

...

Irene doesn't consider herself too much to look at-especially not next to Specter-but she always makes her feel like she's cut from marble.

It's excessive. It's embarrassing, how adoring her eyes get, when she drinks her in, how greedy her hands are, laying her back and divesting her of the rest of her clothes. Irene grimaces with want to cover her face, but she wants Specter's focus on the most carnal parts of it all.

"I-Inside-" She pants, wrapping her legs around her hips, "-just, hurry-"

"Eager thing." Specter's voice is like music, and she purrs against Irene's chest, kissing her way up to her throat, letting the slit of her skirt shift aside so she can unsheathe herself at Irene's entrance. "My darling songbird."

Irene can feel both of Specter's cocks, firm, velvet weights. One nudges at her entrance, the other fumbling above and rutting against her clit, both of them drooling with precum and hungry with musk.

She feels red to her ears at the way her own body responds, letting her slip inside so easily-but it's still a squeeze. Irene whimpers through it, biting her lip as Specter spoils her rotten, gathers her into her arms, pulls her up to kiss her, graze her neck with her teeth, lave over the deep plum bruises that surface with her tongue.

The second shaft twitches as its length slides along her stomach, its tip leaking over her navel.

Irene's arms scramble over Specter's shoulders, holding on for dear life as she quickens her pace.

For some reason, like this-

-It feels more romantic than she was expecting. She was worried about feeling stiff, but when she devotes herself to the task, she finds herself less self-conscious than usual.

"C-Come on-" Irene croaks, her voice sweet and small against Specter's ear, "-w-want it, so bad-"

She thinks it's very unbecoming of her to beg.

Specter clearly does not share the same sentiment.

Her body is full before she can cry out-and the one not inside of her has spurted all over her stomach and breasts. Heat returns to her face as Specter laughs warmly, begins to trace patterns in the mess decorating her body.

"Th-There now-" Irene's legs are trembling uncontrollably as she catches her breath, "-don't you want to come sleep?"

"-No."

"Wh...?"

Specter's eyes glitter with mischief from behind disheveled, pearl-white bangs.

"The night is young. Are you not a needy, sweet thing? I want to feel your heart pound with your life's blood until it sings back to me."

"A-Ah-" Irene stammers, "That's, not really necessary-! It takes...it takes me, you know. I take too much time to finish."

"We have time."

Irene can tell one thing for sure.

Specter is not tired.

...

Irene loses track of how much time passes, how much love they make throughout the night: she loses consciousness several times throughout, wakes up to Specter inside her, to herself climaxing around her, and finally, finally-

-to Specter dozing peacefully beside her.

With a huge sigh of relief, Irene slumps into the sheets and considers sending a message to Skadi that all was well after all.

No good. Her phone was in her pocket, her dress is on the floor, and she can barely move, let alone walk.

Irene instead turns to Specter, stroking her hair from her face and giving her a reproachful tap on the nose.