Following the hot mess this entire thing is sure to be Erik, still drunk, slips out of his room and instead goes up to Yennefer's door.
He can hear her from the other side. He shouldn't disturb her but... well, his bed is fucked and the couch sucks. Plus, he misses having a warm bed mate. The smell of elderflower has been clinging to him all night from the drinks and it's been making him think of her off and on all the while already. The last of his restraint has eroded completely away.
He's being quiet as a mouse as he finally twists the knob and opens the door, tiptoes across the room to the far side of the bed. His Jacket is ruined (again) and so is his shirt. So, unthinking about the collar still around his neck, he strips both away along with his shoes. And, it's with all the gentleness of a child climbing into his mother's bed after a nightmare that he lifts the covers and attempts to slot himself in against her unnoticed. There's nothing overtly sexual in the gesture. He doesn't crave sex, he just craves the warmth of a body next to him. Just the heat that radiates from a living being, and the sound of a heartbeat that comes with it. It's as good for helping him relax as the sound of rain hitting the roof during a summer storm.
He hasn't thought ahead to what she'll say if she wakes to find him there, or how he'll defend himself when she does. All he knows is it's been a long night (and a long week) and he doesn't feel like being alone.
Her door isn't locked; she doesn't feel the need to keep it that way when she's rarely asleep, and even then often tends to rest lightly enough that she'll be jarred awake at the first sign of a disturbance. For some reason, however, that doesn't occur tonight, not when her door creaks open and small steps accompany his movement across the floor to her, not while the rustle of clothing precedes the subtle dipping of the mattress beneath an added weight, and perhaps not even once he shifts in to fit himself against her, curling around her and positioning them so that her backside is snugly nestled in the cradle of his thighs.
Eventually, she does stir softly, but not with a violent jerk or an immediate attempt to get away from him. Whether it's the coolness of his body relative to her own — for she already sleeps with nothing on, nothing but the threadcount of a bedsheet between her bare skin and his — or the fact that she cannot remember the last time anyone merely held her in a bed exactly like this, her first instinct isn't to pull away from it but to curl in more, and perhaps she can even justify it from the sole fact that she isn't fully awake at the moment, that she can pretend this is somewhere between reality and a dreaming state.
She curves back into him, her back fitted to his chest, a sleepy groan rising from her throat without any attempt to stifle it, and her hips venture a testing press — as if to see whether his efforts at maintaining restraint can be so easily crumbled, since he has clearly sought her out to feel her close. She's not even that certain she wants to fuck, either, but if one thing leads to another, it's not as if she'd be wholly against the idea.
For a long while, he stays awake simply reveling in the warmth and closeness. She didn't stir when he lifted the covers, nor when he got bold enough to spoon in around her. When he finally does feel her wake, he's bracing for shock. But, she surprises him again by curling in closer still, welcoming his cold weight against her. The moment she does, his arms wrap around her waist, pulling her snug to his chest.
He'd have been content just to stay like that, just to lie side by side and ask for nothing else. But, he won't deny that the press of her hips into him entices a desire for more. Enough friction and she will certainly feel him responding to her through his trousers. Still, gentleman that he is, he doesn't press back. The only acknowledgement his gives is to bury his face against the back of her neck and place a soft and sweet kiss to her skin, before he squeezes her affectionately around the middle.
Another entirely reflexive noise escapes her when he drapes an arm across her middle and tugs her back even more definitively against his chest — she can't deny that being held like this speaks to some inner part of her that she's forever been loathing to confess the existence of, but if he believes she's still asleep, or mostly rendered unconscious, then she can simply disguise it as a byproduct of not being wholly aware.
Fucking him would obviously be more simple, and then there would be no confusion about what she'd be willing to permit him into her bed for; the rest becomes too complicated, too mired in feeling she doesn't care to explore too deeply for her own reasons. Still, the sigh he elicits from her with that simple press of lips to her nape is the real thing, and when she finally arches into him again it's with more intent on her end, enough that she can't reasonably deny she hasn't awoken. A twist of her hips brings them face-to-face while their lower halves are still pressed flush, but she doesn't open her eyes; she doesn't need to in order to bring her mouth to his, warm and clearly seeking.
For Erik's part, each of those lovely sighs puts him more and more at ease. He's still mostly hard, yes, but the desire for a fuck is tempered by the desire to simply cherish her like this. He's almost sorry when she fully stirs and turns to face him, but his lips meet hers eagerly enough, lavishing her with a slow and exploring kiss, a simmering and steady passion in contrast with the flash-burn of their previous make-outs.
When he does finally draw back to allow her breath, he breaks the silence with a low whisper, "Sorry if I disturbed you..."
"You don't feel that apologetic." Yennefer's voice is thick, raspy from sleep and lack of use, but her backside is still definitively notched in his lap and therefore she's going to be a firsthand witness to the contrary evidence that exists over any of his attempts to insist otherwise. But he's never sought her out like this in bed before; he's never even really ventured into her room, so this speaks to some motivation that she doesn't have the answers for yet, and that in turn only stokes the flames of her curiosity even higher.
Instead of directly asking, though, she rolls to face him and then eases herself over his body, her naked form slipping into a straddle across his waist as the sheet starts to slip away from her skin, baring her fully; when she bends low to kiss him again, her hair tumbles forward in a curtain of dark curls to shield their faces. "But you have, so what do you think I should do about it?"
"And you don't seem that disturbed," he counters. She was the one who started rocking into him, after all.
He's not, as she rightly points out, unhappy with the overall outcome of this. Especially not when she moves to mount him and the sheet slips back to show her in all her lovely bared glory. It only twists his gut a little to know that she'd been fucked by Grayson. Maybe that's an even better reason to let himself be taken in by her beauty. He knows he shouldn't have any thoughts of claiming her as his, for this contract was only ever meant as a means to an end, but the notion hovers in the back of his mind regardless. He wants to wipe away any traces of that rival vampire from her and replace them with his own. Starting with a reciprocating kiss, and moving down to her collar.
His lips brush her clavicle as he answers, "I have a few ideas, but judging by the movement of your hips, I'd say so do you."
He hadn't brought in any light with him when he'd entered, and she hadn't left any lamps burning, so there's nothing by which she can see his face — or most of his body, for that matter, in the darkness. Most of her knowledge of his present arrangement is based on what she can feel before her eyes have had time to adjust to her surroundings, and before that she'd kept them shut. Even now, the sensation of his mouth at her throat prompts them to flutter closed again, and she rocks into him with a tensing squeeze of her thighs at either side of his hips.
Of course, any words that might have transpired between him and Grayson are unknown to her, let alone what they could have conversed about. She'd left Grayson in the ruin of their making, a bedframe collapsed under something that couldn't even be described as mere fucking for how ravenous it had been — but a part of her is still irritated by the fact that his bite had injected her with something, brought her to a state of ecstasy that has since worn off and left her more infuriated than she was before she chose to poke her head into that room.
"A few? Tell me of at least one," she murmurs, her own lips hovering nearer to his ear; she'd intended to goad Grayson before, when talking about how she and Erik might find a way to occupy themselves within full range of his hearing, but now she derives a twisted sense of pleasure from the thought of him knowing Erik's come to her like this, that the sounds they make will inevitably drift down the hall to where Grayson struggles through his experiments.
His lips turn up into a smile and he drags them across her chest from one collar-bone to the other, letting her feel the shape of his grin before his tongue flicks out to taste the other side of her. Where Grayson can be hard and unyielding, as Erik well knows, he seeks to be sensual, soft and reverent.
"I could spend the next hour devouring each and every inch of your skin with my lips and tongue, tasting you and worshipping you. I could wind you up tight with nothing but kisses, until it takes only a flick against your clit to send you over the precipice at last."
"Only an hour?" It's a coy remark, when they both know full well that he could likely endure for much longer between the splay of her thighs; she'd put that partially to the test in the wake of the event they'd attended at the Scratch, where an unexpected meeting in the showers had led to much more exploratory hours back in this very apartment and she'd learned exactly how enthusiastic he could be about devouring her cunt with his mouth.
Whereas her encounter with Grayson had been... quick, rough, almost unforgiving of them both, Erik is the sort who will readily lay her out and build her up slowly, worshipping every part of her with his tongue until she's too impatient to allow him to do so any longer and decides to steer how the next hour plays out herself.
She hums quietly, thoughtfully at the images he creates for her solely through answering, and finally rears up over him in the semi-darkness, bracing palms against his chest and smoothing them upward until her fingers bump into something firm — and then her entire body stills where she's straddling him, as she feels over what's actually wrapped around his throat.
"I wouldn't want to keep you from your beauty rest too long," he quips. They both know he could go longer than an hour, but he was thinking of her health, of course~
He's ready to prove to her just how dedicated he can be, while enjoying the way this cuddle had turned so sensual with her mounting atop him, running fingers over his chest and up... until they meet the collar around his neck.
"Nothing to worry about. Why are you even wearing it, then?"
She doesn't vacate his lap, or even so much as surrender her straddle across his hips — she wants to be in the perfect position to witness his attempts to explain this to her, rearing up over him from the waist above until her hands are braced on his chest and she's looking down at him with a carefully arched eyebrow.
They'd never specified the necessity for collars in their own contract — even if it would likely keep him from being hassled unnecessarily by the guards in the Up were he to wear one, she'd had the keen sense then that it wasn't an idea he was greatly fond of, and now he's wearing something thick and clunky, leather with a metal ring jutting out of the center. She hooks her index finger through it, giving it a sharper tug.
"Did someone else put this on you? Was it Grayson?"
The sound of horrified disgust that grunts out of him at the very thought of Grayson collaring him leaves no doubt that he'd sooner die than ever submit in such a way. He'd laugh if the thought didn't make him feel quite so much like vomiting. And there goes his erection like a burst balloon. Not even having her reared over him and in his lap like this can save it.
"No. It was not Grayson." Though, he's not about to admit Grayson saw it already and that the disappointment he'd seen in his peers' expression was partially the driving factor for his seeking her comfort. Look where that's gotten him.
His eyes flash dangerously when her fingers hooks the metal loop. Oh, that he does not like.
"It was the city. A punishment for a citation received. That's all. It will be gone in two weeks."
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Action/prose (let me know if you want me to tweak anything)
He can hear her from the other side. He shouldn't disturb her but... well, his bed is fucked and the couch sucks. Plus, he misses having a warm bed mate. The smell of elderflower has been clinging to him all night from the drinks and it's been making him think of her off and on all the while already. The last of his restraint has eroded completely away.
He's being quiet as a mouse as he finally twists the knob and opens the door, tiptoes across the room to the far side of the bed. His Jacket is ruined (again) and so is his shirt. So, unthinking about the collar still around his neck, he strips both away along with his shoes. And, it's with all the gentleness of a child climbing into his mother's bed after a nightmare that he lifts the covers and attempts to slot himself in against her unnoticed. There's nothing overtly sexual in the gesture. He doesn't crave sex, he just craves the warmth of a body next to him. Just the heat that radiates from a living being, and the sound of a heartbeat that comes with it. It's as good for helping him relax as the sound of rain hitting the roof during a summer storm.
He hasn't thought ahead to what she'll say if she wakes to find him there, or how he'll defend himself when she does. All he knows is it's been a long night (and a long week) and he doesn't feel like being alone.
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Eventually, she does stir softly, but not with a violent jerk or an immediate attempt to get away from him. Whether it's the coolness of his body relative to her own — for she already sleeps with nothing on, nothing but the threadcount of a bedsheet between her bare skin and his — or the fact that she cannot remember the last time anyone merely held her in a bed exactly like this, her first instinct isn't to pull away from it but to curl in more, and perhaps she can even justify it from the sole fact that she isn't fully awake at the moment, that she can pretend this is somewhere between reality and a dreaming state.
She curves back into him, her back fitted to his chest, a sleepy groan rising from her throat without any attempt to stifle it, and her hips venture a testing press — as if to see whether his efforts at maintaining restraint can be so easily crumbled, since he has clearly sought her out to feel her close. She's not even that certain she wants to fuck, either, but if one thing leads to another, it's not as if she'd be wholly against the idea.
no subject
He'd have been content just to stay like that, just to lie side by side and ask for nothing else. But, he won't deny that the press of her hips into him entices a desire for more. Enough friction and she will certainly feel him responding to her through his trousers. Still, gentleman that he is, he doesn't press back. The only acknowledgement his gives is to bury his face against the back of her neck and place a soft and sweet kiss to her skin, before he squeezes her affectionately around the middle.
no subject
Fucking him would obviously be more simple, and then there would be no confusion about what she'd be willing to permit him into her bed for; the rest becomes too complicated, too mired in feeling she doesn't care to explore too deeply for her own reasons. Still, the sigh he elicits from her with that simple press of lips to her nape is the real thing, and when she finally arches into him again it's with more intent on her end, enough that she can't reasonably deny she hasn't awoken. A twist of her hips brings them face-to-face while their lower halves are still pressed flush, but she doesn't open her eyes; she doesn't need to in order to bring her mouth to his, warm and clearly seeking.
no subject
When he does finally draw back to allow her breath, he breaks the silence with a low whisper, "Sorry if I disturbed you..."
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Instead of directly asking, though, she rolls to face him and then eases herself over his body, her naked form slipping into a straddle across his waist as the sheet starts to slip away from her skin, baring her fully; when she bends low to kiss him again, her hair tumbles forward in a curtain of dark curls to shield their faces. "But you have, so what do you think I should do about it?"
no subject
He's not, as she rightly points out, unhappy with the overall outcome of this. Especially not when she moves to mount him and the sheet slips back to show her in all her lovely bared glory. It only twists his gut a little to know that she'd been fucked by Grayson. Maybe that's an even better reason to let himself be taken in by her beauty. He knows he shouldn't have any thoughts of claiming her as his, for this contract was only ever meant as a means to an end, but the notion hovers in the back of his mind regardless. He wants to wipe away any traces of that rival vampire from her and replace them with his own. Starting with a reciprocating kiss, and moving down to her collar.
His lips brush her clavicle as he answers, "I have a few ideas, but judging by the movement of your hips, I'd say so do you."
no subject
Of course, any words that might have transpired between him and Grayson are unknown to her, let alone what they could have conversed about. She'd left Grayson in the ruin of their making, a bedframe collapsed under something that couldn't even be described as mere fucking for how ravenous it had been — but a part of her is still irritated by the fact that his bite had injected her with something, brought her to a state of ecstasy that has since worn off and left her more infuriated than she was before she chose to poke her head into that room.
"A few? Tell me of at least one," she murmurs, her own lips hovering nearer to his ear; she'd intended to goad Grayson before, when talking about how she and Erik might find a way to occupy themselves within full range of his hearing, but now she derives a twisted sense of pleasure from the thought of him knowing Erik's come to her like this, that the sounds they make will inevitably drift down the hall to where Grayson struggles through his experiments.
no subject
"I could spend the next hour devouring each and every inch of your skin with my lips and tongue, tasting you and worshipping you. I could wind you up tight with nothing but kisses, until it takes only a flick against your clit to send you over the precipice at last."
no subject
Whereas her encounter with Grayson had been... quick, rough, almost unforgiving of them both, Erik is the sort who will readily lay her out and build her up slowly, worshipping every part of her with his tongue until she's too impatient to allow him to do so any longer and decides to steer how the next hour plays out herself.
She hums quietly, thoughtfully at the images he creates for her solely through answering, and finally rears up over him in the semi-darkness, bracing palms against his chest and smoothing them upward until her fingers bump into something firm — and then her entire body stills where she's straddling him, as she feels over what's actually wrapped around his throat.
"What the fuck is this?"
no subject
He's ready to prove to her just how dedicated he can be, while enjoying the way this cuddle had turned so sensual with her mounting atop him, running fingers over his chest and up... until they meet the collar around his neck.
Shit.
"It's... nothing to worry about."
no subject
She doesn't vacate his lap, or even so much as surrender her straddle across his hips — she wants to be in the perfect position to witness his attempts to explain this to her, rearing up over him from the waist above until her hands are braced on his chest and she's looking down at him with a carefully arched eyebrow.
They'd never specified the necessity for collars in their own contract — even if it would likely keep him from being hassled unnecessarily by the guards in the Up were he to wear one, she'd had the keen sense then that it wasn't an idea he was greatly fond of, and now he's wearing something thick and clunky, leather with a metal ring jutting out of the center. She hooks her index finger through it, giving it a sharper tug.
"Did someone else put this on you? Was it Grayson?"
no subject
The sound of horrified disgust that grunts out of him at the very thought of Grayson collaring him leaves no doubt that he'd sooner die than ever submit in such a way. He'd laugh if the thought didn't make him feel quite so much like vomiting. And there goes his erection like a burst balloon. Not even having her reared over him and in his lap like this can save it.
"No. It was not Grayson." Though, he's not about to admit Grayson saw it already and that the disappointment he'd seen in his peers' expression was partially the driving factor for his seeking her comfort. Look where that's gotten him.
His eyes flash dangerously when her fingers hooks the metal loop. Oh, that he does not like.
"It was the city. A punishment for a citation received. That's all. It will be gone in two weeks."