To her credit, Yennefer manages not to become too affected by his strokes over her, the lingering aches in her body overriding the potential for any stoked desire, but there is more color in her cheeks by the time her question gives him pause and he stills over her, her chest rising and falling a bit more quickly than it had been before he'd begun.
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to," she murmurs, mouth curving in a bit of a lopsided smile, but she also hadn't been certain if his intent was to leave it on for some deeper reason, a motivation that wasn't clear from her perspective. Now, presented with the option to slip it off him herself, she wants to play a role in slowly stripping away any reminders of the festival, the way he had for her.
It's still gradual, her capacity for movement, but, gripping the sides of the tub, she can push herself up to kneeling out of the water more, rivulets running down her skin as she reaches out with damp fingers in wordless petition.
There's something invigorating in the act, and as she shifts, so does he. Getting up on his knees more properly, Sweeney curls deeply to expose the buckle at the back so she can easily see it. He wets his lip in the moment that hangs. It doesn't help that he's starting at a swath of her nakedness beneath the water's surface.
He longs for the sensation her fingers and lips, as well as the freedom that comes with them.
If he'd asked her to do this immediately after the stage, she might not have been able to fiddle with the buckle in the same way, her fingers cramped from so much clutching and grasping. But the heat of the water has soothed her stiffness, anything that might have had a hold on her, and she's relaxed enough to be able to accomplish the task deftly, easing the heavy collar away from his throat with a subtle scrunching of her nose at its weight in her hand.
No doubt he'll feel the relief that accompanies not having it clasped around his neck anymore, but even so, she lets it slip from her fingers to hit the floor with a dull thud and then sways forward to press her nose against his neck, breathing in the lingering scents of sweat and leather before urging a soft kiss there.
His breath trembles at the feel of her against his bared skin. It's all the more sensitive for the time trapped in confinement. He nuzzles against her softly, not looking to discourage the contact, only encourage the intimacy.
Sweeney feels the longing to serve her. Not as a submissive or a slave, but something born of raw affection; a desire to tend her as she tends him in a tandem act. It does seem funny, yet fitting, that his liberation should bring such a Want.
"Thank you," he whispers, the words sacred, even in the softness. It brings with it the image of him helping her out of the tub before drying her off, taking a knee as he does so and planting a soft kiss on the side of her ribs, near her breast but not on it.
Her lips flit over his throat, soft and tender, as though she wants to refamiliarize herself with this place of vulnerability before she places a more deliberate, sucking kiss there, the slightest flick of tongue. She isn't trying to incite him, or to necessarily spur him on to more, but with more of her strength returning, she doesn't shy away from initiating such things.
"I should be the one thanking you," she points out, and as his image plays across her mind, she moves to satisfy it, to give him her hand so that he can assist her in first stepping out of the tub and then beginning to dry her off with a clean cloth meant for that very purpose.
By the time he kneels before her, her hands are on him, fingers carding through his hair, nails lightly raking over his scalp; he presses that kiss to the side of her ribs and it's soft enough to elicit a trembling, her arms encircling his head as she draws him against the front of her body and merely holds him close, her heartbeat thudding calmly in his hearing.
His breath trembles at the sensation of her lips on his neck. In that moment, his body starts to move blood in a lower direction, and Sweeney remembers how tight his torn trousers are. But then she's standing, giving him what he wants, and he pushes the thought aside.
God, it feels so good. More than it has a right to, being as simple as it is. Just having her wrapped around him, her fingers in his hair and her skin on his face, is sublime. Sweeney takes several long breaths to savor the smell of her and the oil. His thoughts drift to lazier days where they might spend an afternoon indulging in bathing. How he would happily wash and braid her hair and--
He has to shift a little, but it doesn't help. Without pulling back, Sweeney lowers his hands to undo his trouser buttons, just to relieve the increasing pressure of his swelling flesh. Then they return to the small of her back, cradling her to him as he speckles her chest with soft kisses.
With the bath cleansing away all physical remnants of the stage, and the warm water relaxing her limbs, the only instinct that remains behind is the desire his kisses elicit, but it isn't a raging inferno that threatens to overwhelm her with its intensity. Instead, it's a slow build, a flickering fire that his touch conjures, adding just enough kindling to make her burn with wanting.
She doesn't want to push him away from her, but she does set a hand on his shoulder, applying just enough pressure there that it should be clear what she intends — to slowly nudge him onto his back, right there on the floor beside the tub, before she lowers herself on top of him.
The ends of her hair are still wet, dripping onto him, and her gaze is soft despite the harsh bruises on her body. She and Khoriya hadn't fucked, as much as they'd made it look like they had, and her hand reaches in between the spread of her own legs so she can slide it down the front of Sweeney's trousers, seeking to wrap fingers around his cock.
"I want you inside me," she whispers, decisive enough that he doesn't need to ask her if she's sure. "Please."
Sweeney would have been quite content to just dote against her damp skin. He certainly wasn't expected her to shift directions. So when she nudges his shoulder, he looks up with a furrow in his brow. Was she done with the affections? Ready to trade places for him to clean up? Both ideas are apparently incorrect.
She keeps applying pressure, and eventually it occurs to Sweeney that she wants him to actually lay down. As rigid as he is, he wasn't actually mentally prepared to have sex. Which isn't to say that his body can't jump on that train as it's starting out of the station.
A moan is sacrificed in offering as she takes hold of him, and his eyes roll beneath their lids at the honed sensation. All he can do in the moment is nod, tight and eager, as his hands find her hips to urge her forward. Sweeney tries not to think about how filthy he is, still stained with blood and sweat, as she straddles him, freshly-clean. He's free of the collar, and that's enough.
She doesn't care whether he's streaked in blood, stained in sweat, whether any of that smears off on her while she's mounting him, while her fingers are currently stroking along the length of his cock as she gazes down at him from above. Anything that rubs off on her is his; anything that's left behind on her skin afterward comes from him, and if she has to, she'll just fill the tub again, but for now, she wants his scent on her, marking her, replacing what Khoriya had left behind during their performance.
"You're staking your claim," she whispers, as his hands on his hips steady her, guide her, and she in turn rears up, slipping his cock out of his trousers and positioning herself above until she can feel his tip breaching her. While she might have needed his fingers first in any other instance, here she doesn't bother to wait for the accommodation, sinking down onto him, hissing softly at the pleasurable burn of the stretch that accompanies it.
"It doesn't matter what they saw on stage. What they believe they saw." Her hands reach for his, collecting them, drawing them upward so she can guide them to cup over her breasts, palm and squeeze her there before she begins to move on him, slowly undulating her hips. "Not when yours is the cock inside me now."
The honeyed words she spins are intoxicating, even though he doesn't feel like he's staking his claim. Quite to the contrary, it feels like she's staking hers, and fuck if it isn't sublime. The way she slides down is torturously delicious, and a whimper escapes when their hips meet.
Sweeney's all too willing to dote on her breasts; kneading, caressing, and plucking at her nipples. He savors the ride, but eventually, he can't help himself. Curling up tightly, his mouth takes to assisting, making sure she can enjoy more options of sensations. Well, that and he really enjoys sucking on them.
She's going to be a renewed mess by the time they're through, his blood and sweat and saliva smeared on her, and in a sense, she doesn't care. In another sense, she revels in it, the same way she's leaving her scent behind on him, lilac and gooseberry intermingled with the natural arousal between her legs that enables her to move a little more readily on him.
Her fingers slide up into his hair, as he latches onto her breasts, cradling him there against her, urging him on with breathless moans and gasps. The more attention he pays, the more aroused she becomes, and the more frictionless her movements. For a while, there aren't any words between them, just noises — soft whimpers from her, audible suction where his lips are tugging at a nipple, the steadily building slickness as she rocks up and down his length. It may not be the best place to do this, not on the hardwood flooring, but she's too desperate for him to care, too desiring to wait a second longer.
Fuck, how she makes him ache, even as she sates him. The hard surface and seated angle don't give him the ability to thrust, so he's stuck letting her ride him out. It's a different sensation the longer it goes on, and it's ever so delicious. It's not purely submissive, though he loves the way she holds him to her. Nor is it her using him for the rigidity of his prick, purely for her own pleasure.
It's giving and taking, and it leaves him heady in shared want. The more eager her bounce, the rougher she's met in answer; he tries to pull her down on him, as if it would compensate for his lack of upward thrust; his hand at her hip or the nape of her neck as the other tugs one nipple, and his mouth set to the other. Too often, he's left to trap it between his teeth while he fights to suck in short breaths around it in between groans. His toes flex as she urges him on towards his climax.
There's little elegance in this, simply feeling, and reaching for what feels good in the moment itself. Yennefer's own movements become harder, and jerking, rapidly so, until she's all but bouncing herself in his lap, a slave to sensations and seeking release for all the pent-up frustration that the stage performance had left her with. She's no longer tense, warmed by his hands and the soak in the bath, and it enables her to move with more abandon, ignoring any lingering ache from bruises or scratches that Khoriya's more vigorous pantomimes had inadvertently left behind.
Sweeney catches one of her nipples between his teeth and she cries out — not in pain, but in overwhelm, the tension in her body beginning to reach a peak that she knows will shatter but trying to stave it off for as long as she can. She wants him there with her, when she comes, wants to feel him pulse and throb inside her while she clenches and squeezes tight around him. It makes her movements even more erratic in the interim, her breathing sharper and hitching, as their sounds of pleasure build to become a louder chorus.
One of the struggles of the position is Sweeney has so little control over himself. He wants to feel her climax before he dares to, but it's her who is commanding the pace and force of the taking; he's really just along for the ride. The lingering pain of the night's prior activities only makes each touch more intense and raw.
Fuck, how it feels to be inside her. For her to take him. Choose him. Claim him.
There's nothin he can do when he senses the inevitable, except grab both of her hips hard enough to threaten bruises and yank down, leaving her grinding on him as he loses himself inside her. The force catches her nipple more tightly between his teeth as he cries out around it, his body unwilling to sacrifice the contact, no matter how slight. Once he's able to start the slope down the other side, he sucks it back firmly between his lips, working it eagerly as he pulses deep in her.
She'd swear he gets that much harder inside her right before he comes — cock throbbing, twitching as he spills deep — and those pulsations are what finally propel her over the edge right alongside him, alongside his teeth tugging on her nipple, to the point where she's convinced they may have even managed to climax simultaneously without even consciously trying to.
In his lap, she's shuddering, quaking even with his hands clamped down on her hips, keeping her from being able to move too drastically; when his teeth on her nipple turn into a warm, hard suction, she whines, grinding herself on him, prolonging those intense waves of her climax until she finally sags in his arms, unable to even so much as think about moving.
There's something to be said for the sublime sensation of being taken. To feel the proof of her pleasure with each quivering clench, her body fighting to steal every bit of him that it can; oh, how it make him ache, even in his satisfaction. It leaves him hungry for the next time, even if it's something that will require reprieve before attempting. That doesn't mean it isn't present in his thoughts.
As her body starts to go slack, Sweeney releases her nipple and draws a lapping line up her breast to her throat, truncating it at her ear. In tandem, he starts to curl back to lay on the floor so he can cradle her against him and idly stroke her hair as they glow in shared bliss.
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no subject
"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to," she murmurs, mouth curving in a bit of a lopsided smile, but she also hadn't been certain if his intent was to leave it on for some deeper reason, a motivation that wasn't clear from her perspective. Now, presented with the option to slip it off him herself, she wants to play a role in slowly stripping away any reminders of the festival, the way he had for her.
It's still gradual, her capacity for movement, but, gripping the sides of the tub, she can push herself up to kneeling out of the water more, rivulets running down her skin as she reaches out with damp fingers in wordless petition.
no subject
He longs for the sensation her fingers and lips, as well as the freedom that comes with them.
no subject
No doubt he'll feel the relief that accompanies not having it clasped around his neck anymore, but even so, she lets it slip from her fingers to hit the floor with a dull thud and then sways forward to press her nose against his neck, breathing in the lingering scents of sweat and leather before urging a soft kiss there.
no subject
Sweeney feels the longing to serve her. Not as a submissive or a slave, but something born of raw affection; a desire to tend her as she tends him in a tandem act. It does seem funny, yet fitting, that his liberation should bring such a Want.
"Thank you," he whispers, the words sacred, even in the softness. It brings with it the image of him helping her out of the tub before drying her off, taking a knee as he does so and planting a soft kiss on the side of her ribs, near her breast but not on it.
no subject
"I should be the one thanking you," she points out, and as his image plays across her mind, she moves to satisfy it, to give him her hand so that he can assist her in first stepping out of the tub and then beginning to dry her off with a clean cloth meant for that very purpose.
By the time he kneels before her, her hands are on him, fingers carding through his hair, nails lightly raking over his scalp; he presses that kiss to the side of her ribs and it's soft enough to elicit a trembling, her arms encircling his head as she draws him against the front of her body and merely holds him close, her heartbeat thudding calmly in his hearing.
no subject
God, it feels so good. More than it has a right to, being as simple as it is. Just having her wrapped around him, her fingers in his hair and her skin on his face, is sublime. Sweeney takes several long breaths to savor the smell of her and the oil. His thoughts drift to lazier days where they might spend an afternoon indulging in bathing. How he would happily wash and braid her hair and--
He has to shift a little, but it doesn't help. Without pulling back, Sweeney lowers his hands to undo his trouser buttons, just to relieve the increasing pressure of his swelling flesh. Then they return to the small of her back, cradling her to him as he speckles her chest with soft kisses.
no subject
She doesn't want to push him away from her, but she does set a hand on his shoulder, applying just enough pressure there that it should be clear what she intends — to slowly nudge him onto his back, right there on the floor beside the tub, before she lowers herself on top of him.
The ends of her hair are still wet, dripping onto him, and her gaze is soft despite the harsh bruises on her body. She and Khoriya hadn't fucked, as much as they'd made it look like they had, and her hand reaches in between the spread of her own legs so she can slide it down the front of Sweeney's trousers, seeking to wrap fingers around his cock.
"I want you inside me," she whispers, decisive enough that he doesn't need to ask her if she's sure. "Please."
no subject
She keeps applying pressure, and eventually it occurs to Sweeney that she wants him to actually lay down. As rigid as he is, he wasn't actually mentally prepared to have sex. Which isn't to say that his body can't jump on that train as it's starting out of the station.
A moan is sacrificed in offering as she takes hold of him, and his eyes roll beneath their lids at the honed sensation. All he can do in the moment is nod, tight and eager, as his hands find her hips to urge her forward. Sweeney tries not to think about how filthy he is, still stained with blood and sweat, as she straddles him, freshly-clean. He's free of the collar, and that's enough.
no subject
"You're staking your claim," she whispers, as his hands on his hips steady her, guide her, and she in turn rears up, slipping his cock out of his trousers and positioning herself above until she can feel his tip breaching her. While she might have needed his fingers first in any other instance, here she doesn't bother to wait for the accommodation, sinking down onto him, hissing softly at the pleasurable burn of the stretch that accompanies it.
"It doesn't matter what they saw on stage. What they believe they saw." Her hands reach for his, collecting them, drawing them upward so she can guide them to cup over her breasts, palm and squeeze her there before she begins to move on him, slowly undulating her hips. "Not when yours is the cock inside me now."
no subject
Sweeney's all too willing to dote on her breasts; kneading, caressing, and plucking at her nipples. He savors the ride, but eventually, he can't help himself. Curling up tightly, his mouth takes to assisting, making sure she can enjoy more options of sensations. Well, that and he really enjoys sucking on them.
no subject
Her fingers slide up into his hair, as he latches onto her breasts, cradling him there against her, urging him on with breathless moans and gasps. The more attention he pays, the more aroused she becomes, and the more frictionless her movements. For a while, there aren't any words between them, just noises — soft whimpers from her, audible suction where his lips are tugging at a nipple, the steadily building slickness as she rocks up and down his length. It may not be the best place to do this, not on the hardwood flooring, but she's too desperate for him to care, too desiring to wait a second longer.
no subject
It's giving and taking, and it leaves him heady in shared want. The more eager her bounce, the rougher she's met in answer; he tries to pull her down on him, as if it would compensate for his lack of upward thrust; his hand at her hip or the nape of her neck as the other tugs one nipple, and his mouth set to the other. Too often, he's left to trap it between his teeth while he fights to suck in short breaths around it in between groans. His toes flex as she urges him on towards his climax.
no subject
Sweeney catches one of her nipples between his teeth and she cries out — not in pain, but in overwhelm, the tension in her body beginning to reach a peak that she knows will shatter but trying to stave it off for as long as she can. She wants him there with her, when she comes, wants to feel him pulse and throb inside her while she clenches and squeezes tight around him. It makes her movements even more erratic in the interim, her breathing sharper and hitching, as their sounds of pleasure build to become a louder chorus.
no subject
Fuck, how it feels to be inside her. For her to take him. Choose him. Claim him.
There's nothin he can do when he senses the inevitable, except grab both of her hips hard enough to threaten bruises and yank down, leaving her grinding on him as he loses himself inside her. The force catches her nipple more tightly between his teeth as he cries out around it, his body unwilling to sacrifice the contact, no matter how slight. Once he's able to start the slope down the other side, he sucks it back firmly between his lips, working it eagerly as he pulses deep in her.
no subject
In his lap, she's shuddering, quaking even with his hands clamped down on her hips, keeping her from being able to move too drastically; when his teeth on her nipple turn into a warm, hard suction, she whines, grinding herself on him, prolonging those intense waves of her climax until she finally sags in his arms, unable to even so much as think about moving.
no subject
As her body starts to go slack, Sweeney releases her nipple and draws a lapping line up her breast to her throat, truncating it at her ear. In tandem, he starts to curl back to lay on the floor so he can cradle her against him and idly stroke her hair as they glow in shared bliss.