[A request like that has him swallowing down a low sound of accedence, as though that might dull the reaction it sends through his body, a flare of anticipation. The sight of her throwing her head back like that, the line of her jaw, it makes him want to press his lips along that contour again and again. But the desire to see her reaction wins out, only barely, and he keeps his gaze fixed on Ciri from above as he eases his fingers into movement. Slow, experimental -- or maybe via a more impatient lens: teasing.
She's slick, and warm against his touch. Sephiroth slides the whole length of the underside of one finger against her folds.]
no subject
She's slick, and warm against his touch. Sephiroth slides the whole length of the underside of one finger against her folds.]
Ciri.
[His tone has some gravel to it, now.]
You're perfect like this, Ciri.