wiedzminka | ❧ IC INBOX: Abraxas

[The noise she makes — no, he’s never heard it before, and it’s almost maddening how much he wishes to hear more of it. Feel more of her. With her leg hiked against him, and his own thigh in between her legs, this angle teases his mind at how well they might slot together if they were not forced to brace themselves against a cracking wall.

She lifts herself up to encourage him, and his tongue slips inside her mouth, warm, warm, seeking hers. He doesn’t realize the noise he makes, either, but it’s something low from the hollow of his throat; it’s eager, and only minutely interrupted when he feels a tug at his hair, her fingers slotting through the silver.

He decides he likes that, too.

Sephiroth presses closer into her again. The wall strains. It’s hard to tell whether patience or practicality motivates him to lift her up, then, but it doesn’t really matter. He slides his hands beneath Ciri’s backside, hoisting her up, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist.]

Somewhere to lie down. [—he manages, breathy, somewhere in between all of that. They should find somewhere to lie down.]

[ She can feel the wall bowing behind her. It's precarious, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Ciri is aware they should probably move. But she doesn't want to move. She doesn't want to be distracted. Sephiroth kisses her deeper, that low noise he makes something she can taste, something she can feel shuddering through her whole body.

When he hoists her up, there is no protest. Ciri barely moves away enough to let him speak. Her legs wrap around his waist, arms around his neck, allowing him to carry her anywhere he likes. ]

Bedroom. Down the hall.

[ Where she'd been trying to find new clothes earlier. It'd seemed clean enough, and the ceiling probably won't fall on them. ]

[Probably won’t fall on them is good enough for Sephiroth right now. It’s more promising than hoping the wall won’t completely give out under the force of their enthusiasm. And with the warm coil of Ciri’s legs wrapping around his middle, her lips just barely removed from his as he speaks (he can still taste her), the notion of keeping himself entwined with her body refuses to leave his mind and imagination. It culminates in a wave of warmth that bolts straight down between his legs.

He wastes no time, then, in carrying her to the bedroom down the hall. It’s a wonder that he manages without bumping them into anything along the way, his lips still seeking to clumsily chase hers even as he crosses the threshold into the bedroom.

Once there, he manages to lower her onto the bed — not too roughly, but a little hastily, belying a growing impatience.]

[ It's easy to get distracted; all she has to do is hold on, so she has no trouble finding time to distract him too. Luckily, he doesn't drop her. Not until they reach the bed, anyway.

Ciri lands on her back with a grunt, legs dangling over the edge, and drags him down on top of her with fingers snagging in his hair again. ]

I want you.

[ If it wasn't clear enough, she arches, further telegraphing her enthusiasm. ]

You'll have me.

[He wasn’t planning on leaving her solitary on the bed, after all. Sephiroth’s intent is just as desirous, in a way he’s never felt with anyone else before, and his knee presses down into the mattress between her legs, the rest of him brought down further as she grasps him by the hair.

His eyes rake across her form as it arches into him. Like this, it’s almost impossible to know where to start; he wants to put his hands all over her, he wants to feel skin-on-skin in a way that his blasted military uniform won’t allow.

An easy fix. Hands raise up to undo his jacket’s top button, then another, then another, while he presses a kiss just below her sternum, his chin and jawline flush against the curves of her breasts.]

[ Her nails rake over his scalp, gently, scratching and mussing his hair. ]

Mmh...

[ A shiver runs through her body, his breath tingling on her skin. The words tumble out, coming easier than they should, though she hardly notices. ]

I wanted to invite you over. After the werewolf ball didn't work out the way we'd planned. I wanted to invite you to my bed.

[ Her head falls back, eyes half-lidded, voice breathy and low. The truth spills out, and she doesn't know why she says it. It's embarrassing, heat burning in her cheeks, the flush traveling down the front of her chest beneath her collarbone. ]

I've never wanted another man like I do you.

I- I don't know why I'm telling you this.

[Where she finds it embarrassing to let this truth tumble free, the words make Sephiroth’s impatience only grow more steadily. Knowing that this could have happened between them before now is a bristling thought, isn’t it? That he could have pressed his lips against her naked skin like this, touched her with fervor he’s never experienced before. He breathes against her skin, warm and cloying.]

I want to hear it. Ciri… I want to know every little thing you imagined me doing to you. Or you doing to me.

[He doesn’t know why he’s saying this so easily, either; but he knows that he’s not ashamed of it in this moment. The way he sheds his outer jacket when he finally sits up, shrugging it off his shoulders and tossing it aside, is proof of that. His undershirt is off next, peeled away in a single, smooth motion.]

Tell me.

[ She watches him undress with rapt attention, not bothering to be subtle about the way her eyes travel down his chest and stomach when he finally bares them. When he is within reach again, she doesn't hesitate to touch, her warm palms sliding from the tops of his shoulders down his pectorals to his ribs, slowly, almost curiously, mapping his body with single-minded focus.

The warmth sinks into her fingers, shivering through her arms. It pools low in her stomach, and she lifts her outside leg to press her inner thigh against his, where he's propped his knee on the edge of the bed between hers. ]

I want--

[ She hesitates, but something pushes her despite the uncertainty. Her face is so hot now, heart pounding like hooves at a gallop in her head. But the truth comes out anyway, whether or not she stops to figure out how best to voice it. The desire crashes through her, impossible to ignore, and she bites her lip and stifles a moan when she squeezes his thigh between hers. ]

I want to feel your mouth on me. And your hands. I want your fingers in me. I want you to kiss me again. I want--

[ Breathlessly, the words tumble over one another, her voice shaking. She wants what Julie had described, how happy she'd seemed, the way she'd described losing yourself in someone else so they'd take care of you. She wants to feel that way completely, without second-guessing afterward, without fear and desperation, without grief. ]

I want you to make me feel safe.

[Sephiroth remains hyperaware of her fingertips trailing across his upper half, tracing planes of muscle. Like a second sense thrumming in the background as he listens to her desires, imagines every notion in his mind, eyes fixed on her face.

Her thigh lifts, drags slight friction against his own, teases a little too high (not high enough) between his legs for him to hold back a low moan. It escapes him, low and rumbling in his chest, likely felt by Ciri’s questing touch.

I want you to make me feel safe.

And then his chest constricts in a not entirely unpleasant way. It feels like an expression of trust as much as it is an invitation to truly lose themselves in one another, and his gaze trails over her form again, almost arrested by the sight paired with the sentiment. Can he give her that? He would be a fool not to try.]

Then one thing at a time.

[A kiss. That much is so, so easy, and just as tantalizing as the rest. He leans in again, catching her lips against his, though his hands snake behind her back to seek the clasp of her bra.]

[ She arches up when he slips a hand beneath her, and if he can't get it easily, she'll twist an arm around to help, impatient. But it doesn't distract her from kissing back, eager and inviting, mouth open against his.

As Ciri lets him lead, she seems to grow more relaxed, warm and pliant under his fingers.

She pulls back only enough to get rid of her bra entirely once it's undone, and lies back onto the bed with a soft thump and a sigh, arms bent and loosely up above her head. Through lowered lashes, she meets his eyes again, a little shy, watching his face to see if he likes to view. ]

Edited 2022-11-30 06:07 (UTC)

[He would have to be utterly mad not to enjoy the view, and Sephiroth is sure to indulge himself in it once her bra’s removed, severing their kiss and sitting up to let his eyes trail across every contour she presents him. Along the line of her arms, the slope of her neck, her collarbones, and of course, the curve of her breasts.

And finally, back up again to meet her gaze. She looks almost demure, a sight that brings a flush to even Sephiroth’s pale complexion.]

Beautiful. [It slips out unbidden, but all the more earnest because of it. He leans in again, bare hands starting at her torso, sliding up slowly until his palms cup flush against her breasts. Gently. Experimentally, for now.

His face tilts down to take in the sight, his long bangs tickling at her skin.]

But like this, you’re maddening, Ciri.

[ A heavy breath escapes her at his touch. That single word is like lightning in her veins, a shudder and a spark, curling hot inside her belly. It's not just a compliment. The way he says it, like he can't help himself, it makes her feel it too. Beautiful. The embarrassment is strange and warm, the sort that makes her want to squirm, but doesn't actually make her want to hide.

His hands are warm. For some reason, it's surprising.

Ciri draws her lower lip between her teeth, anxiously running the tip of her tongue against the familiar scar on one side without thinking about it.

There are no words in her head, only the steady thrum of her heartbeat and the complete lack of knowing how to react, thoughts half-forming before they melt away in anticipation of his next touch. ]

What... do you want?

[ She'd answered his question. She wants to hear it now. ]

[His own words slip out easily. There is no consideration behind them, no more filter that Sephiroth usually keeps bulwarked between himself and the outside world — not now. He says only what he wants, the first few things that come to mind, or notions he’d only quietly humored, kept to himself and tucked away in a solitary corner of his mind since the night they danced and kissed.]

I want to touch you, just like this.

[His thumbs graze across her nipples, teasing at them. He hums a sound of low contentment again, resists the urge to bite down at his lower lip.]

To put my fingers inside of you, too, as you said. And for my mouth to follow everywhere I’ve touched.

[Would she want that? For his lips to be just as exploratory as his fingers?]

Would you like that?

[ She twitches, mouth falling open, her chest rising with the deep inhale. Her nipples perk up beneath his coaxing touch, soft pink against her skin, paler beneath the places where her clothes always cover her body. Despite her time in the sun since coming to the Free Cities, Ciri hasn't tanned much visibly, but if he looks closely, he'll see the transition, just noticeable. The blush makes her freckles stand out more, scattered over the top of her chest above her breasts, a dusting on each shoulder. ]

Please. [ she breathes, leaving no doubt she'd like that very much. ]

[He notices, of course. Where she is paler, contrasted against where her skin has seen the sun. Where every freckle lies dusted across her shoulders, small details that seem all but impossible to not fixate upon when they’re so fresh in his eyes.

He wants to commit it to memory. Wants to be able to recall this moment long after it’s over. He looks at her—please, she tells him, and that sends a warm thrill careening down into his lower belly yet again.

Sephiroth certainly won’t make her beg for it.

He dips down, planting kisses right below the collarbone, trailing lower. Again and again, until his mouth hovers just above the bud of a nipple and he, too, seals his lips around it — kissing gently, first. Tongue laving in a warm press.]

[ Her arms lift just enough so she can slide her hands into his hair, following the way he moves downward. The tickle of warm breath against her skin coaxes little goosebumps in its wake, and Ciri shivers, the low moan catching in her throat.

Her blunt nails press into his scalp. The small of her back arches, thighs squeezing around either side of his leg where she's still keeping him trapped. ]

[He can’t see how her body contours into a longer line when she raises her arms, but he can feel her moving beneath him all the same — the way her thighs grip him, and the warmth radiating above. Sephiroth shifts in turn, raising his thigh up, brushing against the apex between her legs.

All the while, his mouth becomes less teasing and more purposeful. His tongue moves in little circles around her nipple, and eventually, the line of his teeth nip with just enough pressure to tease out a response.]

[ That gets a stronger reaction out of her, the pressure between her legs and that of his teeth on her breast. Ciri gasps, just barely voiced, a high noise caught in her throat. Her fingers tighten in his hair, but she's not pulling him away in the slightest -- encouraging, even.

She arches again, digs her heel into the side of the bed for leverage, and grinds down on him, squeezing with her thighs. ]

...harder.

[ It comes out breathy, more plea than command. ]

Touch me... more.

[Her fingers crook tighter into his scalp, encouragement that he’d be remiss to ignore, never mind the fact that he rather likes the sensation. His teeth pinch down a little harder, his hands want to wander elsewhere — Touch me more, she says, and Sephiroth only wants to comply.

Again, his leg rucks up harder between her legs, but then eases back in what leeway her grasp allows him. Sephiroth slips a hand between them, cupping at her, feeling the warmth rising, frustratingly blocked by a layer of cloth.

But it’s nice to know the contour and heat of her beneath his fingertips. His other hand braces at her hip, thumbing at the band of her pants. The question is not spoken, but so very easily implied — Off?]

[ She hisses, pulling her lower lip between her teeth, trembling under his touch. Her hips roll up, a shaky breath escaping in a grunt. ]

You don't know... how buttons work?

[ It's difficult to tell if she's teasing or annoyed, when she reaches down to yank at the front of her high-waisted trousers, buttoned up the front. It doesn't seem to occur to her he's asking for permission, though later, when she can think more clearly, she'll probably appreciate it. ]

[Even now, her quip—whether sincere or joking—still manages to amuse him a little. Sephiroth arches a brow despite everything, his mouth curved into a smile; yes, that was an ask for permission rather than a showing of incompetence when it comes to unbuttoning a garment. But he’ll not argue the point once she has the front of her trousers unbuttoned or otherwise loosened enough for him to slip long fingers down the open vee. Maybe slipping his touch right beneath her undergarments, seeking the warmth and slickness between her legs, will ease her impatience.

That, or stoke a fire in them both, already running hot.]

I hope you can give me more credit than that, Ciri.

[ Yes, that does seem to curb the sharpness of her tongue. Even asking for it, she seems somehow surprised, like the touch is unexpected. Like she didn't quite know what would happen, or didn't think he'd give it to her with so little in the way of demanding or pleading.

His fingers are comparatively cool against the eager heat of her skin, send a shiver through her with an accompanying, barely-voiced gasp, and a toss of her head. Her eyes slide shut. ]

Say my name again. [ It tumbles out, before she's even realizing she said it aloud, only a whisper. ]

[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.]

Ciri.

[His tone has some gravel to it, now.]

You're perfect like this, Ciri.

[ Her breath catches, stuck in her throat for a few moments before she remembers to exhale in a shaky moan. She's getting used to it still, the feeling of someone else's touch -- it's been some time.

The way he says her name convinces her more than the sensation even, feels more intimate somehow than his touch. The low rasp of his voice is a spark through her whole body, a caress that sends a shiver through her limbs.

Ciri rolls her hips into his hand with another throaty whimper. ]

Y-you can keep going... [ she suggests, almost pleads, but it isn't a command. There is a want in her voice, verging on desperation, quivering anticipation in each movement. She melts under his touch, lets him lead in a way he might not be used to from her. This is uncharted territory, and she lets him forge his path, to see what he will do. Not sure quite yet what she wants, except more, of him and of this and hearing him want her. ]

[She will have that in spades, his want for her. It overrides even his own impatience making him feel constrained and too-warm in his own trousers, just background noise to the way he watches her reaction, listens to the sounds she makes. Sephiroth only dimly realizes the he wishes to please her more than anything else; but his instinct and body fills in those empty spaces between, moving at her encouragement.

In this case, it means moving his fingers with a little more enthusiasm, just a little more pressure, drawing his touch up higher to graze against her clit. But she appears to react to his voice, too, and he finds the words spilling out without really thinking about them.]

Do you want my fingers inside you? Do you want my mouth? Or do you like this?

[He draws his touch in little circles now, never mind if this hinders a reply.]

❧ IC INBOX: Abraxas

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