[ The steady pain of Akeha's heel boring against her back is what keeps her own impatience at bay. The sensation is as pleasant as it is painful, and more importantly it is a sign of Akeha's own want.
Her need to serve and her ego revel quietly in that knowledge.
Somehow, she manages to maintain her composure even as the warm heat of Akeha's mouth hovers over her ear.
Mostly, at least– her nails dig deeper into the skin of Akeha's thigh, hard enough now to leave a faint scar. ]
I cannot help but wonder if some part of you might enjoy that.
[ The sting of her nails lessens, and finally her hand pulls away to land lightly between Akeha's legs. ]
You are many things.. some wonderful, some disquieting.
[ One finger presses slow circles against the fabric of Akeha's underwear. Her touch is light, only a whisper of pressure. ]
But a chef.. I'm unsure any amount of tutelage will earn you that title.
[ her hand stops. ]
We all have our flaws–
[ Artoria sits up, now positioned in Akeha's lap– back still pressed against her heel, pushing back some as if to inflict more pain upon herself.
She removes her hand from between Akeha's legs and with it she undoes her buttons, her other hand pulling her hair free from its tight updo.
Her shirt is open just enough to reveal the slight curve of her breasts, and a silky sort of navy in the form of lacy undergarments. Her hair falls around her shoulders, and she pushes it away with the back of her still gloved hand. ]
–Let us not discuss them today. Speak to me about this honeymoon.. where you would go, what you would wear and what you would do.
[The smile Artoria earns in response to this is rarer still than the last — one that is sharp and comes with the hint of teeth. The bite of fingernails into her thigh is an intermittent mingling of pain and pleasure, and later she will trace her fingers along the purple half-moons left behind, thinking of the woman who had caused them.]
As always, your bravery earns my sincerest admiration. Most would not dare to speak to me in such a way — [The words blur into a sound that is soft, wanting and more seen in the way she swallows, hard, than heard at all. Her lashes flutter; her head tilts back just so. Artoria's touch is barely a touch at all, and yet it causes warmth to flood her senses.
Her composure finds itself, after a delay. She stares up at Artoria, her hair spilling over her shoulders and her shirt half-undone, and her gaze sharpens, becomes focused and intent.
Slowly, she sits up herself, the unrelenting pressure of her heel against Artoria's back beginning to abate, and slides her dress off her shoulders. The tattoos painted along her shoulders and back stand in greater relief now, ink petals and feathers burning dark against her pale skin. Her bra is all dark lace, and the only color seems to be the growing flush winding its way up her neck. Her hair has become only slightly undone, and a lock curls itself along the sweep of her collarbone.]
But as for the topic of my honeymoon...
[She plucks another one of Artoria's buttons open. She gently pushes away the fabric of her shirt.] I cannot say for certain. These things are usually so intimate, are they not? I suppose I might defer to my spouse...
Would they be patient, I wonder? Hm. Would they have planned our trip away? Or would they be, ah, the overeager sort?
[She toys with the navy blue lace of Artoria's bra, but does not deign to touch her further. Not yet, anyway.
Her voice is as soft as it always was, and her gaze holds Artoria's own.]
Perhaps we would have one another in the car. Or be chauffeured, I suppose, and they might take me in the back of the limousine. A scandal for records, by any measure... but such things would be beyond us. Do you not agree?
[ Akeha is superior at playing coy. Artoria has, over the years, developed skill enough to make this enjoyable for Akeha but she cannot help but frown, childishly offended at the mention of the word overeager.
(Quite a feat, when Akeha has begun the process of underdressing. If one asked her whether she favored certain features or assets, she would say no. But if she were to think about it much more deeply, Akeha's presence in her life had been formative– and though her dalliances with others were rare, she found she had a preference for curvier women.) ]
I hardly think they would be so eager that they could not–
[ Her words find pause when Akeha's hand drifts toward her, her touch ghosting across the lace of her bra. It is a magic spell somehow, and she falls back into step and key. ]
What a special occasion it must be, if you of all people would allow yourself to be taken. But if that is what you desire then I think your spouse would oblige.. if she is eager for anything it is to see so much more of you painted red.
[ Her hand rests on Akeha's cheek, sliding down the flushed skin of her neck. ]
Your spouse would have been waiting for some time, you know. There would be a ceremony–
[ Hands on either side of Akeha, Artoria pulls at her dress down with a series of slow tugs. ]
A reception as well, with dinner and dancing. So many goodbyes to give and well wishes to receive.
[ The top half of her dress is bunched up at her waist, Artoria's hands rest there. ]
It will have been hours by the time you'd find yourself in the back of that limousine, their hand already sitting between your legs...
[With her other partners (few and far between, and only on occasions where she allowed herself to feel loneliness), Akeha does not allow them to take the lead. She does not allow them to touch her with the tenderness Artoria does now. She undresses herself, always aware of the danger in being so vulnerable. But there are no such things here, only a rolling, languid sort of heat coursing through her, mingled with adrenaline and anticipation.
The room is warm, and yet she shivers again as she is undressed, keenly aware of each brush of Artoria's fingers against her bare skin. She listens, her gaze hooded, and takes her time in responding. She does not allow herself to indulge in fancy often, and so if she imagines this wedding and the sharp needling of impatience at having to wait for hours while exchanging banalities, it is hard to say. Instead, she shifts some in the gentle cage of Artoria's hands, and first moves to carefully pull at the ornate pin holding up her hair. This is a deadly thing in her hands, like most things were, but at the moment it is a nuisance that she sets off to the side.]
Hours... [She repeats, her tone thoughtful.] My. That would test even my patience. [Then she moves, as if to rest her hands over Artoria's own. Instead, one slips between her thighs, and even with the lower half of her dress obscuring the view, it is clear what she's doing, seen in the way her lashes flutter and her head tilts back. Her breath catches hard in her throat.
It is a long while before she pulls her hand away, and the color is high in her cheeks. She places her wet fingers against Artoria's mouth, and uses her other hand to take gentle hold of one of Artoria's wrists, guiding her hand until it settles on her thigh.
Her voice when she speaks again is soft, as it always is.]
[ An offended exclamation is her first response– she nearly reaches for Akeha's hand to stop her. Her pride is what makes her so good at this: serving her partners was more for herself than it was for them (because she felt most comfortable serving the needs of others, and because there is a power in someone needing you in such a way).
Her pride is what makes her, occasionally insufferable as well.
But she stops short of disturbing Akeha while she is in the act, less by choice and more so because she is transfixed by the sight of her– flushed skin, fluttering eyelashes, lips parted, coming together only to make inaudible sounds.
Her throat is dry when Akeha brings her fingers to Artoria's mouth, and she sucks on them like a woman who has been deprived drink for weeks. The warm, salty wetness she manages to suckle from her skin renews her spirit, and when Akeha guides her hand she obliges.
Her fingers climb Akeha's thigh and navigate between lacey cloth and wet skin, finding their target easily. Her thumb circles slowly. ]
I think she would serve her bride happily.
[ Artoria leans down, peppering languid kisses across Akeha's exposed skin. She speaks her words across the red flush of Akeha's chest. ]
But she despite their shared restlessness.. she would take her time and relish this moment. After all, it is rare that her bride would let her eagerness be so readily apparent.
[ She looks up, face all but resting between Akeha's breasts. Her hand moves faster, thumb pressing just a bit harder.
There's a glimmer of something almost arrogant in her eyes. ]
Do you remember the first time? When we were practically children? You were so cute then.. so shy.. so encouraging.
[Akeha watches Artoria lick her fingers clean, and feels something unfurl itself in her stomach, filling her with languid, liquid heat. Though she is the one that guides Artoria's hand between her thighs, she is not prepared for the sensation of it. So odd, when she is so often prepared for everything. This time, she cannot quell the little noise she makes: an unsteady sigh, a slight gasp that she cuts off by biting her lower lip. Her head tilts back some; she shifts in subdued impatience and rolls her hips gently forward. All signs of weakness, says the part of her that was always calculating risk and threat, and she banishes the thought.
Artoria would not harm her. She was the only person in her life that would not do such a thing, and this thought is the thing that makes her look away, embarrassed. The blush rising to life on her skin paints her pale neck a flushed pink. It takes her longer than she wants to respond, and her voice now has a lower edge, the velvet calm of it beginning to fray at the edges with want.]
... Would she? [The question is soft, barely above a whisper.] How cruel, that she would torment me so. [This is accompanied by the barest of smiles, even as she squirms just so beneath the warmth of Artoria's mouth, and swallows all the noises she wants to make.] But such torment makes the end result all the sweeter, does it not? [Her voice blurs. The words are caught in a jumble in her throat when Artoria increases her pace, and for a time she can't think of much to say at all.
Then, she begins to pull herself up, and when she does she leans her forehead against Artoria's, deliberately pressing herself closer. When she speaks again, it is in a low and intent whisper, her lipstick smudging against Artoria's cheek.]
I remember. I remember your nervousness very vividly. And your fumbling, as well — your excitement was always so charming.
[ She wants to argue, to be startled and offended. But she can't be either of those things for very long, the irony of the situation is too embarrassing. Caught up in her own overeagerness she has miscalculated and lost the upper hand, something that Akeha very rarely gave up to another for very long.
Artoria groans without making a sound: her lips part, and she makes a face as if she is experiencing some kind of pain. She is her own self-fulfilling prophecy because she cannot get close enough soon enough. ]
You are as cruel as you ever were.
[ Artoria shifts her hand between Akeha's legs, angling it just so— she slips two fingers inside of her, keeping steady pace with the finger still rubbing circles against her. ]
You toy with me so— one day you might come to regret it. I may fumble when it matters most.
[ And then her hand stops altogether, stationed inside of her like a threat.
She tries to steady her breathing, it would hardly be much of a threat if she was bursting at the seams herself. ]
[This time, Akeha's gasp is audible, surprised — a burst of air against Artoria's ear. Her hand settles on the back of Artoria's neck, then cards through her hair. The gesture is tender for all the suddenness of it, and then she laughs. It's soft, warm, and would be scarcely heard if she were not so close.]
Cruel? No. Not to you. [She shivers, her body tightening around Artoria's fingers, and sighs out her name. She closes her eyes, rocks her hips forward into the motion, letting her body fall into the motion and be carried by it. She is a weapon in the hands of others, but in Artoria's hands she becomes something else entirely. An instrument to be played and to have sounds sweetly plied out of her, made to follow a rhythm and song.
Artoria stops, and again her body tightens helplessly around her. Akeha breathes out and she might have been able to hide her lack of composure were it not for the way it shuddered out at the end.]
If you were, then I would be truly cruel, Artoria. [Her mouth brushes her earlobe, and she takes it between her teeth, gently biting down.] I'll torment you endlessly, this night, and all the other nights we might yet have.
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no subject
Her need to serve and her ego revel quietly in that knowledge.
Somehow, she manages to maintain her composure even as the warm heat of Akeha's mouth hovers over her ear.
Mostly, at least– her nails dig deeper into the skin of Akeha's thigh, hard enough now to leave a faint scar. ]
I cannot help but wonder if some part of you might enjoy that.
[ The sting of her nails lessens, and finally her hand pulls away to land lightly between Akeha's legs. ]
You are many things.. some wonderful, some disquieting.
[ One finger presses slow circles against the fabric of Akeha's underwear. Her touch is light, only a whisper of pressure. ]
But a chef.. I'm unsure any amount of tutelage will earn you that title.
[ her hand stops. ]
We all have our flaws–
[ Artoria sits up, now positioned in Akeha's lap– back still pressed against her heel, pushing back some as if to inflict more pain upon herself.
She removes her hand from between Akeha's legs and with it she undoes her buttons, her other hand pulling her hair free from its tight updo.
Her shirt is open just enough to reveal the slight curve of her breasts, and a silky sort of navy in the form of lacy undergarments. Her hair falls around her shoulders, and she pushes it away with the back of her still gloved hand. ]
–Let us not discuss them today. Speak to me about this honeymoon.. where you would go, what you would wear and what you would do.
no subject
As always, your bravery earns my sincerest admiration. Most would not dare to speak to me in such a way — [The words blur into a sound that is soft, wanting and more seen in the way she swallows, hard, than heard at all. Her lashes flutter; her head tilts back just so. Artoria's touch is barely a touch at all, and yet it causes warmth to flood her senses.
Her composure finds itself, after a delay. She stares up at Artoria, her hair spilling over her shoulders and her shirt half-undone, and her gaze sharpens, becomes focused and intent.
Slowly, she sits up herself, the unrelenting pressure of her heel against Artoria's back beginning to abate, and slides her dress off her shoulders. The tattoos painted along her shoulders and back stand in greater relief now, ink petals and feathers burning dark against her pale skin. Her bra is all dark lace, and the only color seems to be the growing flush winding its way up her neck. Her hair has become only slightly undone, and a lock curls itself along the sweep of her collarbone.]
But as for the topic of my honeymoon...
[She plucks another one of Artoria's buttons open. She gently pushes away the fabric of her shirt.] I cannot say for certain. These things are usually so intimate, are they not? I suppose I might defer to my spouse...
Would they be patient, I wonder? Hm. Would they have planned our trip away? Or would they be, ah, the overeager sort?
[She toys with the navy blue lace of Artoria's bra, but does not deign to touch her further. Not yet, anyway.
Her voice is as soft as it always was, and her gaze holds Artoria's own.]
Perhaps we would have one another in the car. Or be chauffeured, I suppose, and they might take me in the back of the limousine. A scandal for records, by any measure... but such things would be beyond us. Do you not agree?
no subject
(Quite a feat, when Akeha has begun the process of underdressing. If one asked her whether she favored certain features or assets, she would say no. But if she were to think about it much more deeply, Akeha's presence in her life had been formative– and though her dalliances with others were rare, she found she had a preference for curvier women.) ]
I hardly think they would be so eager that they could not–
[ Her words find pause when Akeha's hand drifts toward her, her touch ghosting across the lace of her bra. It is a magic spell somehow, and she falls back into step and key. ]
What a special occasion it must be, if you of all people would allow yourself to be taken. But if that is what you desire then I think your spouse would oblige.. if she is eager for anything it is to see so much more of you painted red.
[ Her hand rests on Akeha's cheek, sliding down the flushed skin of her neck. ]
Your spouse would have been waiting for some time, you know. There would be a ceremony–
[ Hands on either side of Akeha, Artoria pulls at her dress down with a series of slow tugs. ]
A reception as well, with dinner and dancing. So many goodbyes to give and well wishes to receive.
[ The top half of her dress is bunched up at her waist, Artoria's hands rest there. ]
It will have been hours by the time you'd find yourself in the back of that limousine, their hand already sitting between your legs...
no subject
The room is warm, and yet she shivers again as she is undressed, keenly aware of each brush of Artoria's fingers against her bare skin. She listens, her gaze hooded, and takes her time in responding. She does not allow herself to indulge in fancy often, and so if she imagines this wedding and the sharp needling of impatience at having to wait for hours while exchanging banalities, it is hard to say. Instead, she shifts some in the gentle cage of Artoria's hands, and first moves to carefully pull at the ornate pin holding up her hair. This is a deadly thing in her hands, like most things were, but at the moment it is a nuisance that she sets off to the side.]
Hours... [She repeats, her tone thoughtful.] My. That would test even my patience. [Then she moves, as if to rest her hands over Artoria's own. Instead, one slips between her thighs, and even with the lower half of her dress obscuring the view, it is clear what she's doing, seen in the way her lashes flutter and her head tilts back. Her breath catches hard in her throat.
It is a long while before she pulls her hand away, and the color is high in her cheeks. She places her wet fingers against Artoria's mouth, and uses her other hand to take gentle hold of one of Artoria's wrists, guiding her hand until it settles on her thigh.
Her voice when she speaks again is soft, as it always is.]
And what would be done then, I wonder?
no subject
Her pride is what makes her, occasionally insufferable as well.
But she stops short of disturbing Akeha while she is in the act, less by choice and more so because she is transfixed by the sight of her– flushed skin, fluttering eyelashes, lips parted, coming together only to make inaudible sounds.
Her throat is dry when Akeha brings her fingers to Artoria's mouth, and she sucks on them like a woman who has been deprived drink for weeks. The warm, salty wetness she manages to suckle from her skin renews her spirit, and when Akeha guides her hand she obliges.
Her fingers climb Akeha's thigh and navigate between lacey cloth and wet skin, finding their target easily. Her thumb circles slowly. ]
I think she would serve her bride happily.
[ Artoria leans down, peppering languid kisses across Akeha's exposed skin. She speaks her words across the red flush of Akeha's chest. ]
But she despite their shared restlessness.. she would take her time and relish this moment. After all, it is rare that her bride would let her eagerness be so readily apparent.
[ She looks up, face all but resting between Akeha's breasts. Her hand moves faster, thumb pressing just a bit harder.
There's a glimmer of something almost arrogant in her eyes. ]
Do you remember the first time? When we were practically children? You were so cute then.. so shy.. so encouraging.
no subject
Artoria would not harm her. She was the only person in her life that would not do such a thing, and this thought is the thing that makes her look away, embarrassed. The blush rising to life on her skin paints her pale neck a flushed pink. It takes her longer than she wants to respond, and her voice now has a lower edge, the velvet calm of it beginning to fray at the edges with want.]
... Would she? [The question is soft, barely above a whisper.] How cruel, that she would torment me so. [This is accompanied by the barest of smiles, even as she squirms just so beneath the warmth of Artoria's mouth, and swallows all the noises she wants to make.] But such torment makes the end result all the sweeter, does it not? [Her voice blurs. The words are caught in a jumble in her throat when Artoria increases her pace, and for a time she can't think of much to say at all.
Then, she begins to pull herself up, and when she does she leans her forehead against Artoria's, deliberately pressing herself closer. When she speaks again, it is in a low and intent whisper, her lipstick smudging against Artoria's cheek.]
I remember. I remember your nervousness very vividly. And your fumbling, as well — your excitement was always so charming.
no subject
Artoria groans without making a sound: her lips part, and she makes a face as if she is experiencing some kind of pain. She is her own self-fulfilling prophecy because she cannot get close enough soon enough. ]
You are as cruel as you ever were.
[ Artoria shifts her hand between Akeha's legs, angling it just so— she slips two fingers inside of her, keeping steady pace with the finger still rubbing circles against her. ]
You toy with me so— one day you might come to regret it. I may fumble when it matters most.
[ And then her hand stops
altogether, stationed inside of her like a threat.
She tries to steady her breathing, it would hardly be much of a threat if she was bursting at the seams herself. ]
What would you do then?
no subject
Cruel? No. Not to you. [She shivers, her body tightening around Artoria's fingers, and sighs out her name. She closes her eyes, rocks her hips forward into the motion, letting her body fall into the motion and be carried by it. She is a weapon in the hands of others, but in Artoria's hands she becomes something else entirely. An instrument to be played and to have sounds sweetly plied out of her, made to follow a rhythm and song.
Artoria stops, and again her body tightens helplessly around her. Akeha breathes out and she might have been able to hide her lack of composure were it not for the way it shuddered out at the end.]
If you were, then I would be truly cruel, Artoria. [Her mouth brushes her earlobe, and she takes it between her teeth, gently biting down.] I'll torment you endlessly, this night, and all the other nights we might yet have.