[ He never promised he'd be fair. She said she'd like it. Did she not expect he would indulge her in whatever way he could?
As she whimpers he smiles against her lips, against her teeth, breathing in and out as she sets their pace. Loki groans, kisses and teeth straying from her mouth, brushing against her cheekbones, down along the edge of her jaw, to the side of her throat where he worries a small mark into the skin where her neck and her shoulder meet. He kisses the bruise after it blooms, traveling back to her mouth, arms shifting to hold her closer to him. ]
Sylvie.[ Her name is a prayer, a blessing, on his lips as they move together. The water around them sloshes, bubbles falling over the edge of the bathtub onto the tile. ]
[ The way he pulls her closer forces her to release him with one arm, grasping the side of the tub again to maintain some leverage as they move. It forces her to move slower than she'd like, the way that the water sloshes around them and destabilizes her movements; but in a way its better, she can focus on the feeling of his mouth on her neck, the way he marks her makes her want to mark him in return--though with more teeth.
That'd have to wait though, because he's groaning out her name and she's feeling herself spiral, short breathy sounds escaping her as she finds herself too far gone for real words as she chases that high with him. Sylvie digs her nails hard into his shoulder, crunching her eyes tights as she reaches for him, that magic they shared and touched back in the carriage. The thing that only they shared. That live wire that makes the air around them faintly grow green when she touches it, just bringing every touch, every pull of his body in hers, every brush against her nerves, up a thousand fold. It just felt so goddamn good- ]
Oh Fuck Loki!
[ She tumbles over the edge then with a breaking squeak at the end of his name- giving up on holding on to the tub to cling to him. It's strong enough to white out her vision, hard enough to leave the world swirling around them. ]
[ Loki had every intention of outlasting Sylvie in this.
Not, it should be noted, because of any conscious decision-making on his part. It was more of a confluence of several true things. That it has not been as long for him as it has been for Sylvie had a lot to do with it, alongside a constant desire to wear a sexual partner into the mattress, so to speak.
And yet. When she touches their shared root of magic it overwhelms him, in the best way, sends him scrambling for control of his senses as the illusion of the same flowers from the carriage burst forth on the tiled floor beneath the bathtub and climb the furniture, the walls, the ceiling in rapid succession. She clings and cries out and he keeps moving, breathing against her skin, holding back his own climax with a rapidly fraying control. ]
That is what we're doing. [ Laughter. A nip against her skin. ]
[ It's absolutely breathless, still riding the waves of her orgasm as she shifts to help him, to draw them out, not at all satisfied with what she's gotten so far. It feels so good, this connection they have. Terrifying and overwhelming and delicious, better than any lay she's had in the stolen moments she's been able to satisfy her need all these years. Sylvie grips his shoulder with one hand and the tub again with the other to focus on him now, on bringing him to his peak as well. After that? Well. ]
I hope you don't have any plans for the rest of the day. Because I'm not planning on going back tonight anymore.
[ He had wanted faffing, and honestly that's about all she can think of now. Taking him apart as many times as she can and letting him do the same. ]
My schedule is... [ A groan. If he thought he had a difficult time riding out her orgasm at the beginning, her chasing the edges of it and fucking him through it — as that is definitely what is happening here — will definitely be his undoing. ]Blessedly open.
[ He kisses her then, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth with a grin and another groan. The illusionary flowers burst into blossom, wither, die, are reborn again in little flares of green and gold magic as his hips snap upward without any sense of rhythm or pattern, merely rising to meet her as swiftly as possible with every thrust. When his control finally snaps it's very sudden; his hands at her waist tighten and he's left gasping and cursing against her mouth as each small flower bursts into a shower of sparks around them. ]
[ The kiss pulls a little sound out of her as he starts to lose rhythm, the pulse of their intertwined magic leaving sparks behind her eyes-- ones she quickly realizes is also still filling the room as she opens them again. It's beautiful, the flowers curling through their lifecycles, and she's half distracted by the actual artistry of the illusion when his hands tighten around her waist. And then all she can pay attention to is the way he comes apart under her, the way his mouth moves against hers as he whimpers out those curses. The flex of his muscles in his arms and shoulders and back as she holds him close again, swallowing his words with desperate kisses; she can feel his pleasure in echoes through their magic, and she holds him tight as the flowers burst into flecks of light around them. ]
Loki... [ Her arms slowly loosen after a moment, her skin prickling with goosepimples from the cold air and the delicious floating buzz of their release-- backed by that still humming connection. ] Holy...shit.
[ He brushes some of her hair back from her forehead with a shaky hand, taking large, deep breaths to try and come down from the intensity of it all. He loves her; it doesn't exist as a question or a possibility to him, it just. Is. It burns in him like a fire, sometimes raging, sometimes as quiet as a candle's flame, but nevertheless there. ]
Pretty good, yeah? [ He laughs, and kisses her again. Softly. Like he has all the time in the world. ]
[ It's breathless as she settles her arms a bit more over his shoulders, her entire front pressing up lazily against his as she tries to settle more into the water with him, craving the warmth of both his skin and the bath. ]
I think I'd need a few more rounds to really be sure.
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As she whimpers he smiles against her lips, against her teeth, breathing in and out as she sets their pace. Loki groans, kisses and teeth straying from her mouth, brushing against her cheekbones, down along the edge of her jaw, to the side of her throat where he worries a small mark into the skin where her neck and her shoulder meet. He kisses the bruise after it blooms, traveling back to her mouth, arms shifting to hold her closer to him. ]
Sylvie. [ Her name is a prayer, a blessing, on his lips as they move together. The water around them sloshes, bubbles falling over the edge of the bathtub onto the tile. ]
no subject
That'd have to wait though, because he's groaning out her name and she's feeling herself spiral, short breathy sounds escaping her as she finds herself too far gone for real words as she chases that high with him. Sylvie digs her nails hard into his shoulder, crunching her eyes tights as she reaches for him, that magic they shared and touched back in the carriage. The thing that only they shared. That live wire that makes the air around them faintly grow green when she touches it, just bringing every touch, every pull of his body in hers, every brush against her nerves, up a thousand fold. It just felt so goddamn good- ]
Oh Fuck Loki!
[ She tumbles over the edge then with a breaking squeak at the end of his name- giving up on holding on to the tub to cling to him. It's strong enough to white out her vision, hard enough to leave the world swirling around them. ]
no subject
Not, it should be noted, because of any conscious decision-making on his part. It was more of a confluence of several true things. That it has not been as long for him as it has been for Sylvie had a lot to do with it, alongside a constant desire to wear a sexual partner into the mattress, so to speak.
And yet. When she touches their shared root of magic it overwhelms him, in the best way, sends him scrambling for control of his senses as the illusion of the same flowers from the carriage burst forth on the tiled floor beneath the bathtub and climb the furniture, the walls, the ceiling in rapid succession. She clings and cries out and he keeps moving, breathing against her skin, holding back his own climax with a rapidly fraying control. ]
That is what we're doing. [ Laughter. A nip against her skin. ]
no subject
[ It's absolutely breathless, still riding the waves of her orgasm as she shifts to help him, to draw them out, not at all satisfied with what she's gotten so far. It feels so good, this connection they have. Terrifying and overwhelming and delicious, better than any lay she's had in the stolen moments she's been able to satisfy her need all these years. Sylvie grips his shoulder with one hand and the tub again with the other to focus on him now, on bringing him to his peak as well. After that? Well. ]
I hope you don't have any plans for the rest of the day. Because I'm not planning on going back tonight anymore.
[ He had wanted faffing, and honestly that's about all she can think of now. Taking him apart as many times as she can and letting him do the same. ]
no subject
[ He kisses her then, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth with a grin and another groan. The illusionary flowers burst into blossom, wither, die, are reborn again in little flares of green and gold magic as his hips snap upward without any sense of rhythm or pattern, merely rising to meet her as swiftly as possible with every thrust. When his control finally snaps it's very sudden; his hands at her waist tighten and he's left gasping and cursing against her mouth as each small flower bursts into a shower of sparks around them. ]
no subject
[ The kiss pulls a little sound out of her as he starts to lose rhythm, the pulse of their intertwined magic leaving sparks behind her eyes-- ones she quickly realizes is also still filling the room as she opens them again. It's beautiful, the flowers curling through their lifecycles, and she's half distracted by the actual artistry of the illusion when his hands tighten around her waist. And then all she can pay attention to is the way he comes apart under her, the way his mouth moves against hers as he whimpers out those curses. The flex of his muscles in his arms and shoulders and back as she holds him close again, swallowing his words with desperate kisses; she can feel his pleasure in echoes through their magic, and she holds him tight as the flowers burst into flecks of light around them. ]
Loki... [ Her arms slowly loosen after a moment, her skin prickling with goosepimples from the cold air and the delicious floating buzz of their release-- backed by that still humming connection. ] Holy...shit.
no subject
[ He brushes some of her hair back from her forehead with a shaky hand, taking large, deep breaths to try and come down from the intensity of it all. He loves her; it doesn't exist as a question or a possibility to him, it just. Is. It burns in him like a fire, sometimes raging, sometimes as quiet as a candle's flame, but nevertheless there. ]
Pretty good, yeah? [ He laughs, and kisses her again. Softly. Like he has all the time in the world. ]
no subject
[ It's breathless as she settles her arms a bit more over his shoulders, her entire front pressing up lazily against his as she tries to settle more into the water with him, craving the warmth of both his skin and the bath. ]
I think I'd need a few more rounds to really be sure.