fourstrings | come on over, help me forget

come on over, help me forget

[ She should be ashamed of herself.

There is much to do. There always is, but she cannot quite recall a time when things have been so hectic; the Alliance petitioning Ishgard to rejoin, the threat of the Horde increasing, a primal, here, in their own lands -

- and still her mind wanders, settling and sticking in the one place it always does when the want knots up in her body like an ache. She pushes through. Ishgard needs her, now more than ever, and she will not disgrace her position by pining like a maiden from old stories. And then an opportunity presents itself: the Azure Dragoon himself, sighted in Ishgard. A rarer occurrence these days, given his determination to draw Nidhogg's attention elsewhere, but that only makes her more determined. She sends for him. This is entirely innocuous; why would she not wish to speak to the Azure Dragoon when the Dravanian threat seems so pressing?

Less innocuous is the way she arranges for final adjustments to be taking place on a dress when she expects him to arrive, or the order to have him sent directly to her quarters. She needs the gown for upcoming events in any case, and Estinien has been distant of late; if he arrives and sees her in this, with her shoulders bared and the flowing skirt of it accentuating how it nips in at her waist and accentuates the rise of her breasts -

well, then she must write the whole affair off as done with, and try her best to recover. Perhaps a broken heart will prompt her to focus fully on her work, as a distraction.

She'll find out soon enough. There is a knock, and she dismisses her attendant with a smile. ]

Estinien! Thank you for making time for me.

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[ aymeric moans into his mouth, and the sound is all it takes for the lower pieces of his armor to become painfully constrictive. the armor is too spiked for him to draw her against him the way he craves -- he makes an impatient sound as he fights off one gauntlet, then the other, finding with relief that she's already made short work of the pauldrons. there's still plenty left to be discarded, but it is enough --

he draws aymeric to him with his hands on her waist, sliding the touch down to the generous curve of her hips and making a low, helpless sound of want. ]

You would be so cruel as to deny me armor when you look like this? [ halone take him, he is not some lust-addled youth, but the urge to bury his face into her cleavage and refuse to emerge again is a powerful impulse indeed. if he hooked his fingers in the fabric at her bustline, could he pull down enough to let her breasts spill free? his fingers itch to try. ] No Knight taught you to fight so unfairly.

[ a bald-faced lie, considering it was estinien who prodded her into discarding notions such as honor when it came to fighting for her life, and taught her how best to use the weight of a heavier opponent against them. ]

No temple knight, certainly. I learned all my dirty tricks precisely where I mean to deploy them.

[ Because yes, Estinien was the one who taught her that honor was a small sacrifice to make to protect oneself and one's people, but also how easily she could use those things she did nothing to earn but were hers nonetheless - the shape of her body, the curve of her smile, the low burr of her laugh - to get precisely what she wants. And she wants it now. ]

Yes, I would deny you armor. I will permit you no covering but myself.

[ He is looking at her breasts. Having been accused of fighting unfairly already, it seems hardly more of a sin to run one of her own hands up her body and over her breast, squeezing slowly until it seems as if it will burst out of her dress and humming at the touch. ]

[ the sound that gets torn out of him at the sight is caught somewhere between a growl and a groan, eyes locked helplessly onto her hand. he is near desperate to mimic that touch for himself -- but first he moves to unlatch and discard the lower parts of his armor before he has the chance to cause himself some permanent injury. there is a pointed sound of relief as finally his erection is freed from its metal confines, and he makes short work of the chest plate just to be rid of the barrier in its entire.

then, with nothing separating them but the thin tunic and breeches he wears to protect his skin from the armor, there is nothing to stop him from sweeping her up and off her feet. it is four short steps to the bed, and he crosses them in record time -- spilling her onto the mattress in what would be a show of roughness if not for the way his hands go to guide her fall. but then he is prowling after her, pinning her underneath him with a knee to either side of her hips and looking down at her as if he might devour her whole. ]

Wicked temptress. [ it should be impossible for a man to sound frustrated, affectionate, and immensely horny all at once, but then few men are so lucky as to be the victims of this skillful an assault. ] Unrepentant little minx.

[ now he has both hands on her breasts, squeezing at the supple flesh and letting out a low groan. ] You would wear this in public and have every man in Ishgard thinking of nothing else but burying himself between your tits?

[ Sometimes she wonders if he understands what it means, that she permits him such things. That she desires them. Not his hungry touch - the meaning there should be fairly obvious - but picking her up, and being met with her arms going about his neck and a smile on her lips rather than a fight. She has fought long and hard against the poor-kept secret of her lineage and the expectations of her sex to get where she is, and ferocious independence has been no small part. But Estinien scoops her up and she goes willingly, joyfully, and arches herself up into his touch when his hands find her breasts. ]

'tis little concern of mine. They may think all they like. I choose who may touch me so.

[ Fury, and isn't that a thought? To have him there, hard and hot between the soft swell of her breasts, panting as he moves over her? Merely the thought of it sends a little pulse of want through her that has her squirming slightly beneath him. What other perversions might he conjure in her mind? She is eager to find out, tugs at the fabric of her dress until it dips enough for a breast to pop free, pale and bare against his touch, and moans at the drag of his palm against her nipple. ]

[ she does choose, and the thought brings him little comfort. estinien has no right to ask for her commitment when he cannot commit to her, but there is a wicked streak of jealousy in him that snarls at the thought of anyone else touching her. already, he knows that one day she'll be forced to find a husband suitable enough for her aspirations, and --

then she tugs at the dress enough for a breast to spill free, and the thought is dashed like porcelain against tile. he groans a ragged noise at the sight of it, unable to help himself from dipping down so that he might take the tempting pink bud of her nipple into his mouth. but even having that desire satisfied isn't enough to keep him from tugging at the dress hard enough to free her other tit, and he purrs a satisfied sound against her flesh as the feeling of bare skin against his palm. they are the most perfect breasts in all of ishgard, and he is more than content to linger over them -- suckling at the nipple in his mouth until he teases it into a hardened little peak, then scraping his teeth gently over it as he finally pulls away to repeat the process for the other.

and ah, wicked thing. it's obvious that she's dabbed a touch of that perfume here, in the inviting valley between her breasts, as a reward for him burying his face there and finding it. ]

Ah-

[ Why bother to hide it? They have not been together this way nearly as much as she would like, but certainly enough for him to know how she loves his touch against her breasts, how best to wring the pleasure from her this way. The hot suction of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, just enough to send sensation sparkling through her like light scattered through a crystal - no, why would she ever bother to hide her pleasure at this? She slips a hand back into his hair, petting at him encouragingly - yes, good, more - and finds the only frustration is that the way he has her pinned means she can't wrap her legs around him and press against him.

No matter. Petting at his hair still leaves her a hand free to slip down between them, to cup over the swell of him through his thin breeches and give another sigh to feel how hard he is there. For her. Oh, it's a beautiful thing to know. ]

How dare you grouse about my having you summoned when you do this to me? How do you imagine I might resist when I already know what pleasure there is in having you with me this way?

[ estinien knows well enough that the way she strokes at his hair is encouragement, and so he lingers over her breasts to see what other sounds he might draw from her. he drags his tongue over one of her nipples before finally sealing his mouth back over it to suck, and his hand is busy pinching and gently rolling its twin between his fingers lest it feel neglected.

but she has never been a woman to simply lie back and take pleasure for long, and her hand between his legs is enough to drag a low moan from him. he cannot help but to rut forward into that touch, so desperate for friction that even that makes the blood pound in his ears. ]

Because. [ it is a useless argument when he is making it half-muffled, his mouth still at her tit, but she asked. ] I am meant to leave the city tomorrow with the fresh memory of you still burned into my mind?

[ she isn't wearing her usual earring, and it leaves her ear temptingly exposed. he kisses a hot, open-mouthed trail up to it, nibbling along its shell before finally growling the rest. ] Already you torment me. Countless nights have I taken myself in hand and craved the feeling of sinking into your warm and willing cunt instead.

[ Oh, Fury take her. As if it wasn't enough to have him suck at the tender and wanting peak he's made of her nipple, as if it wasn't enough to have him press into her hand and remind her just how thick and hard he is, he runs teeth against her ear (always guaranteed to make her moan, which she duly does) and growls that into her ear. Filthy. He would kill any other man who spoke to her so and she may well let him, but from Estinien it makes her feel her own heartbeat between her legs, pulsing to be spoken of so crudely and so reverently in the same breath.

Well, two may perform this dance. She loosens her grip only enough to slip her hand into those breeches, humming her approval when her fingers find the flesh of his cock, near burning-hot against her touch. ]

And here it is. Willing. Wet. At your disposal. Tell me, ser dragoon, how do you take me on these lonely nights in your imagination? Like this, on my back, clutching at your with open arms and spread legs? Or on my hands and knees, every cry of passion smacked out of me by the thrust of your hips?

[ he has always known that her tongue is far cleverer than his, but it never fails to delight when she applies her gift to crudeness. especially when she paints him pictures like those, making him groan even before she has the chance to wrap her fingers around his dick. ]

Every way I can have you. Riding me, so I can watch the desperate way you chase your pleasure on my cock. Up against the wall after the function where you intend to wear this dress -- [ since yeah, that's still a minor point of consternation. ] -- knowing that every man there would have begged for one moment spent buried inside you.

[ he reaches behind him to roughly yank up that flowing skirt, fully intending to dip a hand between her legs, but. then his fingers find those stockings over her legs, and he cannot help the low sound of appreciation as he drags a hand up over her calf. ]

As soon as I entered this room, I could smell your desire. Tell me, did your fingers give you what you needed when you touched yourself?

[ Oh. She is no maiden, but his words still bring a rush of blood to her cheeks, flushing her pink. Because he's right, of course; just thinking about having him here, having him after what seemed far too long had driven her to a level of excitement that demanded action. How wanton he must think her, how desperate, to know that she had not even the grace to wait for him.

Still. The feeling of his touch over her stockinged leg is wonderful, and she would have it higher. She rallies. ]

What remarkable senses you must have. I should think, after all this time, you would be able to tell by taste if I have come. Why don't you tell me?

[ It makes the blush spread to the tips of her ears to say it thus, but she lifts her chin and slips two fingers into his mouth, almost defiant. The answer itself is too much of a concession to give him straight so early in the evening; it matters not how many times she brought herself to climax with her own fingers, she will not have had what she needs until he is inside her. ]

[ he cannot fail to see the way she blushes, a charming pink that spreads to the very tips of her ears, and that makes it all the sweeter when she rallies back to match him. and when she slides two delicate fingers into his mouth? it makes him moan a low sound around them, eyes sliding shut as he lifts a hand to seize her wrist so that he might better obey. he runs his tongue up the line of her fingers, then sucks as if to better pursue the taste of her.

then finally, drawing his mouth from her fingers slowly: ]

Aye, you've come. [ a lie, but he thinks she won't hold it against him. ] And still, it wasn't nearly enough to give you what you need, was it?

[ and now, finally, it is time for his own fingers to find her slit, sliding up along her folds and making a low sound at the feeling of her wetness. ]

[ She keeps her composure, just barely, as he suckles at her fingers that way, as if even the memory of the taste of her is a fine treat. But when he finally touches her, fingers rubbing against a slit that all his attentions have made so wet that his touch glides - no, it's too much. Her head tips back, throat exposed as she sighs and rocks her hips, rubbing herself against his fingers, chasing that touch. It's not what she craves, and still miles better than what she was able to give herself because it is him. ]

No. I need you, Estinien. Your hard cock inside me. Buried - [ it's bold, bolder than she normally dares, but it has been so long and she is wild for him - ] buried deep as you'll go, deep as my cunt can take you.

[ the sound of aymeric saying cunt goes straight to his dick, and he makes a helpless sound as he ruts himself forward into her hand. there is no hope that he's going to be able to deny her, to drag this out -- she tips her throat back as if in offering, and he can't stop himself from leaning down to drag his teeth lightly over her skin.

still, his lady has demanded his service.

it is a regret to dislodge her hand so that he might discard his breeches, too impatient to even strip off his tunic. he is too impatient to settle between her legs, rubbing the flushed head of his dick up along her slit and making a sound deep in his chest at the feel of her, wet and hot and so inviting. ]

Let me fuck you in this dress. [ knowing damn well how much it must cost, knowing it is an expense that can be ill-afford to be made in war. it is what makes it so sweet, knowing she would abandon all practicality and straight-laced sense just to have him. ] Let me ruin it, and you with it.

[ It is too much to ask. This dress cost an amount that she already considered unacceptable, that she grudgingly consented to only for the chance that appearing at a function full of the heads of the high houses dressed in the pinnacle of their silly, elitist fashion might make them more disposed to hear her pleas for assistance where it is most needed. Estinien had been crass about the dress and the thoughts it might prompt, but that was precisely the intention; that some Lord's son might see her in it and want her and talk his sire into funding her ventures, not understanding that he would never have her - that she could never let him, because Estinien's refusal to claim her for his own has never meant she was any less his.

So much his that the thought is gone before it's even formed. He rubs himself against her and she feels her body tighten as if it could draw him in by will alone, writhes under him just to have more of that sweet touch, and answers him in the space of half a breath. ]

Yes. Yes. Take me, ruin me. Fuck me, Estinien. Fuck me until I couldn't move to stop your seed from spilling out of me and spoiling the velvet even if I wanted to.

[ ah. well, it had been his full intention to fuck her even if she wouldn't let him make a messy of her clothing, but her response is malms above what he might have hoped.

it is beyond him to resist, to even delay for a moment more, and he reaches down to guide himself as he finally allows himself to sink inside her. and oh, neither his imagination or his memory ever do her any justice -- she is slick, hot velvet within, and he slides into her as if it's where he was always meant to be. for a moment, just burying himself to the hilt inside her and holding there is all that he can manage; it has been too long, and his body threatens to betray him if he moves too soon. ]

How are you always so tight? [ tweaking a nipple, just because he knows how it will make her muscles spasm around him, and groaning as she does. ]

[ He was right, when he said her fingers couldn't give her what she needed. This, this is what she needs - every sweet inch of him filling her up, the press of him within her gloriously close to dizzying even before he tweaks her nipple and makes her clench around him. The answer, she feels, is that her body craves him; like a flower filled with sweet nectar to lure bees, it somehow knows how to draw him back. She is meant for him, made for him, and if this is the most she can ever hope for she can make it be enough.

Saying that, of course, is out of the question. She catches his face in her hand instead, kisses him, greedy and messy, and rolls her hips to groan at the way he shifts inside her. ]

All the better to ruin.

[ he cannot help but give himself to that kiss; it is better proof of her desire than even the filthiest spill of words from her tongue, and his response to it is every bit as hungry.

but then she rolls her hips and the slide of him inside her is enough to make colors dance at the edge of his vision. he breaks the kiss with a growl, nipping at her lip in a sort of mock retaliation, his hands finding her hips as he finally draws himself back out. slowly, and nearly all the way, until everything in him howls at the idea of being parted from her -- and then he drives himself back in deep, a low rumble echoing up from his chest at the feel of it. and that is how he fucks her, slow but hard, knowing the pace won't be enough to give either of them what they need but enjoying the thought of seeing which one of them is first to break.

besides, the sight of her tits bouncing with each inward thrust could drive a bard to song -- he can't help but squeeze at one with one hand, fingers rolling the tight peak of her nipple between them. ]

Oh!

[ He means to break her, to ruin her mind just as surely as her body. It's the only excuse for such treatment, the exquisite agony of having him hold her right on the precipice of what she wants so badly, but denying her. He draws out until she can feel her body clenching as if in a panic at the thought of losing him, drives back into her and fondles her breast in a way that makes sparks of light scatter through her vision, and it's all she can do to gasp for air. Already her hair is in a mess around her, and she forces herself to look up at him, her tongue soothing over where he nipped at her lip as if it hurt rather than simply making her crave him even more. ]

Is this to be my punishment for trying to seduce you? Like a glutton trapped in the underworld with a banquet just out of reach, you mean to drive me to madness on - ah- on the thick swell of your cock? Or do you only wish to make me beg, like the slut my need for you makes of me?

Yes.

[ truth be told, it takes him a moment to even wrap his mind properly around what he's agreeing to. there is very little he wouldn't give her right now if she asked it of him in that pleasure-rough voice; he always fully intends to ruin her, and yet she is the one always skillfully able to take him to pieces.

but.

it is a shame to let go of her breast, but he reaches down between her legs to press the pad of his thumb over the bud of her clit and rub there in slow circles. he fully intends to drag this first orgasm from her before he gives her more, greedy for the feel of her pussy spasming and clenching around him, the sight of her lost to her pleasure. ]

Beg for me. Show me you are no proper woman, Aymeric. Straight-laced and pious for the rest of Ishgard, but for me? [ he leans down to nip at her ear, growling the rest there. ] Just the thought of me using your cunt the way you need was enough to have you dripping. You were aching to have me throw you to the mattress and swive you like my whore.

[ What is it about this that drives her so wild? This language that she would accept from no other, which makes her frantic from Estinien's lips? It would be one thing if it were only that he is away so often and that what she truly wants from him is not within his power to give even if he wished to, if she accepted this because it was the best she could hope for, but no. It is not settling that sets a fire in the very core of her, that makes her pussy throb for him and her breasts ache for his touch. It is a mystery - but not one she is likely to unravel with his thumb drawing over her that way, until she arches her back and cries out, feeling herself slip dangerously close already. ]

I was. I crave you. I have wanted nothing in my life the way I want your cock inside me - not power, not peace. Let me come, Estinien, please. Fuck me the way only you may.

[ it will probably seem like nothing less than cruelty when he rewards her honesty by withdrawing -- but it is only so that he can flip her over, dragging her hips high enough for him to slam home inside her again. (and she can hardly complain, when she put the thought in his head.)

like this, it is easier to have two hands free to touch her -- one for her tit and one for her pussy, rubbing and teasing and tweaking in the way he knows drives her mad. and now he fucks her properly, hard and fast and ruthless, bent over her back so that he can apply his mouth to her ear. ]

Then come. [ punctuating it with a sharp slap to one of her buttocks, his rhythm not faltering for a moment. ] My greedy, craven thing. Come for me, Aymeric.

[ And, oh, she does. His clever fingers play her like a bard's lute, his cock drives into her the way she begged for, and she comes with a wail, light dancing in her vision. She tries, boldly, to match him - works her hips back against him, that slap still ringing through her, but her body betrays her. It is too much - the force of her climax throbs through her, not just in the rhythmic clench of her body around him but in great, heaving waves that crash through her, flooding her with pleasure. She seizes for a moment, the intensity of it locking her body up tight and still, until it seems only her mouth is still capable of movement, stammering over his name -

and then it all gives way, sweeping and sudden. Her limbs collapse under her, her face mashing against the bed, and if any part of her remains upright at all it is only by the grace of his grip on it. ]

Beautiful.

[ it is a helpless groan, dragged out of him as her pussy spasms and throbs around him. she was already soaking, and it seems impossible that she should become wetter, but he can feel it as she does.

but if she hoped he would let her rest, she is to be sorely disappointed. he's forced to loop an arm around her hips to keep them upright, but it doesn't stop her from continuing to fuck her without mercy. estinien draws back so that he can watch the way his cock drives home into her cunt, the sight of her own wetness slicking her thighs. she's lovely, and he fully intends to drink in the sight and carry it with him when he's forced to leave again. ]

[ This is it. This is what she lives for. As Lord Commander she may have to hold herself high and weigh choices that could utterly upset the precarious balance that holds their nation above ruin, but here Estinien strips every last shred of control from her and makes her love it. Her mouth is open, small noises of a pleasure pushed so far it skirts around pain panting out of her with each of his thrusts. She can feel the bedding beneath her face is wet from her parted lips and watering eyes. The sound of it should, perhaps, be shaming - every slap of his hips meeting the curve of her ass punctuated with something lewdly wet - but even that fills her. ]

M-mm-

[ It's a struggle. A struggle just to think when the constant motion of his cock slides so sweetly over every oversensitive part of her, let alone to make words. She drags in a breath, tearing air into her lungs in an effort to pull enough into herself to get one of her arms out from under her own body -

and reaches down between her legs to touch him, to feel with her own fingertips how slick with her pleasure he is as he drives into her again, and again, and again. ]

More.

[ aymeric demands more from him, and he would rather die than refuse her. he plants one hand on the bed so that he may brace himself, and it lets him drive into her harder, growling a low noise at the way it stokes the pleasure mounting in his core.

there are few things he enjoys more than the sight of her like this; fucked to the point that her brilliant mind and clever tongue are useless, reduced to nothing more than the heat that makes her beg for his cock inside her. she is lovely, hazy-eyed and flushed, hair sticking to her skin with sweat, mouth parted around little senseless sounds of pleasure.

and still, he knows how to tease more from her. he swipes a thumb through her slick to wet it, then rubs the pad of it over the tidy furl of her other entrance. not enough to press in, just enough to tease her with the thought that he might. ]

[ Yes. He touches her there and she whimpers with it. It is not what she had in mind when she begged for more, but she could not honestly say what was - she can barely claim to have enough of a mind left to have held anything at all. But she wants all of him, as much of him as she can get. The thrust of his cock, the touch of his thumb, the rough edge of his voice and the inevitable drowning heat of him spilling inside her - were there only a way to have him buried in her mouth and her cunt at once, she would want that too. She can hear in the way he growls that his own pleasure is mounting, feel it in the deep, hard stroke of his hips, and there is just enough left in her to let her squeeze around him, tight and greedy. ]

Please. Estinien, please -

[ the sound of her whimper is enough to drive him half-mad with desire, and that's before she squeezes around him. he had intended to drag this out for as long as he was able, to make sure to satisfy that need in her as well as he can --

but she clenches around him as if her cunt means to milk his seed from him, says his name wreathed in please, and any effort to hold himself at bay is rendered hopeless.

he roars her name as he hits his own peak -- thrusting once, twice, and then burying himself deep as he spills himself. both of his hands are gripping her hips so tightly that he knows she'll wear the bruises for days, and there's a wicked sort of satisfaction about marking her in ways no other will see. ]

[ Oh. He buries himself in her, crying her name in a way that almost makes her ears ring, his hands gripping her tight as she feels the heat of him flood her, and it's enough. Enough to give her that tiny bit more, and though this orgasm is a less ferocious thing than the first he wrenched out of her, she is overstimulated enough that the sound she makes is little more than a sob. But still, still her hips work back against him, as if not ready to have it done. And she isn't; she may have egged him on, may have begged him to fuck her, but a part of her wishes she had delayed that pleasure just a little, just to have him here with her for longer. There are nights that he has stayed and she had woken up to the warmth of his body next to hers, and nights when he had left almost before she realized he was no longer inside her, and she never quite knows which will be which. But there's this; the bone-deep satisfaction of being well-fucked, and the knowledge that under her clothes, whether it be armor or gown, the print of his hands will be stark on her skin. That can be enough. She will make it so. ]

Thank you.

[ Mumbled, barely more than a whisper, but she means it. She needed this more than she had known. ]

[ estinien might not have heard that little thank you if not for the way exhaustion made him slump over her, only barely managing to brace himself on one trembling arm. but he does, and the sound of it is a dagger that slips between his ribs and finds his heart. aymeric deserves so much more than he can give her -- a man who will wed her and give her children, someone to support her through the day and warm her bed at night.

instead? he gives her a selfish pittance, and she thanks him for it.

the shame settles in the pit of his stomach, but there is nothing for it. he cannot promise her that he will stay, and he has failed and failed again at the effort to spurn her so thoroughly that it drives her to someone else. worst of all is the way he aches to give her what she needs --

but all he can give her is tonight. it is why he resolves to stay, looping an arm loosely around her waist and pulling her with him as he slumps to the side. it means that he can spoon himself up against her back but still remain inside her, leaning forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to the nape of her neck.

he wants to tell her that he loves her. because he does, but it would make saying it no less cruel. ]

[ She should take off the dress, at the very least. She doesn't. Estinien curls his arm around her, guides her down and softly kisses the back of her neck, and she can't bring herself to do anything that might disrupt the cozy warmth of it. What a picture they must be: her in a soiled gown, him in only his tunic, the both of them sweaty and wrung-out by their exertions. Ridiculous. Still, she wouldn't trade it. So she settles in, grateful for the press of him still inside her, and picks up the arm he has draped over her to kiss the back of his hand and thread her fingers through his. A fraction of what she would say to him, but as much as she dares. ]

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come on over, help me forget

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