come on over, help me forget

[baemeric]

[ 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.

Comments

[baemeric]

[ 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 -

[vindictae]

[ 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. ]

[baemeric]

[ 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. ]

[vindictae]

[ 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. ]

[baemeric]

[ 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. ]