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Open RP Post
♦ All characters are allowed to interact, regardless of being in a game with Elsa or not.
♠ This is an IC-spam post; only character journals, please.
♥ Doubles and threadjacking are allowed for maximum derp.
♣ 4th-walling: is allowed; Elsa can take it. She will likely just think you're crazy.
♦ Wank and OOC matters will be deleted.
♠ Crit will be redirected to the HMD
♠♥♣♦
This post has no established setting, to allow for any sort of thread. Voicetesting, smut, derp, violence, angst, crack, memes, any other shenanigans I might be missing are acceptable.
Also backtagging.
Lots of backtagging.
♠♥♣♦
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"I meant here as in specifically with me." he clarifies, one hand moving to tangle in her blonde locks that hung over the back of her neck. His actions contradict his words as he tilts his own head to one side as he sizes her up. For all appearances this was like some slow lull into something more heated and passionate. "You shouldn't be here with me. I keep telling you I'm no good."
And yet he feels like he's being pulled closer, as if gravity is shoving the two of them together. He could pull away and claim he was messing with her but he wanted to do more than he dared right now. He wanted to feel her surprise when he actually kissed her. His other hand slips from her shoulder, resting at her lower back while his fingers hook into her dress. He anted to pull her closer or press her against the door. He also wanted to open the door and shut her out entirely before he did something stupid. He was getting far too attached to this girl and whatever was going on right now between them - be it a glitch or otherwise - seemed to be amplifying it right now.
"I might do something you don't like." he confesses, worry and need at war within him. He wondered how much she'd like being around him when he surprised her in even worse ways and sank his teeth into her skin. He could still feel her pulse thrumming away within inches of his hand and it made him want her even more.
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Herself included. If there is anyone aware of how dangerous her magic was, and the damage it could do in any capacity, it's her. Her magic had almost killed her sister, and in some way (although it is illogical to do so) she can't help but think it might have been at least indirectly responsible for her parents' deaths.
Her eyes fall shut as his fingers tangle into her hair, and she takes a breath. Swallows again. Her hand splays against his hip, and lightly bunches into the fabric there, as if threatening to tug him closer.
(Though, how much closer could she even bring him?)
"What makes you think I'm not capable of something you don't like?"
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"Tell you what- if I do something you don't like, tell me to stop." he whispers, bringing his mouth to her throat as he'd been imagining doing already. He didn't bite down, though she could probably feel his teeth scrape against her skin. "Like this."
He tugs her arms into resting around his neck before hoisting her up by the waist, still pressed between him and the door, while one hand drifts up her side and the other holds her against him. He was moving a bit more hurriedly in pace and there was a lack of hesitation now. If his intent was lost by this point then he would rather apologize later when he wasn't trying to kiss and touch what parts of her he could reach.
"Or this." He presses his mouth over hers, wanting to melt into her somehow. She was all soft curves and delicate features and part of him wanted to break that from her. He wanted to break that outward shell and see what was beneath it. It also didn't hurt that he wouldn't mind seeing her naked right about now either. Was it the glitch doing it or him? He had been somewhat listless and bored before she'd gotten there and now he was perfectly distracted.
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Confidence can be faked. Composure can be forced. When the difference between life or death was decided by your ability to keep your composure (or else someone or even you could be severely hurt) it becomes difficult to let go; to even give yourself the chance to lose it.
Difficult, but not impossible.
Case and point, she draws in a light breath as his teeth graze skin and holds it. The feeling is not unlike balancing on the sharp edge of a blade. Precarious, and very very real. Goosebumps prickle along her skin.
She lets him draw her arms around him, and lets him hoist her up -- but as the ground drops from her feet and the door meets her back the temperature in the room seems to drop. Not horribly so, more like the way it would if someone had suddenly left a window open, but enough to be obvious. Elsa doesn't seem to notice. Gowns are not particularly conducive to this position. She wants to get her legs around his middle, if anything so she can find purchase off the ground like this, but in order to do so she has to hike the skirts up to her knees.
Thankfully, the material is thin, and it accommodates easily, bunching between them as bare legs tighten around him. She brings her arms over his shoulders again, and her fingers clench into the material at his back.
Her toes curl into her shoes before they slip off and land on the floor in a clatter.
He meets her mouth, and she presses into it, and there is a soft sound in the back of her throat; something too loud to be a sigh and too soft to be a moan.
"Don't--" One kiss, two. It's hard to tell where one ends and the next begins. "--stop."
Don't you dare stop.
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Shrugging out of his jacket, it doesn't take long to discard that first layer. He wonders if she felt hot too. He wanted to know how hot her skin felt. Catching his breath between kisses, he decides to find out by tugging her dress down her body a bit more. He had plenty of room to tug it up by the skirt and yet he chooses down instead. If he isn't careful, he could very well rip the fabric. That is assuming he even wants to be careful.
He starts from the back, tugging at her gown and not caring if the fabric gives way or not. He wanted it gone and he had every intention of making it so. Kissing lower, he sweeps his tongue over her collar bone before his mouth continues its descent still. He could see the swell of her breasts, pressed against him as he held her against the door. With his other hand freed from holding her up, he decides to see how it will feel to brush his long fingers over one of them. She was fairly normal as far as girls went but it still was a nice surprise that he could even touch her like this.
Another tug and the dress becomes looser, the soft sound of fabric tearing can be heard as he brings his mouth to the soft flesh that had captured his attention, still teasing her with his hand as he seeks out the small peak with his fingers still holding her dress up in the process.
Changing course from tugging at the top of her dress, the hand that had already ripped it from the back now slipped up her hiked skirt, mapping out the soft curve of her thigh as he presses her more solidly against him again. He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, pressing his lips hungrily against hers again. It wasn't hard to tell he was aroused by this point. Just having her close made him feel as if he was going to boil over like a kettle set to a flame. He wasn't about to hide that he wanted her.
"...still time to tell me to stop..." he whispers, the words broken up between kisses while his fingers slip along the back of her thigh. Tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, he bites down enough to draw blood only to sweep it up with his tongue as it slipped back into her mouth.
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Color flourishes across her breasts, and all his teasing and tasting sends a wild twist between her legs.
She draws in a quick breath and tangles her fingers into the hair at the back of his head. The grip is tight, but not painful. He may have her at a sort of disadvantage, being pressed against a door like she is, but she refuses to surrender to that completely. With her hands in his hair, she can turn his head if she wants to.
-- and she wants to. She can feel him, warm and aroused, -- firm -- between her thighs, and the anticipation of it and what it means is absolutely incredible.
She tries very hard to roll her hips against him, but it's hard to do against the door, and thus it only succeeds in sending a bolt of frustration coursing up her spine. Her hands come away from his hair to splay over his face, hold him in place while she meets him in kiss after kiss -- and when he bites, she makes a soft sound of surprise...
... and promptly catches his own lip on an eyetooth. By no means does she bite nearly as hard as he does, but it's definitely a sort of retaliation. Defiance. The taste of her own blood goes mostly unnoticed. Instead, he tastes her, and she tastes back. He kisses her, and she reaches for the dress to yank it down even more. The cool air meets her breasts, and while she doesn't shiver her nipples are peaked.
"I want off of this goddamn door."
For as vulgar as it sounds, coming out of her mouth, her voice is still measured and composed; barely strained. She doesn't give him much time to talk before she's back to leaving a flurry of sharp little kisses against his lips.
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"-!! Fuck I can't win with you..." He laughs as he curses under his breath before hoisting her up against him, quickly maneuvering the two of them to his bedroom. He lands on the bed first, tugging her by the arms as he leans up to capture her breast with his mouth. She was free to move against him as she wished which was encouraged by his hands on her hips that held her against him, pressing the two of them flush together for a moment before releasing her to let his hands wander down her legs again. To show her just what she is making him feel, he brings her hand to rest between his thighs and against his still clothed arousal. He doesn't imagine he has to explain to her why he wants her to touch him there.
His hands go back to wandering as the pair slips along the back of her thighs before his thumb rubs brazenly against her center in a lazy sweep once before he curls his fingers, brushing his knuckle against her once he finds where he wants to touch her. He wanted to see that defiance crumble and that composure crack. He wanted to hear what sounds she'd make when he finally gave in and slipped a finger inside of her. There was still a shred of clothing between him and that desire and he'd do away with that just as easily as they'd done her dress.
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With one hand moving against him, she braces herself against his chest with the other one so that she's leaned over him.
There.
She tips her head back and draws her bottom lip between her teeth, inhaling sharply. Another breath, and she finally looks back down into his face. Her eyes dart a little wildly between his before she suddenly surges forward to kiss him again.
There's a tug on his trousers as she starts to work them open.
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Free of that one restriction, he grabs onto her hair again, kissing her with enough energy between the two of them to leave them both breathless. Reversing their positions, he hovers above her, leaning in to press another kiss to her lips before backing away long enough to discard his remaining clothing. She was certainly enough to inspire arousal in him, with the way she laid out on his bed - breathless and naked before him. Almost naked, he corrects himself. Tugging at her remaining undergarments, he leans above her to kiss the inside of one thigh.
Naked before him, his fingers tease at her entrance, parting her flesh and caressing and sliding against her skin. He hums against her thigh, looking up to see if she's watching him or even to see what sort of reaction she is having. The thought brings a curve to his lips as he smiles to himself.
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Her eyes shamelessly roam over him as he sheds his clothes and leans over her, the defiance in her expression giving way to something like anticipation. He is hard muscle to her soft curves; the thought leaves her a little breathless.
-- how he touches her leaves her a little breathless, too, and little by little all of her carefully-constructed poise and composure finally starts to crumble. Her lips part around another soft gasp as he teases, and she arches into the touch. Fingers tangle lightly into his hair, and she tips his head to press his lips tighter against her thigh.]
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"Hmm? are you getting impatient now?" He can tell she is and it makes him want to laugh but instead he moves more on level with her, bringing his lips to her cheek and then her ear. "Do you like it when I mess around down there that much?"
It's a rhetorical question that she doesn't have to answer with words but he's certainly looking for any possitive reaction she might give him as a single finger slips inside. He's cautious, not wanting to hurt her some how. He doesn't know how women work, really, but his own body can take quite a beating compared to hers - that he's sure of.
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And then -- oh.
Oh.
(She actually says it out loud; low and breathy.)
It doesn't hurt, but it's strange. Strange, at least, on a vague level. Time and time again, Souji had insisted that he's 'no good', that he could hurt her; she's aware he's certainly capable of it -- he had killed Henry, after all -- yet in this, even in this, there is a certain amount of gentleness and caring and --
-- and it's not enough.
Her muscles clench and her back arches -- changes the angle of her hips -- and that sends a hot bolt straight up her spine. Her fingers tighten into his hair, and she wrenches his head toward her to capture his mouth with hers. There's a soft sound in the back of her throat, something too delicate to be a growl yet too harsh to be a moan, and she catches an eyetooth sharply on his lip.
He thinks she's fragile. She's determined to prove him wrong.
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Taking a shuddering breath between kisses, he reaches between them to line himself up. Were he more knowledgeable about useful things like contraceptives he probably would have gone that route first but no - somehow he liked the idea that they would feel one another skin to skin. She might feel the tip of him, his full length hard and wanting, pressing in as he tries to ease himself into it. She was slipping around him like a glove only she was hot and wet and that seemed to make it even more exhilarating because he'd put her in this state.
Somehow he still felt that instinct to be careful, stopping should he feel her muscles clench or hear any sound of discomfort from her. He wasn't terribly large but, again, he was also unaccustomed to knowing such things about women. He wasn't about to tell her that his experience with them was limited at best. It was with this in mind that he decides to just throw caution to the wind and jerk his hips against hers and press them flush against one another again, this time with his length inside of her.
Knowing she probably would not be content to just be pressed into the bed while he fucked her, he pulls her up into some sort of a sitting position in his lap while he sat on his knees on the bed and began to roll his hips, slipping out of her a little bit before moving back in again. The sensation was a little weird but it wasn't hard to catch a rhythm. Their pace seemed more hurried now, at any rate.
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It makes her laugh, actually; a low and bubbly sort of sound. The kind of laughter that she hasn't experienced since she was a child. She laughs through the initial pain (so sharp and so goddamn deep) and laughs through the strangeness that comes from knowing there is another person inside of her. She laughs, and it sounds a little like she's crying, but only a little. She laughs, and little by little she relaxes.
There's a gasp deep in her throat when he pulls her up -- because that somehow brings him deeper, and it feels like her back might crumple because of it. Fingers flex and nails clench sharply into his skin; she's sure she's leaving little half-moon indents in his back and somehow she doesn't care.
Elsa doesn't care at all.
It's not enough. Not like this. It takes a monumental amount of effort, because as much as she wants to shift she doesn't want to hinder the pace, but she manages to wrap her legs around him -- bring him deeper, and now the pain is ebbing away into pleasure and it's just so brilliant -- and surges forward to try and get him on his back.
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He wanted to touch her more, to make her dig into his skin again. Grabbing onto her arms, he yanks her forward while thrusting his hips against her before latching onto her breast. He probably looked strange, suckling like a child, but he planned to mark as much of her skin as he dared which his why when he takes the pert bud into his mouth he also bites down into the soft flesh around it and draws blood. He was a monster, not a fact she was aware of, and he would make her see that soon enough as he greedily lapped and sucked at the blood dripping down the swell of her breast. When some escaped, his tongue sweeps it up before his lips suck harshly at the flushed peak again.
His eyes stay closed for the moment as he repeats the process again, drinking in her blood before moving on to the neglected and equally taut peak of her other breast. Her blood was as warm and inviting as her body. Now it is his turn to chuckle because it was far too late for her to back out now. Licking his lips, once he's had his fill, his hands move up her sides and he pushes her lightly to go back to hovering above him before he yanks her hips flush against his and thrusts up again.
He worries at his own bottom lip as he tries to build a harsher rhythm even while stuck on his back. His feet ground him on the bed while his knees probably jut into her a bit when be bucks his hips. He feels like even with this he can't totally get a hold on her. It was his turn to dig his nails into her back. Before he even realizes it he feels so hot it was almost feverish. It makes him dig his nails into her skin, leaving little red marks here and there.
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By the time she does is when he bites. It's both beautiful (Beautiful? How strange to describe it that way) and terrifying all at once. Beautiful, because there isn't anything more intoxicating of the site of his mouth fit tight against her breast, and terrifying, because there's pain, and then a flash of red, a flick of his tongue, and --
The sound she makes can really only be described as a breathy trill; something more than a moan and not quite a whimper. Her thighs tighten around him in an instinctive flex, as if trying to get him to slow down without actually making a move to do so, and she presses toward his mouth, as if to urge him on.
He's marking her. The realization hits with an impossible amount of force.
There's the sound of distant crackling. He's marked her, and she doesn't have enough mind to reign it in before frost spirals up the wall behind the bed toward the ceiling, creating a swirling, dancing sort of texture. The temperature drops -- he isn't mistaken about that -- and Elsa takes it upon herself to push herself up into a perch against his chest.
Being on his back may make it harder to build the pace he wants -- and in some ways, that's just how she wants it, refusing to surrender to being caught as she is -- but it doesn't stop her. Fingers flex into his chest as she moves against him, enough that she can hear the faint slickIng sound of it.
She draws her braid over her shoulder, and it sends snowflakes drifting downward. They're joined by more flurries as she bares down and moves.
It's snowing.
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He was mesmerized by the snow that fell around them and by the way she moved against him, her chest heaving subtly now and again when he breathed in and out. He wasn't put off by it in the slightest and if anything it makes him laugh again and reach behind her to catch a snowflake or two in his hand before tugging her in by the braid for another kiss.
"Hmm. If you were too hot you could have said so..." he teases, brushing his thumb over her cheek. Between the sounds the two of them made and the occasional shift of the springs in the bed there wasn't much of a shortage of sound. Yet at the same time he felt compelled to interject and tease, to break up the silence that felt hot and heavy between them.
He liked her probably too much right then because he was learning something new and different about her but he was also seeing a side of her that was endearing. He'd underestimated her. He'd failed to notice just how beautiful he was until it was too late and he was getting the full view from her fair skin and round face to her pert breasts that bounced only slightly with her own movements and then to the heat pooling around his length between his thighs.
They will definitely need a shower later, he notes. The sweat clung to their skin but more than that they practically smelled like sex. His fingers slip over her skin easily, sliding up her belly to knead her breast and tease the peak between them. He definitely liked his view in comparison. Maybe being made to lay down on the bed wasn't so bad?
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"I can't help it..." Her voice comes out oddly soft, and her brow is furrowed tightly. She kisses his palm as he strokes her cheek, suddenly not really able to look at him. It's easier to close her eyes and breathe in the scent of herself on his fingers.
Oh. That thought is an intoxicating one.
The frost continues to spiral and spread along the ceiling, creating an almost whimsical pattern.
Still, once it starts, it's very difficult to stop. she is acutely aware of how easy it would be to freeze the sweat beading along his skin, and it takes everything in her power to not do so.
If it feels like she's shaking, it's because she is.
But he's not afraid of her -- he bit her, drew her blood, and yet she's still concerned with that? -- and that alone is enough to keep her in the moment. His hands roam across her skin, leaving her shivering in her pace against him.
There.
She lets her head fall back onto her shoulders, baring her throat and letting out a keen sound into the air. Everything -- the worried skin from where he bit her, the frost, the snow, everything -- is forgotten as it narrows down to the feeling of being filled to the hilt and wanting desperately to unravel.
If that sounds like his name on her tongue, it's because it is. Followed by a low cry, and another, and another, each one louder than the last.
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"Shit-!!" If she was close, he was just as far gone. His own voice breaks rank and leaves needy, desperate sounds in its wake. He was so close. Her name sounds like a plea, as if he's begging her to give him release. He feels as if everything is at a stand still, as if the only thing there was her body pressed against his. He swears under his breath again, grinding his teeth as he continues to exert himself, mostly resorting to wriggling and thrusting and wanting to feel her come undone. It didn't seem to come easy to him to let her stay on top of him. Part of him wanted to flip her onto the bed again and press her into the mattress until he could make her totally unravel but he behaves.
The snow fell down around them, landing in soft translucent drops against his skin and onto the bed and somehow it was fascinating to him and somewhat distracting at the same time. It suited her, he thought. The way it blended with her soft pale skin and the way it fell around the both of them made him feel as if he was in some sort of ethereal world made for the two of them.
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Tighter. Faster. Harder. It's almost crude, really. Wanton.
And then it hits. Everything falls still, falls quiet. The air is caught deep in her chest, caught so far deep that her lungs start to burn. She coils tightly around him, scrabbling for purchase because it feels like every fibre of her being is about to snap --
(there's a small sound, a vulnerable gasp in the back of her throat)
-- it doesn't snap, exactly. But rather, it feels like tipping over an edge and crash-landing on the way back down.
She whimpers between shudders and gasps, crumpling forward (if he wanted to flip her, she will yield easily enough) and captures him in a rough and biting kiss.
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After a long moment he slips himself from her, marveling at the sticky mess he has caused Her thighs and his own are coated in sweat and their own sticky mess and somehow he doesn't seem to care. Giving her space, he lays on his stomach on his side of the bed, reaching out playfully to tug at her braid in an attempt to drag her back down to Earth. Inching close again, he presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes as he sinks contentedly near her in the bed. His arm slips around her again, albeit more loosely than before. He was still marveling at the fact that they had just done this and somehow it seemed perfectly alright to him despite his wish not to be a pawn in pointless glitches. If he had to be glitched with someone like that he was fine with it being with her.
"Mm. Didn't hurt you after all I guess..." he mumbles sleepily, glad at least he hadn't scared her off despite the sex and the biting and so on. No, if they could stay like this he was fine with that much. He felt practically ready to take a nap.
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His forehead is pressed against hers, and he might feel her brow furrow.
"No..." She begins slowly, voice soft. Yes, there had been pain. Yes, it had hurt. But she isn't about to try and explain to him how beautiful (visceral, real) it had been. How she wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. How she wouldn't mind doing it again. She curls toward him, though where he keeps an arm around her she keeps her arms to herself. It is, perhaps, in a way, commanding of her own space -- if not for the fact that she welcomes it when he moves close. Lets him touch her as he pleases.
"It stopped snowing..." She finally manages. "The frost will have to thaw, though. I..."
I don't know how to make it go away.
"I'm sorry about that."
She opens her eyes to look at him, and finally reaches out to smooth her fingertips over a stray lock of his hair.
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"You can make it snow as many times as you want - now even. I don't care." He grabs one of her hands, lacing his fingers between hers, and holds it up. She was cold and yet warm against his skin. If she didn't feel afraid of him, that only made him want to hold on tighter and prove he was also unafraid of her.
"I should say it too. I bit you." He lets go of her hand, sliding his hand down her arm before slipping both his hands over her breasts, tracing his fingers over the wounds. She was welcome to swat him away but he wouldn't touch more intimately than that for now, despite what they had done already and how comfortable he suddenly felt with her.
"Does it hurt?" If his bite had hurt then surely that only proved his earlier point of being no good, though he wanted to stay here and be selfish at the same time. He was asking too much even after one encounter.
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She's tempted to roll over to ask him face-to-face, but he pulls her against him and she settles into the pillow, spine suddenly feeling limp. The air grows shallow in her lungs as his fingertips trace down her arm and over her breasts. She lets him touch. It stings, but she welcomes the sting. Makes her feel real.
"No," She doesn't nudge his hand away, but she does roll over until they are chest-to-chest, and reaches up to cup his palm over his cheek. Brings him down, kisses him. Her kiss is light, but deep; lingering warmly against his lips.
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Her skin smelled of sweat and sex. Somehow he didn't hate it. It made him feel like he had marked her forever. One hand moves to her braid, tangling in it enough that he might even pull it loose at this rate. The other slips down, over her side and down past her hip, to trace the back of her thigh before tugging her leg by the back of her knee to rest near his hip.
"We should stay in bed today." he mumbles against her lips, closing his eyes as he ghosts them over her chin and jaw. No, he definitely wasn't letting her leave this bed today. Part of him wanted to go again, to find other ways to make her come undone. The other just wanted her to stay close to him and keep making him feel this warmth that had settled into his chest. It was akin to some sort of companionship.
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