andfire | Open RP Post

The dress, ripped as it is, falls away easily just as he tugs her to him and she steps out of it before following his lead. His tongue works across her skin, and she shudders -- the first hint of a crack in her composure -- and flexes her fingers against his length, palming him through the material.

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.

He returns her kisses in earnest, gasping when he feels her hands working at his clothes. He tries to help it along, tugging at the buttons of his shirt before throwing it away when he finally gets his arms out of the sleeves. Western clothes were annoying with the way they were so tight in places and buttoned up or zipped and he was glad to be free of it.

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.

Edited 2015-02-11 17:14 (UTC)

There is a certain amount of resistance, as she's turned over onto her back. A brief fight or flight response (more fight than flight) that flickers across her features. It's like being against the door, with limited range of motion. Vulnerable. But also, although she is sure that it isn't his intention, something like a challenge.

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.]

He thought the aggressive way she pushed him against her thigh was cute in its own way. In other ways it set him aflame and made him want to stop teasing. She might very well wake up with a hickey on her thigh tomorrow at this rate and he was perfectly satisfied with that. Pulling away from her legs, he pushes himself up in bed, smiling to himself in a cheeky way.

"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.

It's a rhetorical question and she most certainly doesn't answer. Not verbally, anyway. Color rushes into her cheeks and races down her body. Elsa doesn't blush very easily, but being called out for something so shameless is certainly enough to do the trick. That his breath is so warm against her ear, cheek, neck doesn't help matters; it sends a quiver of goosebumps prickling across her skin.

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.

Biting his lip was a surprise and somehow incredibly arousing. He won't let her keep it for long, unfortunately because he seems to have figured out that going the nice and slow route isn't working for either of them. He doesn't know exactly how much more he should be doing to make her relaxed so that he can't possibly hurt her but that seems to be going out the window in favor of dragging her flush against his hips and changing course entirely.

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.

It is overwhelming, how visceral and real everything is. Her whole life had been spent behind a glass wall; handled with gloves, supported on a velvet pillow. But for as overwhelming as it is, it's breathtakingly beautiful and liberating, and that feeling of liberation overrides everything else. Pain, pleasure, heat, sex -- it is impossible to not give into it and feel everything for what it's worth.

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.

Edited 2015-02-26 16:40 (UTC)

At first he feels vulverable, hearing her laugh like that but then her legs are around him and she pushes him back against the bed as if to keep him there and it makes his inside a heat up. He can feel each little movement she makes, her walls fluttering around him a bit when she feels pain that relax not long after when she sets the pace.

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.

Edited (phone whyyy) 2015-02-26 19:21 (UTC)

It is hard to say if she even knows what's happening, at first. He yanks her to him (she almost resists, almost fights it) and her arms instinctively come up to cradle his head, with fingers clenching so tightly into his hair that she doesn't quite recognize the familiar prickle of cold in her fingertips.

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.

The snow was a surprise. He's never seen something like that happen indoors and at first he glances towards the window but then he realizes it was her causing it. She was making it snow on her own and inside with the two of them. Gently, he runs his hand over her shoulder, capturing a snowflake only for it to quickly melt at his fingertips.

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?

It's snowing very lightly; hardly a dusting. But even then, it leaves a faint glittering sheen across her skin and hair. She kisses him, but it's clumsy and distracted, broken when she turns her face toward his palm.

"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.

He has no idea of the internal struggle she's having but seeing her let go of herself was something he would savor for a long while. He can feel the little shivers that rise up along with the goosebumps on her skin as the two of them rock against one another.

"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.

It is a loud ascent; between the bed, the bed springs, the sound of skin against skin, and the intermingling breaths and cries. Everything feels like it's on the head of a pin; pulled taut, knotted so tight that it feels like it would be impossible to unravel it.

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.

He had spent himself inside her not long after she came, still shivering from his climax when she slumps against him. His hands tangle in her hair as she kissed him, kissing her back just as hungrily while the two of them seemed to float off their own high. Still inside of her, though now flaccid and softening instead of hard and unyielding, he turns her so that they're on their sides, kissing along her jaw and throat in lazy contentment. His arms pull her close in an almost vice-like hold. He hadn't expecting to have a romp around in bed today and from what he can see, the red string is still attached to the both of them, albeit now a bit of a tangled mess between them and the bed and all the rolling around they had done.

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.

It is a little surreal, how everything settles down so quickly after moving so fast. Her heart is pounding, but slowing down. Her breathing is harsh, but quieting. By the time he slips out of her, the only thing left is the smell of sweat and sex.

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.

"Why? It will melt eventually. Nothing stays in this place anyway." Just as she hadn't stayed when he'd come to save her. People apparently faded when they 'died'. Which was ironic given what little he knows of the afterlife and the fact that they were supposed to be in it. Feeling somewhat more possessive in that moment, he presses her against him in a more firm hold, aiming to pull her in so that her back was against his chest.

"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.

He doesn't... care?

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.

For the moment he's happy like this, staring down at her and she up at him. It's interrupted by the kiss she gives him and he returns it with one of his own. It was a little more heavy and passionate than hers, his hands, calloused by years of swordsmanship, cupping her face. He doesn't even give her longer than a few seconds to breathe before he kisses her again. He felt like he was drinking in her essence.

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.

Elsa reaches up to tug the band out of her hair, allowing the braid to come unraveled as he works his fingers into it. Her hair falls in long, loose curls around her face.

It occurs to her, as he brings her leg over his, that she thinks she might want him between her legs again. The thought leaves her making a quiet, affirmative sound against his lips at his suggestion. She tries to chase after him while he works his way to her chin, and then her jaw -- and then soon she's tipping her head back to give him room.

"We should," she agrees, voice a little hazy. Her leg folds over him, and she tangles her fingers into the hair at the back of his head, using it as leverage to guide his mouth down to her neck.

They are a tangled mess of limbs as he indulges her by kissing her throat, his hands dancing up to tease the curve of each breast. He wasn't quite so grabby this time, wanting to torture her just a bit with the anticipation. His nature was more impatient and fleeting but this would be worth it.

"And if we do? Can I make Elsa sing like earlier?" By sing he obviously means another more wanton sound entirely. He wanted to lay her against the bed this time, to be the one in control this time instead of being at her mercy. The thought spurs him into the beginnings of an arousal. He smiles like the devil against her throat, nipping at her soft skin while his hands move to her hips to shift the two of them in bed so that he hovered above her.

While her blonde locks were splayed out over her shoulders and beneath her in the bed, his own hair was slightly mussed from their earlier romp in the sheets. He indulges himself in a languid kiss to her lips while one hand slips between her slick thighs again, teasing her center with more brazen and obvious touches. His thumb finds a small nub that he hadn't paid attention to before and he teases at it while the other fingers curl inward and his knuckles rub against her entrance.

He straddles her hips this time and it's enough that she can feel his arousal pressing insistently back against her skin while he leans forward, grabbing her wrists - one in each hand - to pin her to the bed as he bites down on her lower lip. He had her pinned beneath him, pert breasts, soft curves, and all. That was so terribly arousing to him and almost dangerous in a way. He was forcing her to relinquish herself in a new way.

There's a kind of give and take about this.

"I'm..." He kisses her throat, and she rewards it with a shivery exhale. He teases her breasts, and she arches lightly into his hands. Elsa swallows, laying back into the bed and trying to remember what he'd even asked.

Oh, yes.

(There's a flush of color in her cheeks.)

"I'm not exactly sure you could call that s-inging-o-oh." She knows what he means, of course, but anything she might have added to turn it into a light joke is lost in a soft moan as he teases. His fingers are inside of her, and everything about it is much more sensitive than the first time.

It makes her arch more.

And then he's on top of her, hard and wanting, and once again it's impossible to not be swept up by how beautiful that is. To touch and be touched, to kiss and be kissed.

There's a brief surge of desperately wanting to fight against how he's pinned her wrists down. Elsa doesn't like to relinquish control, not at all. But in spite of it, she doesn't resist. That's the give. The take comes when he bites her lip, and she jerks her head up, chin almost bumping his nose, and fixes him with a frosty sort of look.

Then lifts her head, captures him in another kiss. Slow, soft, almost gentle. As if silently saying, slow down.

He can pin her all he wants, but she's still going to (try to) lead, even in this.

He would frown at the frosty glare he earns but then her lips press against his and his hands loosen their hold on her wrists before moving to frame her face. He wanted to go hard and fast but she found ways of slowing him down, tempering that frenzied need.

He lets out an earnest and needy sound between kisses that could be considered an impatient whine. He knows she wants him to slow down and he obeys - for now - but rebels in little ways like rocking his hips a bit or sucking on her bottom lip.

He had a long way to go in discovering patience and she might just need to show him the benefit in exercising it.

A tension that she wasn't really aware of leaves her body when he reaches for her face, and her own hands come up to cup his cheeks. Her thumbs draw a small arc just under his eyes --- she swears she can feel the brief flutter of eyelashes -- as she holds him in place.

She isn't pinned down, but she doesn't take back control. Not completely, anyway.

Her hands come down to brush at his sides before she reaches between them and lightly wraps her fingers around his cock. He's still slick with her, and it makes it easy to stroke him. Slow, but firm, almost in sync with every rock of his hips.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when her small fingers wrap around his aching cock. It doesn't take long before he is rutting into her palm with a slow roll of his hips. His hands dig into the sheets to avoid his nails digging into her face and he leans in to breathe hotly into her ear. If he thought he was the one in contol then that was now very much lost as she had him both literally and figuratively by the balls.

Turning his head slightly he presses kisses to her throat as he tries to regain some composure. His hand reaches to still hers, his cock already weeping with precum between their fingers, and he shifts back and spreads her legs to rest on either side of his hips. He rubs himself against her slick folds, relaxing more easily now that he felt more ready.

"Can I...?" He asks permission, kissing her forehead as if to seal a promise. He stops rutting to slip two fingers inside, curling and teasing them inside of her. His pace in and out is slow, to encourage her to relax.

He reaches to still her hand and she takes it back a little too quickly, in a gesture that almost reads as someone who feels like they might have done something wrong. Her fingers are sticky, but she unceremoniously fists them in into the sheets as he teases her.

She arches again, angling against the touch, guiding him to where she wants it most. A sound escapes her, something like a withered sigh, and she cants her head so that she can kiss the side of his neck.

"Please," it isn't a plead, but a command.

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