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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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It hurts. But it hurts in a brilliant sort of way, like stoking a deep fire. It's deep enough that her back feels like it might give -- and so she yields to it and bends down. With his head tipped back like it is, it gives her ample room to kiss the hollow of his throat before leaving a sharp nip against the side of his neck.
Everything is moving incredibly fast. Too fast. Like sprinting toward a finish line, only to realize the finish line is at the edge of a cliff. Henry's voice is a low rumble in the air, and it makes the back of her neck prickle in a curious way.
"Not me," she breathes, not even realizing that she's answering him at all as she scrabbles to find his face so she can kiss him feverishly. She doesn't bother to draw back as her lips peel back in another loud moan. A warning. "H-Henry."
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Somehow, miraculously, he manages to respond to her as she kisses him with that animal-like hunger, clawing at his skin to bring his face back to meet her demanding lips. His bursts of movement slow to a deep undulating of his body, lean muscles working overtime to even out the bumpy ride. She moans into his mouth, and he kisses her lower lip, nipping it as she says his name out loud in that desperate wavering tone, like she's about to spill an insuppressible secret.
"Would you like me to slow down?" His tone is horribly teasing, willing to draw out the torturous suspense for even just a minute. The desire to regain full control is back in full force, knowing that if she's close to that edge, she won't be able to fight back as much. He wants to see her writhe beneath him, to feel her convulse and shudder against his skin, heartbeats thudding against each other. With that image in mind, he doesn't wait for an answer- he's confident that she'll want him to keep going. She's close to him again, and that makes flipping her over easier. It's a fluid motion, practiced almost, but rough and fun all at once, and he's got better leverage this way in his movements to thrust into her.
"I..." He groans again, louder this time. "I doubt you'll want me to, yes?"
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She wraps around him when she meets the bed. The muscles in her legs are pulled tight as her toes curl and she tangles her legs in his. Arms go around him, holding him in something like an embrace if not for the way her nails are digging sharply into his back and scoring along the skin. That he has better leverage like this becomes quickly obvious with each thrust.
If he wanted to watch her writhe, now is his chance. Her poise sloughs away, and she squirms and turns beneath him, arches and writhes, meets him with each ripple of his hips.
It's beautiful and terrible and breathtaking all at once. Everything, winding her up so tight that she might as well be a springcoil in a new watch -- tighter, tighter, tighter --
(if the neighbors couldn't hear them before, they will definitely hear them now, as she moans into the air)
-- until it all snaps clean, and she's practically screaming his name between harsh drags of air that burns her lungs hotter than any fire ever could. The frost on the canopy suddenly thickens, though it goes entirely unnoticed.
no subject
He grunts and sighs heavily, all behind clenched teeth as he keeps the steady rhythm, winding her up tighter and tighter, feeling her body squeeze as her reactions grow harsh and desperate. His own vision starts to blur, lights flashing behind his eyelids every time he closes them, and he finds himself clinging to her as well, hands groping and squeezing onto squirming, writhing flesh for purchase. She feels so good like this, and from what he can see, she also looks fantastic- that wild side of hers finally bursting forth as she screams.
The sudden tightness makes him gasp and stutter, but his movements don't cease. If anything, he moves faster, body practically slamming into her now viciously. He wants everything her body and soul can give him, and as she scrabbles at his back- inflicts sharp little fires onto his skin- it spurs him on harder and he's more than aware that this might be more than what her body can handle. Maybe she'll sob into his ear, beg him to stop even though it feels way too good, and that might just send him careening over the edge. He's prepared, though- he's not irresponsible, nor stupid.
He lets out a dirty swear, heady and dragged out between his lips as her pleasurable release begins to wane and his movements only become more and more desperate.
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She has enough mind to recognize it, however; to recognize just how loud it all is -- especially when the bedframe clacks against the wall once, twice, thrice. It's uncouth, and she knows it. It's raw and primal, and she can hardly recognize herself in any of it.
And yet, that's what makes it so amazing.
She scrabble for him once again, fingers coming up from where they had been scoring into his shoulders to tangle into the hair behind his ears. With almost a yank, she turns his head to catch his mouth on hers, and it's all a little like swallowing the sounds he makes as she kisses him, and bares herself to him.
Her nails catch sharply on his ears, and the feeling almost makes her want to laugh a little hysterically.
-- so she does; and that comes out sounding more like a sob than anything else, hot and heady against his mouth. It hasn't quite occurred to her that her eyes are prickling, because she has them squeezed shut, but it won't be long before there are soft hitches in her breath.
no subject
He doesn't care for finesse, letting the bed clatter against the wall. It's more exciting to him knowing that they can fuck so hard that it wakes up the neighbors, that rush, that wild abandon from doing something so utterly savage. Not like any of their usual selves at all.
This time, it's Henry's turn to feel that coiling sensation. His muscles and insides twist in that amazing and painful way, needing it to snap. He finds his head being yanked, head spinning so fast that he melts into the kiss- she takes control of him there as he controls their bodies. Flinches- the nail catches on his ear, and he can feel her breath, her words (were they words? More like a sharp sob) pouring into his mouth and that's it.
Shit. He hates the idea of pulling away from her, to disconnect their bodies, but with a fierce snarl- at least, that's the best way to describe the sound he makes through clenched teeth- he yanks himself down her body. He ducks his head against her chest and releases a long, suffering moan, teeth bared and pressing hard against her skin. Despite how wild and out of control it all feels, he manages to gain some clarity as he reaches his climax, but even with that said, he's surprised that he gets his hand over himself so quickly. Not even after a couple of tugs, he's shuddering and quickly cupping a hand over himself. His breath hitches, trying to keep himself elevated off her with his other arm using the elbow. It's... a tough position, but there's really nobody else to blame but himself. Not like finding a condom was really on his mind on the way over here anyway.
It ends how he'd expected it to, sweaty, sticky and bit dirty. He wants to move, but at the same time he can't bring himself to do it. It's almost jarring how suddenly everything comes rushing back, Elsa, her death, himself- what just happened? It's not a feeling of regret. No, sir. It's just...strange, and different. His mind is in no condition to really think hard about it, so he simply leans his head on her chest, propped up just a little by his elbow, and holding a hand in a loose fist off to the side. He thinks against it though and just wipes it off on the bedsheet- fuck it, he'll wash it for her later.
no subject
She takes a deep breath, takes in the faint smell of sweat in his hair, and holds it. Her heart is pounding, and she wonders if he can hear it, or if he's even listening.
Pounding.
Why does her heart pound, if they're supposed to be dead?
Her hand comes down to trace her fingers along the shell of his hear, the gesture very gentle compared to moments ago.
"I can't feel my toes..." Although her voice is soft -- exhausted -- there's a hint of amusement.
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He'll have to deal with the rest of the bullshit this afterlife throws at him again sooner or later, but at least he can have this. At least he's being allowed to have this, and it's humbling. His eyes stay closed, listening to her heart and he rolls off a little to the side of her and buries his face into the crook of her neck, chuckling softly.
"Sure that's the only thing you can't feel on your body?" He sounds drowsy. Not much of a cuddler, but it just feels like the right thing to do this time.
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"I feel everything else."
There is a heavy, heavy weight behind the words that he probably won't understand, and she probably won't be inclined to explain it. And it's true, and it is incredible. She feels everything, every sting of pain, every buzz of pleasure, every pound of her heart, every ache in her muscles. The heat of his body tucked against hers, and the tickle of his breath against her skin. The heady warmth that always inhabits her apartment, and the chill of the frost in the --
"I don't know how to make it go away."
The frost.
"Just let it go." /echoes into the night
He can't really feel the chill of the frost just yet, his mind definitely elsewhere. She could at least wait until he'd left to start regretting her choices, he thinks with a wry grin on his lips. It's a bit disappointing to hear something like that, not used to having a wonderful experience only to feel the weight of someone's regret on his shoulder right after.
"Is that what you want?" There's no indication in his tone that he was upset or anything, just very neutral.
omfg, these two.
-- definitely not the actions of a woman who may or may not be regretting her choices.
With the blankets pulled up, it all seems a lot less uncouth. More intimate, somehow. Her fingers draw across the back of his hand along her middle.
"No."
It doesn't really occur to her that they're talking about two completely different things. But, if asked, her answer would be the same.
"Not at all."
Her fingers fold around his wrist -- the gesture might be familiar to him now, at this point -- and she brings his hand up to rest against her cheek.
big dumb babies
That is, until he felt the sheet drape over his body like a thin embrace. Tentative, but accepting, and he exhales against her skin and screws his eyes shut in relief. Was that relief? He didn't even realize so much of his emotions were riding on this short moment, waiting for her to react, answer, anything...
She didn't want it to go away. She wished for him to stay, to be a part of her body. They had been connected, shared with each other, and melded together in a primal and wild ritual of sorts despite everything that's happened, and to him it feels right. It feels right that they bonded over a horrible mistake, and it's more than he deserved. That realization in itself is enough for him to feel...happy. How odd.
"Mm..." It's not any sort of word, but it's a positive hum, as he lets his hand rest on her cheek. His fingers twitch a little, caressing her flushed skin absentmindedly.
dumbest babies
It's... liberating.
She doesn't quite realize that her eyes aren't opening after she's shut them until she feels herself drifting away. There's a brief moment where she thinks to fight it -- she should probably throw some semblance of clothing on, for the sake of modesty -- but instead she turns her head so her nose touches his palm, and she lets out a breath against it. Her fingers draw a light, idle pattern along his shoulder blade until she folds them over the back of his neck.
The sleep is welcome.