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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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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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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.
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"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.
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"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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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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"Ah-!!" He gasps and curses under his breath, grabbing onto the sheets and angling her hips so that he can hit a little deeper. He wouldn't stop her from moving with him, if anything finding it even more needed if they were to both feel pleasure in this. He digs little half moons into her backside as he finally finds a steady pace he can deal with without coming undone too soon. He wanted to - could already hear the soft schlick sound of flesh meeting a little too vigorously. He didn't want to stop.
"So beautiful..." he whispers, not even realizing he's said it out loud. She was beautiful and she had her thighs wrapped around his waist and her walls undulating around his cock each time he thrust against her as he pressed his weight against her. Hoisting her hip to wedge her between him and the headboard made it so he had something to grab onto while he moved inside of her and above her. He needed the anchor, even if he knew he was capable of breaking it if he wasn't careful to keep his strength in check.
Each movement brought a gasp from his lips. He certainly wouldn't be going another round after this one. He aimed to make this one count. Maybe that was a strange thought to have, given she was the one taking his roughness and his gentleness alike, if he chose to give either one or the other.
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There's sweat beading along her forehead, above her top lip, along the back of her neck, spreading along her back. She can feel her hair sticking to the skin, and there's something strangely beautiful about it. Primal, almost. Her lips peel back and there's a sound in the air, a withered sort of moan as she twists and turns with him, digging her nails into the small of his back as if to drive him deeper.
Her hands move up and down his sides, fingertips rippling over his ribcage until her hands meet her knees, and back up again. They map his chest, and the column of his throat. Touching, feeling, experiencing. Her fingers curve around the back of his neck.
Even as he thrusts, and her body moves with each movement, the muscles in her stomach tighten as she curls up toward him, using her grip on the back of his neck for leverage, and leaves a kiss against the hollow of his throat. And another at the curve of his shoulder.
He thrusts, and it burns beautifully, and she gasps loudly. Without thinking, her teeth graze sharply against his skin.
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Her fingers and then her mouth on his skin draw shivers and when her teeth scrape the surface he can't help but groan. He worships what inches of her he can touch in such an awkward position he's created. It isn't much for him to decide maybe he will stop being so painful in this and making her curl up cramped between him and the headboard. He presses her into the mess of bedding and pillows, still holding onto the headboard with one hand and groaning into her ear in an attempt to voice his pleasure at their mutual physical needs being met.
His free hand tangles in her messy hair while his own mouth descends on her throat, mimicking the scrape of teeth she had done on his skin earlier. He knows if he isn't careful he could very well wind up sinking his teeth into her throat, that thread of self restraint lost. It was amazing he had any of that left, what with how far he was trying to push her physically.
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Someone has probably heard them. If she had half a mind to think it, she might even suspect someone to take a broom handle to the wall, or maybe the ceiling or floor, to tell them to quiet. Normally, the thought would be enough to make her stifle herself -- and yet she isn't in half a mind to think it.
(To hell with them, she actually thinks, and presses herself back into the pillows and against the headboard as best as she can, as comfortably as she can.)
She reaches for his face, hands splaying out over his cheeks with thumbs caressing just along his cheek bones, and directing him to look directly at her.
If you're going to fuck me, you're going to look at me when you do it.
The thought is incredibly wild, almost uncharacteristic of her. Even moreso that she almost wants to snap it at him between his thrusts and her moans, but instead she draws him down so that his forehead is touched to hers.
And oh. Oh. Whatever he did just now, it's perfect.
She's not sure how to explain this to him, especially in the heat of the moment, and so she just cants her head so that her nose clumsily brushes against his, and she lets out a breathy, "There."