hades/persephone dream thread - duplicity

[unabatedly]

from here

Ereuvir:
It becomes very clear, though perhaps only slowly, that he is driving her deliberately closer and closer to the brink. He's taking his time with it, no hurry, though he will go easily and smoothly wherever she sees fit to move him. When she isn't, though, when she's holding back or trying to hold herself still, he's relentless about his own pleasure in this, which seems to be to taste as much as possible of her. He clearly prefers his tongue over his teeth, the better to savor the textures of her, but wherever it seems to drive her the most crazy, he'll easily nibble just a little bit, graze his teeth maybe a little less gently, soothe that space with his tongue a moment later.

Still, he's definitely ramping up the intensity, not so much trying to get her to come as trying to get her to chase for it, push him to the right places. Each time she does, she discovers he is unsurprisingly relentless, until there's really nothing to do but surrender to the inevitable.


Neria:
She isn't certain what to make of it all, the way he practically traps her in her own pleasure. Guiding him will get her what she wishes but drawn out, savored; letting him do what he wants nets her the most pleasure, though not always precisely at the focal points. He's goading her sweetly and taking what he wants, and Neria does her best to stave herself off only because she wants to feel what he wants, wants to lose herself in the sensation of denial, but even that is a game she doesn't want to waste too much time on.

No, eventually, she's meeting him halfway, going after her own pleasure once she can't stand it any longer, when her breaths are coming quickly, hitched in her chest. Her fingers, once content to drag through long tresses of his hair and to cradle and caress the back of his head, do more to coax him to the places where she knows she'll come undone. She feels the coil of pleasure rise up through her legs, leave her quivering. Practically bowing over him, she comes with a quiet cry that is for his ears alone, swallowed up in the utter silence of the wood around them...save for the faint rasp of her own breath.

She doesn't buckle, surprisingly, but her grip is tight on his shoulders to keep her balance while she rides out her orgasm, keeping him there for just a few moments longer before she loosens her hold.


Ereuvir:
He returns each quiet noise with one of his own, encouraging moans and soft sounds, like he's coaxing her to it rather than the relentless force he's actually displaying, once she meets him there. It turns to a purring, pleased noise as she shakes through her orgasm above and around him and he keeps teasing at her through it, until she's shuddering a bit with it afterwards.

He tips her over a moment later, the fall controlled though it may not seem to be. She lands in his cloak, not in the snow, and while there's no residual body warmth to soak up, she'll find it's plenty thick enough to keep her from the cold, that it warms to her own heat and touch. She's not liable to spend too much time considering it, though, because Ereuvir follows her, leaves her bereft only in that he takes a moment to look down at her, expression still hungry. He licks his lips, not quite showy but a lot more like an animal, deliberate, and then he grips her dress at the tear he'd already made and rips the entire thing open, almost casually. They are gods. It can be mended.

It's more important for him to get his mouth on the rest of her, a heated trail up that starts where he was previously and trails up over her belly, teeth scraping more frequently now as he works up her body.

"You're warm," is what it sounds like against her skin, a better compliment than one to her beauty. They are gods. They are all beautiful.


Neria:
She half tips over and half falls right into the open arms of his cloak, which cradles her as Ereuvir climbs up and tears the rest of her dress open. There's a momentary shift, not a flinch but something else that's caught like surprise, and then he comes down to her, starts to roam over the rest of her body. Neria tries to hold still, really she does, but the scrape of his teeth over exposed flesh draws up goosebumps, makes her shiver with anticipation and desire and excitement. With something that could be taken for a laugh, her fingers weave into his hair, over the back of his neck, and any piece of clothing he's still wearing that she can reach, she's trying to nudge it off or open so she can at least touch more of him now.

"You say that like you've never touched anything warm in all your days," she murmurs, giving him a long look from beneath her lashes. Her fingers find the little catches of muscle over his shoulders, his back, and it's here that the warmth feels like it spreads outwards. Surely that can't be right - she's a goddess of spring, not of warmth - but it feels like sunlight over his skin as he drags his mouth further, further up.

When at last he's close enough, Neria is reaching to draw him down so she can kiss him, to drag her teeth over his lips and nip at them. Her hands go exploring again, down his sides, his ribs, like she's trying to map out a world just by touch alone. He is cool to the touch but never cold and she presses to him like she might look for shade on a hot summer day. Her mouth falls to his jaw, sampling there with a smile.

Comments

[unabatedly]

The first press of her lips is gentle enough to feel tentative despite her invitation, every word he gives her slow to roll down her spine as he takes her in his grip. Her own hands lift to smooth fingers up over the curves of his cheeks, touching him not only to touch but to ground herself and to remember. And she does, she thinks. The body doesn't forget and how could she ever forget the kind of depth Ereuvir has given her time and time again, the fathomless desire he's shown her? She could drown in it. She remembers all the times she's wanted to.

She breaks from the kiss for only a moment, a sharp intake of air following. And when she kisses him again, she kisses with fervency, a hand wrapping loosely around the back of his neck like she might try to keep him right here with her as she recounts all of the ways in which she's tasted his want and his timelessness long before this. The ache returns in full force, something finally feeling complete that she can't entirely name.

[notcharming]

If there's any sign from her that she wishes this to stop, he does still have enough control over himself to do so, but in the absence of that, he's backing her the several steps to a wall and pinning her there, devouring her mouth now while he makes short work of whatever else she's yet wearing. There's no real reason to trap her like that, but it was not Duplicity that made him fiercely possessive. Even as he knows there's either nowhere else she would wish to be or that he's, deep down, willing to let her go to move this at her own pace, the desire to claim rises up undeniable.

His own clothes are next, though he doesn't take his mouth from hers to do it, shrugging out of everything as utterly unimportant, bearing unmarred, almost marble-like skin as he goes, another reminder that he's not human, for all that he apes it convincingly enough when he wants to.

"I have missed you," he murmurs against her mouth, "It was all I could do to not remind you of who I was this way on the field of battle, flush with the defeat of our enemies. I will take whatever you will give me."

[unabatedly]

Perhaps predictably, there is no indication she wishes for him to stop, not a single moment's hesitation or refusal. She steps where he does, allows him to press her back against the wall and to keep her there by the magnetism of his mouth alone. Her hands remain where they are, against his face, looped around his neck, keeping him there for a short time like she's trying to recreate something, or her thoughts are holding her in place of what she once had.

She doesn't need to force herself to remember. He'd said they could make new memories. And it's with some reluctance that she lets him go but only to help him with her clothes and to reach almost greedily for his own, that undeniable hunger of his waking her from what feels like an eternity in the dark on her own. She helps him push aside the fabric of his clothes, her fingers finding smooth and unblemished skin, his perfections laid out for her to map and know once more.

Her breath is a warm exhale over his lips when he whispers there and he says that word - missed - in a way that she has to believe it, her throat constricting with emotion. But it's a soft laugh that bubbles its way up first. "I don't do things in half-measures," she whispers back, like he doesn't know. In for a copper, in for a crown. One hand finds its way into the strands of his silken hair as she kisses him again, deep and hungry and just shy of desperate. "All I have, all I am, it's yours."