[That with you could also mean a great many things – even more than here did on its own if he lets his heart wander away with his imagination – but Verso thinks better than to keep pressing, not wanting to disturb the aura of peace she has about her, not wanting to challenge the way he relaxes in turn, though there's a prickling at the edge of his conscience that once again calls what he's doing into question.
It's left to prickle as he catches her observing him again; this time, it's not shyness that dominates his reaction, but rather intrigue and interest, a new kind of light brightening his eyes.]
It is a very nice train car.
[And the company even better. The tone of his expression shifts as she continues her own reading but it doesn't lessen; in fact, it blooms when she follows up with the darker side of the implications, though it dims as well as the distance to her voice registers. An acknowledgement, then, and not an invitation. This time, Verso holds himself back from asking.
And maybe that final sentiment is a bit flippant, but Verso meets it with gentle laughter, unbothered.]
Yeah, well, let me know if you do; I'm running low on just about everything.
[Life on the Continent do be like that.
Now, he leans forward, elbows on the table, hands folded, chin resting on his thumbs. Though his lips are a bit obscured, there's no hiding how he smiles, amused and content and curious, awaiting whatever tidbit she'll offer up next.]
So. Confidence now, right?
[Said with his own confidence, perhaps a bit out of place considering how little he actually knows about the cards. But whatever. He still wouldn't mind being corrected.]
[ Oh. He leans in, prompts her to continue with a set of words she finds particularly compelling, and she wonders if she might be on the right track after all. ...Possible train pun unintended.
(Maybe it should be intentional, though. He'd probably like it.) ]
Right. [ Sciel replies slowly, and this time she sets the Ten down manually and replaces it with the Queen, holding it upside down to indicate its reversed state. ] I know myself, and I need to use that personal comfort to make my next move. To take action with the security that it's the right thing for me, no matter what other expectations may exist.
[ For example: it's probably ill-advised to get involved in anything remotely in this arena as an expeditioner, given the not-unrealistic chance she's killed tomorrow, or in a few days, or next week. But...hey, if the cards are saying fuck it, then fuck it, right?
This reading of her future says "you're too focused outward; look within." And when she does, it's no surprise, really, what's waiting for her. So she sets the card down again, sweeping a hand over the line to disappear all three, laying the surface between them bare.
Confidence now, right? ]
...I like the little stove, [ She remarks, apropos of nothing. Her eyes are not on the stove, though, and are instead locked to his...before drifting deliberately down to his lips, and then back. ] But I could be warmer.
[ Sciel feels her intentions are clear, but that would remain to be seen. He might needed it spelled out further, which she'd happily oblige. He may also not be interested, which...she realizes will have its pang of disappointment, but she'll get over it. Whatever happens, she's enjoyed their time together so far. But...to not seize the opportunity that this reading has afforded her would've been a waste.
[Verso may have his moments of social obliviousness – naturally, of course, given the depths and extents of his isolation – but he's not wholly hopeless. As Sciel picks up one hand of cards – in a manner of speaking, anyway – she lays down another that he finds a lot more readable than tarot. An abbreviation of what the last card says. Talk of making moves. That look, that goddamned look in her eye as her focus trails to his lips.
Subconsciously, his tongue slips out to wet them. His own gaze never leaves her eyes, though, if only because he's too captivated by how she looks at him to be able to bear looking away.
It's her comment on the stove that drives everything home, that fills him with unignorable bursts of nervousness and excitement and a kind of adrenaline that he hasn't felt in entirely too long. An obnoxious voice at the back of his head tries to get him to question whether she just means to have him add more wood to the fire, but he latches on to that I like it, but... with rare fervency. It means something, he thinks and feels and wishes and dreams, that only the weakest of his doubts can deny.
He leans back again, his expression almost shifting into one of deep concentration. He is a weak, weak man, though, and it's been a long time since anyone's hinted at the kind of interest Sciel has – fuck, he hopes he's not misreading things – so it's a bit more wild than not, brimming with freedom.]
Mm, we can't have that. Allow me.
[An offering he makes as he slides himself out of the booth and scoots in beside Sciel. Who, he observes, doesn't look at him like he's lost his mind, or try to pull away, or do anything that might signal that he's got the wrong impression. His heartbeat thunders all the more in his chest, but he's able to maintain most of his composure.]
I've been told I run hot, you know.
[Proximity can only accomplish so much; they both know that, and Verso's not going to sit back like a coward and lean on Sciel to confirm that proximity alone isn't going to be nearly enough. Ever increasingly emboldened, he hooks a finger under her chin and brushes his thumb across her lips.]
But, I could stand to be warmer, too.
[Soon, very soon, that graze of his thumb makes way for the press of his lips, and his breath goes forgotten in that first moment of contact, the kiss sure and yet unsure, eager and yet patient, featherlight even as his free hand moves to the back of Sciel's neck, fingers gently curling around the dangling strands of her ponytail as he holds her just a bit closer.]
[ Tarot is not about predicting the future, she asserts. It's only guidance. But it's strange: thinking back to that early meeting at the cliffs, where he'd initially asked what drew her to it...hearing all the stories about his life pre-Fracture and the facets that had brought him so much joy... Well, it's easy to say such things with hindsight, but part of her does feel as though this had been inevitable.
Eyes don't lie. Her mantra. And when Sciel sees the subtle change in Verso's expression, she realizes that they are, in fact, on the same page about this. Her own features shift a little in turn: eyes widening slightly, brows lifting in pleasant disbelief, lips pulling upward. It's somehow unexpected enough that just the sustained eye contact, followed by the slight (perhaps unintentional) flick of his tongue, has her pulse quicken a little with anticipation.
No, she hasn't gone without this type of thing as long as her immortal companion, but there's still something to the way the prospect makes her feel that's more akin to the butterflies of a more inexperienced lover.
...Maybe it's to do with the setting after all. The snow, the train...the setup from the reading...it really is all very helpfully creating the kind of ambiance that lends itself to whatever is about to happen.
Sciel watches him like a hawk as he slips out of his side of the booth and into her own, sitting closer than he ever has. They're usually opposite each other on occasions like these, and if they're side by side, it's usually doing something like standing and staring at the monolith, and always at a respectful distance. But she turns in her seat as he approaches, moving a hand to cup her chin, brushing across her lips, and there is very little that's respectful about what she thinks of it all.
Oh, well done. Though the comment nearly has her roll her eyes, she instead settles on a low chuckle. And then, finally, the moment comes.
He's closed the gap, putting himself a bit on the line even with the confidence that their thinly-veiled flirting allowed, so she'll seal the deal. Communicate without words that yes, absolutely, this is something she, at least, is sure of. So as she returns the kiss, she savours the initial, almost tentative press of his lips for a while before deepening it. Her head tilts just so (carefully, so as not to knock loose his hand at the nape of her neck), mouth parting slightly more to allow him access. He'll feel no questions or uncertainty from her, at this point: only the confidence the cards had laid out for them both and the confirmation that he had, in fact, previously noticed and read her signals correctly.
Her fingers wind into his unruly hair, tangling needily there, though not painfully so. The other hand slips along his jawline, thumbing absently at his beard as she hums against his kiss, committing each new sensation to memory. ]
Mm — I can see why you liked the trains so much. [ She teases breathlessly, in one of the brief periods she surfaces again. ] The service really is something.
[If there is one core benefit to wearing so many masks, it's that Verso can hide away even from himself in moments like this. Later, he might question himself, as is the natural course whenever he lets his guard down around the Expeditioners, but he will also call to mind that look in Sciel's eyes when his realisation first fed her own, the way she took control of the kiss, too, that feeling as her fingers grasped onto his hair and touched tingles across his scalp, the yielding of her mouth, everything, all of it. And confronted with all that, he'll be hard-pressed to condemn himself for this moment of weakness, because even if everything else he says and does is rooted in mountainous lies, this is genuine and real and honest and good.
Besides, he will not do Sciel the disservice of regretting her: a sentiment that asserts itself when the kiss breaks and he lifts his hand from her neck to smooth the hair that's framing her face.
He will, however, do her the disservice of his own train lines.]
Wait until we get moving. [Verso, no.] Any thoughts on where you'd like to get off?
[Verso.
Somehow, though, he says it earnestly, gently. The tone of a man whose loneliness always seems to start him off way too deep, but one who, in consequence, is so very cautious of keeping himself afloat, at her level. So, he catches his breath, and he tests the swell of his kiss-stung lips with another graze of his tongue, and he tries not to think about how close their mouths still are to one another, how easy it would be to lean just a bit forward and kiss an answer out of her instead.]
[ The blatant innuendo is both a surprise and a delight, and she can't help but utter one of her lovely, genuine laughs. It also inspires a yanking feeling below her navel, so disarmed is she by his directness, and Sciel presses her lips together as she considers it, looking both pleased and flirtatious.
She'll largely leave the train jokes to him, given that she has much less material to work with, but she can at least make an initial effort. He's very cute, for one thing, and having a romantic encounter on a train is possibly a dream of his, so why not help to make it all it can be? ]
Mm... I'd like to see how far it can take me, but I'm in no hurry. I might want to ride it until the end.
[ He's so close. It's...nice having him so close. Sciel's love language is touch, and that has always shown in her interactions with the others: an affirming squeeze of the hand, a playful knock to the shoulder, a flurry of affectionate, yet platonic kisses. This encounter is different in some ways, but not in others. It's...an extension of her natural instincts to reach out and grasp his knee during their game of piquet. To be close to those she cares about.
And she does care, of course. Her love may not be as straightforward or traditional as the romance of a fairy tale, but it is present all the same. Right now, that affection manifests in the abject physical desire she feels, now happily certain that she will have an opportunity to dive deeper into the charming enigma that is Verso.
Sciel leans back slightly, but only so she can shed the outer layer she'd manifested; it slips off her shoulders and onto the seat, half-falling to the floor below the table. The stove he lit has warmed her sufficiently from the outside, and the fire he's ignited continues to warm her from within.
Quickly enough, she's back in place, tantalizingly close, moving a hand to splay against his chest and the many layers that separate skin from skin. As she'd said, she's in no rush, but surely he's uncomfortable in the coat, at least? ]
If you wanted to lose some of the uniform, I won't report you. [ To, you know, whoever the conductor's boss is. Her smile goes playful at this, and though she wants very much to close the distance and taste him again, she'll at least let him do away with the jacket before doing so, stealing his lips for another heated bout. ]
Scenic route it is, then. [A pause, then a slight leaning back of his own to take in as much of her as he can, unsubtle and appreciative, like he's taking in a masterfully crafted work of art.] Good choice, by the way. The view from here is already amazing.
[Later, Verso might reflect on how easily Sciel manages to make him feel at peace, how her natural way of being reminds him to embrace his own. This moment is about over-observing and over-thinking; it doesn't find him calling to mind how long it's been since he's felt a lover's touch, or whether he'll be able to live up to whatever exists behind the peal of her laughter or the gleam in her eyes.
Really, he just lets himself watch her undress – even if she stops at her jacket – and he thinks about whether she can feel his heartbeat beneath his chest as he works his own jacket open, a finicky effort with the all the fastening and belts and the sash, but one he's familiar enough with that it doesn't take overly long before he's sliding everything off down arms and onto the floor behind him, letting it pool on the floor.
And he could move on from there, ridding himself of his vest at least, but he has the same idea as she does – that it's been one too many moments since their lips parted – and so he's all too eager to busy his hands with her, one back in her hair, the other resting just above her knee. This kiss doesn't break so much as it moves, Verso trailing wet kisses down to her pulse point where he lingers, rumbling a hum against her skin.]
Now... How much is some?
[Lightly, very lightly, he tests the waters by nipping at her neck, soothing the spot over with another kiss afterward.]
You might have to show me, I'm a bit preoccupied.
[Back up he goes along the slant of her jaw, up to her ear, which receives his attention now, one hand rising up to twirl her hair between his fingers, keeping it out of his way.]
[ Advice that Sciel had recently given to Maelle, after the girl asked for combat pointers, is just as useful here: study how your opponent (or partner, as it were) reacts. Understand them so you can anticipate and adjust. So she takes care to note all the ways that Verso tells without telling her what he does and doesn't enjoy. Notes the way his lips part for her when she presses in for a more insistent kiss, any twitch or inadvertent sound when she slides a hand past his knee to roam farther up his thigh.
All this can help to "survive," in her words to the younger expeditioner, but in this situation, "thrive" is much more apt.
She hums against his mouth before the kiss breaks, after which the sigh-like sound he elicits with his wandering affections is open to the air. Each progression of this dreamlike, snowballing scenario sparks fresh excitement within her, and he'll be able to taste the insistent pulse at her neck as he roams, teasing her with his teeth, balancing it with another series of kisses, butterfly-light. ]
I can manage that. [ He's kindly already done away with the bulky coat, so she busies herself with the fastenings of the vest. Removing it entirely will unfortunately mean he'll need to lean back somewhat, taking him away from where he'd been nipping at her ear and sending a fresh wave of pleasant shivers through the rest of her, but it's a necessary step. Gently, regretfully, she eases him back a little once there's opportunity for it...though, again, she feels no rush. It may as well be that the world outside this train and its surrounding landscape no longer exist, as far as she's concerned right now. ]
Get that off, [ She instructs, indicating the vest, all maîtresse and efficiency. ] and the gloves next, yeah? I want to really feel you.
[ It's a nice start, with the warmth of his fingertips coming through, but not nearly enough.
He can keep the rest of it on...for the moment. One thing at a time, as she drinks up every new view of him while also luxuriating under the heat of his breath, his tongue. ]
I'm especially interested to see how your musical background comes into play. [ There's a bit of a heady look at that as she taps each of the fingers of the hand at his thigh, one by one, against him, as if plunking a rudimentary scale.
She doesn't specify whether it's his dexterous fingers, breath control, or both that she's got in mind. ]
[Everything Sciel does has Verso responding in its favour, little throaty sounds of affirmation, reflexive movements coaxing more, challenges met and accepted, new ones posed in turn. Even when she guides him back there's a fluidity to how he follows through, shoulders already rising so he can shrug off his vest. The gloves follow quickly thereafter, though he does place a little more care into removing the left one, gently loosening the ropes holding the bark in place, then resting the whole glove on the seat behind him. The other glove gets abandoned to the floor, though. Fuck that guy.
He rolls up his sleeves, too – a reflex rather than anything with real intent – before leaning back in to stroke his freed knuckles across her cheek. And it's right there at the fore of his impulses, the thought to go right back to kissing her again, but she mentions his music and he stumbles into a moment of trying to figure out what she means instead. Not a long moment, fortunately, and he laughs as she plays his thigh, ignoring the way his cock twitches and his scalp feels like it's forming constellations at the implication, and taking her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers in a mirror of her scale.]
And I wouldn't mind seeing you dance.
[Despite all the innuendo, he remains too much of a gentleman to encourage Sciel to shed more of her own layers. But he does pull her into another collision of their lips, fingers of one hand grasping a little tighter at her hair, thumb of the other stroking semi-circles over her shirt, just grazing the underside of her breast.]
Get comfortable.
[Said at the next break, tone low and lips still grazing hers as he speaks. He deliberately leaves it open to her interpretation, and he shifts slightly away from her to better navigate their shared space.]
[ Off and away go his vest, his gloves, and her own quick fingers are there to smooth across his chest, slide up and around to his arm: now exposed. It's infrequent enough that she's been around him without the many bits of his uniform present that Sciel pauses here, ghosting a slow back and forth along the well-honed shape of his forearms, drifting along the lines of his palm as if doing another reading. There's another contented sound, after this mute assessment, and she leans in to the graze of his knuckle at her cheek when it presses to her face. ]
I'm confident you'll see some dancing. [ She murmurs. The intercessions of his lips at each of her fingertips earns him a breathy, almost labored exhale; her hands have their share of callouses from the farming days of the past and the fighting of the present, but the brush of his mouth there is unexpectedly tender.
That Verso is as sharp with his flirting as he is with his usual banter isn't surprising, but each return volley in their little tête-à-tête makes her smile all the more. Her eager, vivid eyes drop down briefly to the (lack of) space between them before dragging up again to meet his, head cocked a little in consideration.
The 'suggestion,' in that tone, sends a little thrill coursing up her spine, and her lips part in an a conspiratorial smirk. Without a word -- and without taking her eyes off him -- she shifts back a little in the booth, getting to work. The short jacket has its share of belts and complications, but her nimble fingers make short work of that, and she shrugs it off to fall alongside her coat on the ground below. Next, in a flash, the one glove from her right arm is added to the heap. There's a little pause before a hand sneaks around her back, working effortlessly before returning to pull her cropped shirt over her head, taking the bra beneath with it, and only making a little bit of a show of the whole thing.
Sciel remains where she sits, scooted back against the cool glass of the train window, one knee bent on the seat in front of her. Then, with her usual, mischievous grin, she crooks a finger his way. ]
[More validation comes with her exploratory touches; goosebumps rise along his forearms and he breathes a shiver out of sight, following it with a shy halved smile over how easily she affects him, the starlight in those eyes prickling through his veins. What they have here is gentler than what he's grown accustomed to, a simmer over a low flame, and that's enticing in its own right. Which is probably a dangerous prospect under the circumstances, but he compartmentalises that away.
It's hard not to when she makes everything feel so damned easy.
So, he holds her gaze for a while, then leans back on his hand and makes no attempt to hide that he's watching her undress, that troublesome tongue of his back to perching on his bottom lip.]
Merde, you're beautiful.
[Tanned skin and toned muscle, that tattoo cascading down her chest, that scar almost reaching to join with its linework, that confidence, that wondrous, empowering confidence that makes him want to keep matching her stride for stride, to earn his place here in the train car with her, occupying the exact same space.
Even when she's settled into place, he takes a moment to take her in before he leans back forward, sliding himself in between the leg on the seat and the leg elsewhere. Like this, he grasps that beckoning hand with a lacing of their fingers, then pins it – gently, loosely, to hold in his own and not to keep down – as he lowers himself against her to capture her lips in their Nth kiss of the evening, long and lingering. His free hand makes its way to her waist, resting there in a soft splay at first before moving up to cup her breast, running along it to the rhythm of their kiss, touch grazing her nipple without ever really focusing on it.
He ends the kiss by mouthing his way away, over her chin down her neck, lower, lower, to the neglected breast. His tongue laps an almost-circle around her nipple and the noise that follows is a rumble of contentment. The softness of her skin, its warmth, the way her breast yields even to the light pressure of his tongue – it all has him soon moving for more, kissing and sucking and licking at one breast and maintaining his softer ministrations of the other, brimming with hunger and self-expression and freedom and the kind of humanity he sometimes forgets still thrives inside of him, lonely and beaten down as it's grown over the decades.
Ah, but that's a thought for later, tossed atop the pile of all the other things he can't bear to think about, now. He feels good and all he wants, all that matters, is for her to feel the same.]
[ The tender lethargy with which she's moving through this dance of theirs is unusual for her, too. Most trysts before or after Pierre had been quick and dirty: spending a bit of time finding pleasure in the body of another, wishing them well, moving on. If this encounter with Verso had taken place closer to camp -- an unexpected, reciprocated exchange of interest -- she would've happily, and simply, led him into the woods for some privacy. Unfussy, unattached. Still quite nice.
Things are a little different today, though. The core of her intent, and its casual nature, haven't changed. But...he'd made such an effort leading them here, talking her through all of the elements of their surroundings in way that brought the icing-dust wonderland around them to more vivid life. And the train, of course: it all comes together in a display that had brought her so much joy that it's only fair, she thinks, that she return the favor with an effort, a display, of her own.
If they again find themselves a messy, heated tangle of bodies again sometime, she imagines she'll be very happy with the result. If afterward they never speak of this again, then she'll certainly respect his wishes and move along, as she always has. For now, though...
Verso scoots in closer and she shifts slightly, her bare chest a waiting invitation. An invitation that he accepts without delay, taking one breast into his hand as his lips find hers again, capturing her mouth in easy conquest. Sciel makes a light, needy sound against him as he idly fingers her nipple, which is already hard between the cold that manages to seep in from the glass behind her and his dexterous touch. ]
I've been thinking about what it'd feel like, having those clever fingers on me. [ Sciel says, low, against his ear before he dips farther down. The lathe of his tongue on the other breast earns him a sharp inhale, then an amorous exhale to match. ] And that clever tongue, too.
[ Sciel rarely suffers from self-consciousness, and now is no exception. She utters each sigh and moan as he earns it, unabashedly making it clear that what he's doing feels good, that her body is ever-hungry for more. One hand winds its way again in the tousled curls, gripping with a little more neediness than before, while the other slips down his back, drawing a fistful of the shirt in her grasp. ]
Mm -- you do run hot. [ She breathes, chest rising and falling in a more pronounced way with his affections, her blood hammering just beneath the skin. ] I'm sure you're uncomfortable in all that, yeah?
[ It's up to him what, or how much, he'd prefer to shed next. In the meantime, she begins to find herself increasingly torn between wanting to continue enjoying their slow, deeply enjoyable exploration of each other and desiring intensely to liberate them both from the rest of their uniforms and lower herself onto his lap right now).
She has no idea which part of her will win out, but either way she comes out on top. ]
[He had told her he wanted to see her dance; now, he thinks about how nice it is to hear her sing those little notes of pleasure and the rhythms behind them – rhythms that he's growing (or so he hopes) increasingly attuned to the more he tastes and touches and teases. As if on cue, a curse spills through his lips as her words land against his ear, a little duet between them, and he delivers another gentle nip, trouble for trouble.]
You have, huh?
[Whether his fingers and his tongue have been on her mind for a short while or a longer one, it's a nice thought, the idea that maybe while he was off scouting and she was curled up by the fire – or vice-versa – they were connected by having these shared flames to stoke inside themselves, each giving off little sparks for the other to collect. And being seen as someone other than the whats and whys and lies of his existence is always a good feeling, even if it is one that he often questions whether he deserves.
No questions plague his mind now – or at least none about himself and whether he belongs here with Sciel. Even to him, it's clear that he does, and so he rumbles again at the notion of having to part so he can address his state of dress, hardly wanting to move. The cause is good though – very good – and as he pulls away yet again and starts working himself free of his clothes, the quirk to his smile makes it clear how invested he is in this next step.]
What else have you been thinking about?
[The shirt comes off first and relatively fast owing to its perpetually half-unbuttoned state. Once it's been tossed aside, making an unceremonious landing on the floor, he makes similarly quick work of his boots and his socks. A pause before he takes off his pants, though, thumbs lingering beneath the waistband of both them and his underwear.]
Because, you see, I've been thinking about giving you whatever you want.
[As for what he wants, in this moment it's simple: for this to be the last time he has to pull away from her to handle something else. So, when he does start taking off his pants, the underwear goes with them, and he stands there naked for a moment, unbothered by it as he kicks everything he's shed aside, before he leans back over her again, one hand making its way towards the topmost fastening of her own pants.]
[ The song, the dance, continues. Her words at his ear draw out his curse, which in turn has her exhale in a hiss at the rough sweetness of his voice. And it's sweeter still to be able to re-contextualize all parts of Verso that had previously only existed to her as belonging to a fellow combatant, expeditioner, and friend: the well-honed arms of a fighter, the warm, low lilt of his voice when he tries to lighten the mood, the way those striking eyes cut through you. Sciel feels decidedly cut through now, seen in exactly the way that she wants, and his question only serves to further stoke the fire in her belly. ]
About having those fingers and tongue in me. And... [ Comes the reply, feather-light, as she again trails her eyes down the length of his body, lingering meaningfully lower before lifting again. As he withdraws at her request, she trails her fingers along his retreating arm, though her eyes are still on him with rapt attention.
Off goes the shirt, the shoes. It's a nice view on its own, just admiring the slopes and muscles of his torso, smiling in her sideways sort of way as she commits the details to memory. Visual memory, at least, since she intends to map him out with thorough physicality once he rejoins her in the booth. ]
"Whatever I want?" [ Sciel repeats, and there's a hungry sort of warning to the question. ] Well, well. We're off to a very good start, I can tell you that.
[ What does she want? Most immediately: once he slips out of his pants, she takes an unapologetic look across the whole of him, chin lifting slightly in appraisal. The sight of his cock drives another rush of need through her, pooling between her legs, and she drags her teeth across her lower lip as her clit pulses insistently.
Verso is quick to close the distance again, thank god. And though her first instinct is to press her kiss-worn lips to his again, to take him in hand and make him feel the dizzying lust that's building in her, he...has a good reason for the delay, so she permits it with only a short sigh. ]
I think you'd better. [ Sciel replies, moving to take one of his hands in hers and guiding it to press against her sex, where the effects of the night's events so far radiate clearly even through her trousers. ] I'm overheating a bit, myself.
[Verso is vain. No matter how many insistences he's made to the contrary, it's an almost innate part of him, virtually unflappable; when he looks in the mirror he might not like the man who looks back, but he can appreciate the reflection itself. So, he receives every little touch and every lingering look with an eager sort of confidence, a silent yes, I want to be explored. An invitation and impulse often reserved for sex, one of the precious few times when he can embrace this level of freedom and openness and vulnerability that he usually keeps far more in check.
Right now, though, thoughts of being explored fall by the wayside, Sciel's answers to his questions proving far more compelling. They bring a throb to his cock, another rumble to his throat that lingers.]
Just what I wanted to hear.
[Soon, soon, soon, but still with no rush. Even as her reactions intensify, even as his own body begins to rebel against the notion of there being anything left to build up towards. And even as she brings his hand to her heat and the moan he makes gives him entirely away, he chooses soft escalation, running his fingers up and down the seam of her pants, taking in the warmth, the wetness, the way she responds to this, too, before he presses a kiss to her apex and begins relieving her of the rest of her clothing.
He's neater with it than he was with his own, tossing it over to land on his abandoned seat on the other side of the booth. After taking his own moment to rake his eyes over the whole of Sciel, the fantasy of her once again paling in comparison to reality, he manoeuvres himself back over to her, hovering almost nose-to-nose as his hand slowly snakes its way down her toned stomach to dip between her legs. First with gentleness, touch featherlight, rhythm slow and teasing, fingers taking their time in moving to slip between her lips. And when they finally do, he brings pressure to the motion, middle finger just teasing at her entrance before he starts stroking in earnest, nothing targeted for now, just getting a feel for her heat and her wetness and how she does or doesn't move with him.
Once the motion becomes more familiar, more natural, a little less demanding of his focus, he grazes his mouth over hers in a promise of another kiss, should she meet him the rest of the way.]
Not sure that helped with the overheating. But you feel good like this, so I'm not sorry.
[ Verso's vanity needn't worry: Sciel has every intention of exploring him thoroughly before they leave this train. The fact that there's a reasonable chance this could be her one and only opportunity aside: she has a natural curiosity and drive to dig into what makes people tick, and one of the many things she enjoys about sex is that it gives her a very particular way to do so. The sound he makes as she brings his hand to the heat between her legs, for example. The way he immediately strokes along that maddening line, earning him a moan in return, which only intensifies with an unexpected, sweet shock as she feels his lips there, too.
It's been too long, and though she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself when the need arises, this is...better. Much better.
Sciel helps him free her from her bottoms as best she can, settling back in on the bench and beneath his gaze when it's done. Verso is quick to close the distance again, hovering tantalizingly close but not yet moving in for another kiss. Her tongue flits out to wet her own lips in unconscious anticipation, though most of what she's doing is feeling the heat already radiating off their bodies as their skin, newly-bared, offers alluring new possibilities. ...Which he blessedly takes immediate advantage of, one hand drifting beyond her navel to start stroking along her cunt, which has her tip her head back again in another surge of electric bliss, her hips lifting slightly in response. ]
Merde. [ He's barely fingering her -- not yet pressing inside or working her clit -- but it as a more dizzying effect even at this stage than she'd been expecting. Anticipation, maybe? Whatever the case, Sciel is grateful when, once she tilts her head back toward him, he's so easily ensnared in another kiss, which gives her something to channel her buzzing energy into. And the kiss reflects her happily-agitated state: her tongue pressing for entrance, dragging her teeth across his lip, making little, starved sounds in the back of her throat. ]
I'm not sorry, either. [ She breathes, when there's a moment to do so. The non-apology is explained with the floating of her own hand down his torso until she can wrap it around his cock. Her mouth returns to his as she simultaneously drags her nails in the lightest of touches up his length, thumbing in circles at the head once she reaches it. ]
Ça te plaît? [ Comes the question, innocently-posed, with the least-innocent of intentions. ]
[The end is not in sight; a thrilling thought that hits Verso as if his nerves are in suspended supernova, a whole-body anticipation where more than just his cock twitches at the promise of whatever's to come. So, at first he escalates the kiss and not the way he touches her, maintaining that languid rhythm, that tease of his own promise.
At least until Sciel starts making those sounds. Then, he releases a rumble of his own moan and presses a finger against her entrance, slipping it just a bit inside of her on his next stroke down, establishing a new pattern when every time his fingers brush its edges they push in a bit deeper, a bit deeper, until there's room enough for him to curl them as he pumps, keeping them inside now, singularly focused on seeking that sweet spot inside of her.
Not singularly focused for long, though; painted memory of a long-dead man though he may be, he is still very, very human, still only human, and when he feels her fingers make their own downward trek, he hisses in a breath and curses before she even takes him in her hand. It's been too long for him, too, far too fucking long, and he's stricken by a moment of self-consciousness: what if he doesn't last long?
Verso's a stubborn man, though, and one with no short supply of command over himself. This, he repeats as a mantra until her touch escalates and she swallows the deep moan he releases in affirmation, the staccato almost-whimper that follows rising in celebration of that drag of her nails.]
Fuck. [No cheeky comeback this time, no verbal escalation of his own. His own hand stills for a moment, his body too enraptured by the feeling of being touched to remember how to move.] Ca me plait.
[Once his own desires overcome those centralised in his cock and he returns to most of his senses, he shifts his wrist to press his thumb beside her clit. Another finger moves to join the one inside of her, and he slows down just a bit as helps her acclimate to its presence.]
[ Warm and intoxicating, like a bottle (or two) of wine. Rough and exhilarating, like a hard-won fight. The best sex is all of these things and more, and Sciel is bursting at the seams with all of the good chemicals that this has alchemised within her so far. It's a challenge she takes on with enthusiasm: trying to maintain her own focus on the movement of their lips when part of her just wants to lean back and let it all happen, to see what he'd do if left unguided, or unoccupied by her hand and mouth in turn. She does manage it, of course, rising to meet most challenges that come her way in life.
So she continues to kiss him back even as her lips sting, unused to the frequency, the harshness. She drinks up every sound that he makes against her, eagerly swallowing them down and returning with heady utterances of her own. Her free hand rises to first gingerly trace the line of his orbital bone, thumbing along where the scar over his eye sits, before moving more energetically up and into his hair again, finding purchase as if holding on for dear life, or...for sanity, at least.
There's another sharp intake of breath as he begins to press inside, finger steadily burying itself deeper within. Her heart is racing so wildly that she's sure he can hear it, or maybe feel the way her walls pulse around him as he explores farther and farther. Sciel lifts her hips into the song he plays inside her, breaking their kiss again to moan into the open air. ]
Verso... [ The hand that had been entwined with his hair moves instead to his upper back, just beyond his shoulder, and she curls her fingers into the skin with a little bite to further emphasize the way he's steadily unraveling her.
She gets some clarity when his hand slows, allowing her to focus more fully on driving him mad with more precision. So she begins an experimental pattern of her own, languidly pumping him, delicately closing fully over his head between her middle and ring fingers, swiping the eventual bead of precum over him with her thumb. All the while she listens and feels for his reactions, letting them guide the actions that follow.
Until, that is, he fingers her clit directly, clinching it with the pressure of a second finger inside her. Sciel gasps at the immediate lightning that courses through her, causing the tips of her toes to buzz and her head to spin. She's careful not to react in any way that would cause him physical discomfort, of course -- there's presence of mind enough for that, if nothing else -- but her hand does still for a moment around his cock as she lies awash in an exquisite numbness. ]
C'est parfait. [ It's barely a whisper at his ear, but the emphatic honesty of it is unmissable. ] You feel amazing.
[Verso had nearly forgotten how it feels to retreat into someone else rather than into his own mind. It is sensory overload; it is a pandemonium of pleasures long missed. His entire body feels alive and real and vulnerable in ways that it almost never does with its persistent clinging to life, its crafting from paint and memory and grief. And to be sharing it with someone who's getting dangerously close to reading him like a fucking book, yet still wanting to encourage her to turn more pages – even when her fingers find his scar, gentling before they tug at his hair – well, it's not something he can put to words, only to action.
To sound, too, as she matches his intensifications with her own and all he can do is let out a helpless, almost whimper of a moan. There's betrayal to how his hips buck into her touch, his body in eager pursuit of an end that neither his heart nor his mind are willing to see happen so soon. No matter how good it feels.
And it does feel good, so fucking good, to have her in his hand and to be every bit as much in hers, sharing all these expressions of mutuality, whether large or small. Regardless of what any of this will come to mean once they've been brought back down to the chill of winter and the brutality of their mission, at least, he thinks, he'll carry with him the memory of that feeling.
Even so, Sciel had said she wanted to feel so much more than a finger or two inside of her, so when her hand stills on his cock, he takes that as his opportunity to withdraw himself from her touch – though not without a growl of reluctance – to position himself properly between her legs and give her kiss-raw lips a break.
His own lips have only begun their work.]
So do you. [Slowly, he withdraws his fingers from inside of her and sucks them clean.] And, mm, you taste... irrésistible.
[Were his head less clouded with lust and his body less encouraging, he might have added some other dumb comment about going down for seconds or whatever, but no, no, his mouth has better things with which to occupy itself. One hand lands at the innermost part of her thigh; the other, right above her clit. And he fixes her with one last, long look before he wets his lips and drives his tongue inside of her, rumbling out another groan at the collision of heat and taste and wetness on his tongue as he continues working her like his body has forgotten the need to breathe and is sustaining itself instead on whatever reactions he can draw forth from her.
[ It's honestly the sounds he makes that serve, almost more than anything, to unravel her. Verso usually plays everything so cool, so close to the chest, moving about the world with a projected sort of ease that she's only just begun to pick at in their conferences up to this point. So when he seems some of the most vulnerable that she's witnessed so far, it's...well, very sexy. And yes, people could fake or overly-dramatise their reactions in bed, but she feels relatively confident that this is the real deal.
Her own reactions, of course, are similarly genuine. Sciel is not a person who feels much shame, and this is no exception. In fact, she's inclined to provide this sort of affirmation with a partner, anyway: particularly a new one, to ensure they know the effect they're having and to spur them on even further. It's clear, then, from her hitched breaths and shaky moans that he's driving her steadily to the edge as he fingers her, her clit throbbing beneath his fingertips --
And then it stops, and she immediately meets his gaze with an almost wild look, body screaming in protest as she's left, however briefly, with a driving need and a stalled build of orgasm. But...he only shifts downward and she catches on immediately, offering him a shaky smile as her chest rises and falls with the racing demands of her heartbeat.
Those fingers again. There's another sharp hiss of air through her teeth as the sihgt of watching him suck the taste of her from them drives another rush of blood. Before she can comment, or protest, or help quickly guide his head between her legs, he's already repositioning, and then his tongue presses inside her.
The sensation is like a shockwave: the most intense yet. Sciel instinctively curls her toes, hips twitching, as the feeling returns in force. It's overwhelmingly arousing to watch him bob there, pushing within over and over again, and her body opens for him like a flower. Sciel herself watches, enraptured, as she etches these moments and the feelings into her bones before letting it all sweep her away.
It's the beard that does it. The rough tickle of his facial hair provides just enough abrasion to set the whole of her alight, dancing over the parts of her that his attentive tongue doesn't hit directly. With everything combined, it isn't a terribly long time before she utters a long, low moan that's laced with a new flavour of desperation. ]
T'arrête pas. [ She manages to say, bright eyes shining with a warning. A promise. ] I'm almost-...
[The opportunity for Verso to exist absent affectations is rare – so rare that he embraces it in full. It's not simply the sex itself; usually when things lead to that for him, it's a broadly impersonal affair, two lost people pretending that it's possible to be found in the thrust of their bodies, or the heat of shared breath, or glistening sweat and the stars in their eyes. No, the company is its own unfettering, complicated though that will be to explore after the fact, and he doesn't think for a moment to consider what he's revealing about himself. In the end, all he's really doing is proving that he's human, alive and individual in his own right, completely unmysterious in this one thing.
And it's fortunate that Sciel isn't making herself into a mystery in this moment, either. Free and shameless in a way that his cock responds to with a persistent throbbing, an ache he gladly endures because right now, he can't conceive of a greater pleasure in this moment than hearing and feeling and seeing her rise closer and closer and closer to the precipice, can't imagine a better feeling than the chill that her warning sends through him.
Even so, a hum of affirmation is all she'll get in response; he maintains his rhythm, his pace, the depths of his thrusts and the pressure of his thumb. It's only when he feels her reach her climax that he changes things up, slowing down, gentling, guiding her through those final moments until there's nothing left for him to draw forth, and so he withdraws entirely.
Not wanting to go back to crowding her on the seat, he lifts himself up and sits on the table instead, though not without leaning down a little to free a few strands of her hair from the sweat on her brow.]
I like the way you dance. And that look you get in your eyes... just wow.
[ Where some might let their climax wash them away -- tip their heads back, eyes fluttering shut, thoughts all but evaporated -- Sciel is wholly present in it all. The building feeling courses through her in steadily-building ascent, but she keeps her focus anchored on the man, the tongue, that's driving the build. Her hand still holds purchase in the clutch of his hair, her eyes still follow the visible movements of his head like a hawk. She is completely in this moment, this particular moment, savouring it so much more because of the broader context: someone she finds attractive whose company she enjoys who also happens to be eating her out, and every micro-detail she feels and notices as it happens.
It makes the grand finale all the more deeply enjoyable. So when she finally is driven over the peak, Sciel is truly awash in a rare bliss, body shuddering through the orgasm, guided until the end by the calculated conducting of his mouth and thumb. When he eventually withdraws, she does finally tilt her head back against the glass of the window with a euphoric exhale, adopting a slow, easy smile as she revels in the afterglow.
She turns into the brush of his fingers at her hairline, chin lifting slightly. ]
I like the way you play. [ The 'look' that he mentions...isn't gone, either. Because although she's very much still sitting in the sweet comedown, her clit still pulsing with sensitivity...well, apparently, she's got a bit of an appetite. That keen gaze gives him another once-over where he sits, and she shifts a little to position herself beneath him, between his legs, running her hands up the outside of both calves. ] ...I think I'd like to see the look in your eyes, this time.
[ No: she's not yet finished, and by the looks of things, he isn't, either. So Sciel rolls her head to the side as she assesses him, lips pressed together in devil-may-care invitation. ]
I can stay down here, [ She offers slowly, eyes lingering on his cock long enough to make the implication. ] or join you up there. Your choice!
[ Honestly, she'll be perfectly happy either returning the favour or moving up to properly seal the deal, as it were. It's more a matter of his preferences, and...well, staying power. ]
[Theoretically, he knew what he was inviting in sitting on the table, legs casually spread, cock not-so-casually hard and wanting between them. In practise, though, the simple act of watching Sciel ride though the climax and the descent of her orgasm, the feeling of her remaining present with him throughout, that look, that fucking look still making her eyes such a bright and captivating shade of green – it's altogether entirely more than he could ever have anticipated.
So, just that gentle grazing of his calves is enough to make him shiver and bring rise to another burst of goosebumps. A heavy breath follows, uneven as what remains of his restraint dissipates into the heated air, and he grateful that he had the frame of mind before to stroke at her hair because now it gives him a distraction as he tries to cobble together what he can of his thoughts to respond to the flirt she'd batted back his way with an effortlessness that also proves a bit overwhelming the more the tables turn.]
Oh yeah?
[Another distraction, another slight delay. There is significant appeal to the thought of her taking him in her mouth and discovering the kind of music she can play with her own fingers and tongue, but staying power is indeed a consideration he needs to make. It's been a long, long time and he wants to make the most of it, wants to make sure that Sciel can get as much as she can out of it, too. And in his mind, that means one thing:]
Get up here. [Don't say it, Verso.] It's the best seat on the train.
[ Sciel laughs. Not unkindly, of course, but with an abrupt earnestness. ]
Terrible. [ She chides, and her previously-mischevious expression twinges into that dangerously fond territory. ...That's a problem for another time, though, and so she merely ducks her gaze briefly, lips coming together, apples of her cheeks lifting.
...Briefly. And then she returns to the task at hand, expression mellowing to something altogether more amorous again before she starts to move.
This is surely not what the little booth and its table are meant for, but since they're the only two making use of the train (as far as she knows), who's left to judge them? So the lithe expeditioner gradually crawls atop the table, moving with steady grace as she places her arms up on the surface, lifts her torso and legs, positioning everything just so. At the end of it all, she's straddling him with her bare thighs on either side of his, face again mere inches from his, breath coming in slow, deep pushes and pulls.
Her body is still technically bouncing back from the beautiful storm he'd wrought, but that doesn't appear to be a deterrent. ]
You were right, [ She says, hips still lifted above his own, though her hand moves gradually down to guide his cock toward her entrance as she speaks. ] the view from here is amazing.
[ And then, carefully, she lowers herself onto him. It's made easier by the foreplay, which allows her to take him in with immediate ease. Even so, she's slow throughout, still very intentional with each step, each new sensation, still very much committing the feeling to memory. So she first presses him within just a little, breath hitching as a fresh wave of desire floods her as if she hadn't been so recently satisfied.
What's the hurry? Every inch of him that further fills that wet heat is another burst of rapture, another rush of blood to the head. ]
[Before Sciel mounts, anticipation does. It's an all-over feeling, like each nerve is existing in a state of rapt anticipation, and Verso breathes and waits and watches and breathes, heart pounding in his chest as she rises like some mythical woman, some kind of embodiment of confidence and light, while he's just a simple man with an obvious want, awestruck over being wanted by someone so wondrous after so many years of feeling like something out of place, like someone cursed to live the rest of his life without meaningful human connection.
It's dramatic. He knows this, so he keeps it at bay, letting it reveal itself in nothing more than his breathing and in the slight jiggling of one of his legs. Which is miraculously doable; his hands find her waist as she lifts herself closer, closer, closer, and he shifts himself back a little more on the table to give her room to do... whatever she wants, whatever she needs.
And if what she wants and needs when she first settles onto his lap, wasting no time in reaching for his cock, is to pull a reaction from him, well, she'll get that too.]
Oh, fuck.
[Maybe not the most dignified response – least of all for the needy noise that follows its speaking – but he's still just a man. In the moment, all else fades besides the way she envelopes him, warm and wet in a just-so sheathing of his just-so throbbing cock. His fingers press just a bit harder into her waist until he catches himself and begins to run his hands along her sides instead, trying – and failing – to match his breathing to the slowness of his own rhythm.]
Yeah. [He says about the view once he remembers he has more to say.] One of the best I've seen.
[Pointedly, and with great honesty, he looks her in the eye as he speaks, head canted at a slight angle. One of his hands runs all the way up body to cup her chin as he pulls himself up into another kiss, soft and short. Sweet in ways he hasn't been able to express in far longer since the last time he's slept with anyone.
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tableauvivant) wrote2025-09-17 01:14 pm
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It's left to prickle as he catches her observing him again; this time, it's not shyness that dominates his reaction, but rather intrigue and interest, a new kind of light brightening his eyes.]
It is a very nice train car.
[And the company even better. The tone of his expression shifts as she continues her own reading but it doesn't lessen; in fact, it blooms when she follows up with the darker side of the implications, though it dims as well as the distance to her voice registers. An acknowledgement, then, and not an invitation. This time, Verso holds himself back from asking.
And maybe that final sentiment is a bit flippant, but Verso meets it with gentle laughter, unbothered.]
Yeah, well, let me know if you do; I'm running low on just about everything.
[Life on the Continent do be like that.
Now, he leans forward, elbows on the table, hands folded, chin resting on his thumbs. Though his lips are a bit obscured, there's no hiding how he smiles, amused and content and curious, awaiting whatever tidbit she'll offer up next.]
So. Confidence now, right?
[Said with his own confidence, perhaps a bit out of place considering how little he actually knows about the cards. But whatever. He still wouldn't mind being corrected.]
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(Maybe it should be intentional, though. He'd probably like it.) ]
Right. [ Sciel replies slowly, and this time she sets the Ten down manually and replaces it with the Queen, holding it upside down to indicate its reversed state. ] I know myself, and I need to use that personal comfort to make my next move. To take action with the security that it's the right thing for me, no matter what other expectations may exist.
[ For example: it's probably ill-advised to get involved in anything remotely in this arena as an expeditioner, given the not-unrealistic chance she's killed tomorrow, or in a few days, or next week. But...hey, if the cards are saying fuck it, then fuck it, right?
This reading of her future says "you're too focused outward; look within." And when she does, it's no surprise, really, what's waiting for her. So she sets the card down again, sweeping a hand over the line to disappear all three, laying the surface between them bare.
Confidence now, right? ]
...I like the little stove, [ She remarks, apropos of nothing. Her eyes are not on the stove, though, and are instead locked to his...before drifting deliberately down to his lips, and then back. ] But I could be warmer.
[ Sciel feels her intentions are clear, but that would remain to be seen. He might needed it spelled out further, which she'd happily oblige. He may also not be interested, which...she realizes will have its pang of disappointment, but she'll get over it. Whatever happens, she's enjoyed their time together so far. But...to not seize the opportunity that this reading has afforded her would've been a waste.
À toi de jouer, Verso. ]
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Subconsciously, his tongue slips out to wet them. His own gaze never leaves her eyes, though, if only because he's too captivated by how she looks at him to be able to bear looking away.
It's her comment on the stove that drives everything home, that fills him with unignorable bursts of nervousness and excitement and a kind of adrenaline that he hasn't felt in entirely too long. An obnoxious voice at the back of his head tries to get him to question whether she just means to have him add more wood to the fire, but he latches on to that I like it, but... with rare fervency. It means something, he thinks and feels and wishes and dreams, that only the weakest of his doubts can deny.
He leans back again, his expression almost shifting into one of deep concentration. He is a weak, weak man, though, and it's been a long time since anyone's hinted at the kind of interest Sciel has – fuck, he hopes he's not misreading things – so it's a bit more wild than not, brimming with freedom.]
Mm, we can't have that. Allow me.
[An offering he makes as he slides himself out of the booth and scoots in beside Sciel. Who, he observes, doesn't look at him like he's lost his mind, or try to pull away, or do anything that might signal that he's got the wrong impression. His heartbeat thunders all the more in his chest, but he's able to maintain most of his composure.]
I've been told I run hot, you know.
[Proximity can only accomplish so much; they both know that, and Verso's not going to sit back like a coward and lean on Sciel to confirm that proximity alone isn't going to be nearly enough. Ever increasingly emboldened, he hooks a finger under her chin and brushes his thumb across her lips.]
But, I could stand to be warmer, too.
[Soon, very soon, that graze of his thumb makes way for the press of his lips, and his breath goes forgotten in that first moment of contact, the kiss sure and yet unsure, eager and yet patient, featherlight even as his free hand moves to the back of Sciel's neck, fingers gently curling around the dangling strands of her ponytail as he holds her just a bit closer.]
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Eyes don't lie. Her mantra. And when Sciel sees the subtle change in Verso's expression, she realizes that they are, in fact, on the same page about this. Her own features shift a little in turn: eyes widening slightly, brows lifting in pleasant disbelief, lips pulling upward. It's somehow unexpected enough that just the sustained eye contact, followed by the slight (perhaps unintentional) flick of his tongue, has her pulse quicken a little with anticipation.
No, she hasn't gone without this type of thing as long as her immortal companion, but there's still something to the way the prospect makes her feel that's more akin to the butterflies of a more inexperienced lover.
...Maybe it's to do with the setting after all. The snow, the train...the setup from the reading...it really is all very helpfully creating the kind of ambiance that lends itself to whatever is about to happen.
Sciel watches him like a hawk as he slips out of his side of the booth and into her own, sitting closer than he ever has. They're usually opposite each other on occasions like these, and if they're side by side, it's usually doing something like standing and staring at the monolith, and always at a respectful distance. But she turns in her seat as he approaches, moving a hand to cup her chin, brushing across her lips, and there is very little that's respectful about what she thinks of it all.
Oh, well done. Though the comment nearly has her roll her eyes, she instead settles on a low chuckle. And then, finally, the moment comes.
He's closed the gap, putting himself a bit on the line even with the confidence that their thinly-veiled flirting allowed, so she'll seal the deal. Communicate without words that yes, absolutely, this is something she, at least, is sure of. So as she returns the kiss, she savours the initial, almost tentative press of his lips for a while before deepening it. Her head tilts just so (carefully, so as not to knock loose his hand at the nape of her neck), mouth parting slightly more to allow him access. He'll feel no questions or uncertainty from her, at this point: only the confidence the cards had laid out for them both and the confirmation that he had, in fact, previously noticed and read her signals correctly.
Her fingers wind into his unruly hair, tangling needily there, though not painfully so. The other hand slips along his jawline, thumbing absently at his beard as she hums against his kiss, committing each new sensation to memory. ]
Mm — I can see why you liked the trains so much. [ She teases breathlessly, in one of the brief periods she surfaces again. ] The service really is something.
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Besides, he will not do Sciel the disservice of regretting her: a sentiment that asserts itself when the kiss breaks and he lifts his hand from her neck to smooth the hair that's framing her face.
He will, however, do her the disservice of his own train lines.]
Wait until we get moving. [Verso, no.] Any thoughts on where you'd like to get off?
[Verso.
Somehow, though, he says it earnestly, gently. The tone of a man whose loneliness always seems to start him off way too deep, but one who, in consequence, is so very cautious of keeping himself afloat, at her level. So, he catches his breath, and he tests the swell of his kiss-stung lips with another graze of his tongue, and he tries not to think about how close their mouths still are to one another, how easy it would be to lean just a bit forward and kiss an answer out of her instead.]
no subject
She'll largely leave the train jokes to him, given that she has much less material to work with, but she can at least make an initial effort. He's very cute, for one thing, and having a romantic encounter on a train is possibly a dream of his, so why not help to make it all it can be? ]
Mm... I'd like to see how far it can take me, but I'm in no hurry. I might want to ride it until the end.
[ He's so close. It's...nice having him so close. Sciel's love language is touch, and that has always shown in her interactions with the others: an affirming squeeze of the hand, a playful knock to the shoulder, a flurry of affectionate, yet platonic kisses. This encounter is different in some ways, but not in others. It's...an extension of her natural instincts to reach out and grasp his knee during their game of piquet. To be close to those she cares about.
And she does care, of course. Her love may not be as straightforward or traditional as the romance of a fairy tale, but it is present all the same. Right now, that affection manifests in the abject physical desire she feels, now happily certain that she will have an opportunity to dive deeper into the charming enigma that is Verso.
Sciel leans back slightly, but only so she can shed the outer layer she'd manifested; it slips off her shoulders and onto the seat, half-falling to the floor below the table. The stove he lit has warmed her sufficiently from the outside, and the fire he's ignited continues to warm her from within.
Quickly enough, she's back in place, tantalizingly close, moving a hand to splay against his chest and the many layers that separate skin from skin. As she'd said, she's in no rush, but surely he's uncomfortable in the coat, at least? ]
If you wanted to lose some of the uniform, I won't report you. [ To, you know, whoever the conductor's boss is. Her smile goes playful at this, and though she wants very much to close the distance and taste him again, she'll at least let him do away with the jacket before doing so, stealing his lips for another heated bout. ]
no subject
[Later, Verso might reflect on how easily Sciel manages to make him feel at peace, how her natural way of being reminds him to embrace his own. This moment is about over-observing and over-thinking; it doesn't find him calling to mind how long it's been since he's felt a lover's touch, or whether he'll be able to live up to whatever exists behind the peal of her laughter or the gleam in her eyes.
Really, he just lets himself watch her undress – even if she stops at her jacket – and he thinks about whether she can feel his heartbeat beneath his chest as he works his own jacket open, a finicky effort with the all the fastening and belts and the sash, but one he's familiar enough with that it doesn't take overly long before he's sliding everything off down arms and onto the floor behind him, letting it pool on the floor.
And he could move on from there, ridding himself of his vest at least, but he has the same idea as she does – that it's been one too many moments since their lips parted – and so he's all too eager to busy his hands with her, one back in her hair, the other resting just above her knee. This kiss doesn't break so much as it moves, Verso trailing wet kisses down to her pulse point where he lingers, rumbling a hum against her skin.]
Now... How much is some?
[Lightly, very lightly, he tests the waters by nipping at her neck, soothing the spot over with another kiss afterward.]
You might have to show me, I'm a bit preoccupied.
[Back up he goes along the slant of her jaw, up to her ear, which receives his attention now, one hand rising up to twirl her hair between his fingers, keeping it out of his way.]
no subject
All this can help to "survive," in her words to the younger expeditioner, but in this situation, "thrive" is much more apt.
She hums against his mouth before the kiss breaks, after which the sigh-like sound he elicits with his wandering affections is open to the air. Each progression of this dreamlike, snowballing scenario sparks fresh excitement within her, and he'll be able to taste the insistent pulse at her neck as he roams, teasing her with his teeth, balancing it with another series of kisses, butterfly-light. ]
I can manage that. [ He's kindly already done away with the bulky coat, so she busies herself with the fastenings of the vest. Removing it entirely will unfortunately mean he'll need to lean back somewhat, taking him away from where he'd been nipping at her ear and sending a fresh wave of pleasant shivers through the rest of her, but it's a necessary step. Gently, regretfully, she eases him back a little once there's opportunity for it...though, again, she feels no rush. It may as well be that the world outside this train and its surrounding landscape no longer exist, as far as she's concerned right now. ]
Get that off, [ She instructs, indicating the vest, all maîtresse and efficiency. ] and the gloves next, yeah? I want to really feel you.
[ It's a nice start, with the warmth of his fingertips coming through, but not nearly enough.
He can keep the rest of it on...for the moment. One thing at a time, as she drinks up every new view of him while also luxuriating under the heat of his breath, his tongue. ]
I'm especially interested to see how your musical background comes into play. [ There's a bit of a heady look at that as she taps each of the fingers of the hand at his thigh, one by one, against him, as if plunking a rudimentary scale.
She doesn't specify whether it's his dexterous fingers, breath control, or both that she's got in mind. ]
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He rolls up his sleeves, too – a reflex rather than anything with real intent – before leaning back in to stroke his freed knuckles across her cheek. And it's right there at the fore of his impulses, the thought to go right back to kissing her again, but she mentions his music and he stumbles into a moment of trying to figure out what she means instead. Not a long moment, fortunately, and he laughs as she plays his thigh, ignoring the way his cock twitches and his scalp feels like it's forming constellations at the implication, and taking her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers in a mirror of her scale.]
And I wouldn't mind seeing you dance.
[Despite all the innuendo, he remains too much of a gentleman to encourage Sciel to shed more of her own layers. But he does pull her into another collision of their lips, fingers of one hand grasping a little tighter at her hair, thumb of the other stroking semi-circles over her shirt, just grazing the underside of her breast.]
Get comfortable.
[Said at the next break, tone low and lips still grazing hers as he speaks. He deliberately leaves it open to her interpretation, and he shifts slightly away from her to better navigate their shared space.]
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I'm confident you'll see some dancing. [ She murmurs. The intercessions of his lips at each of her fingertips earns him a breathy, almost labored exhale; her hands have their share of callouses from the farming days of the past and the fighting of the present, but the brush of his mouth there is unexpectedly tender.
That Verso is as sharp with his flirting as he is with his usual banter isn't surprising, but each return volley in their little tête-à-tête makes her smile all the more. Her eager, vivid eyes drop down briefly to the (lack of) space between them before dragging up again to meet his, head cocked a little in consideration.
The 'suggestion,' in that tone, sends a little thrill coursing up her spine, and her lips part in an a conspiratorial smirk. Without a word -- and without taking her eyes off him -- she shifts back a little in the booth, getting to work. The short jacket has its share of belts and complications, but her nimble fingers make short work of that, and she shrugs it off to fall alongside her coat on the ground below. Next, in a flash, the one glove from her right arm is added to the heap. There's a little pause before a hand sneaks around her back, working effortlessly before returning to pull her cropped shirt over her head, taking the bra beneath with it, and only making a little bit of a show of the whole thing.
Sciel remains where she sits, scooted back against the cool glass of the train window, one knee bent on the seat in front of her. Then, with her usual, mischievous grin, she crooks a finger his way. ]
S'te plaît?
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It's hard not to when she makes everything feel so damned easy.
So, he holds her gaze for a while, then leans back on his hand and makes no attempt to hide that he's watching her undress, that troublesome tongue of his back to perching on his bottom lip.]
Merde, you're beautiful.
[Tanned skin and toned muscle, that tattoo cascading down her chest, that scar almost reaching to join with its linework, that confidence, that wondrous, empowering confidence that makes him want to keep matching her stride for stride, to earn his place here in the train car with her, occupying the exact same space.
Even when she's settled into place, he takes a moment to take her in before he leans back forward, sliding himself in between the leg on the seat and the leg elsewhere. Like this, he grasps that beckoning hand with a lacing of their fingers, then pins it – gently, loosely, to hold in his own and not to keep down – as he lowers himself against her to capture her lips in their Nth kiss of the evening, long and lingering. His free hand makes its way to her waist, resting there in a soft splay at first before moving up to cup her breast, running along it to the rhythm of their kiss, touch grazing her nipple without ever really focusing on it.
He ends the kiss by mouthing his way away, over her chin down her neck, lower, lower, to the neglected breast. His tongue laps an almost-circle around her nipple and the noise that follows is a rumble of contentment. The softness of her skin, its warmth, the way her breast yields even to the light pressure of his tongue – it all has him soon moving for more, kissing and sucking and licking at one breast and maintaining his softer ministrations of the other, brimming with hunger and self-expression and freedom and the kind of humanity he sometimes forgets still thrives inside of him, lonely and beaten down as it's grown over the decades.
Ah, but that's a thought for later, tossed atop the pile of all the other things he can't bear to think about, now. He feels good and all he wants, all that matters, is for her to feel the same.]
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Things are a little different today, though. The core of her intent, and its casual nature, haven't changed. But...he'd made such an effort leading them here, talking her through all of the elements of their surroundings in way that brought the icing-dust wonderland around them to more vivid life. And the train, of course: it all comes together in a display that had brought her so much joy that it's only fair, she thinks, that she return the favor with an effort, a display, of her own.
If they again find themselves a messy, heated tangle of bodies again sometime, she imagines she'll be very happy with the result. If afterward they never speak of this again, then she'll certainly respect his wishes and move along, as she always has. For now, though...
Verso scoots in closer and she shifts slightly, her bare chest a waiting invitation. An invitation that he accepts without delay, taking one breast into his hand as his lips find hers again, capturing her mouth in easy conquest. Sciel makes a light, needy sound against him as he idly fingers her nipple, which is already hard between the cold that manages to seep in from the glass behind her and his dexterous touch. ]
I've been thinking about what it'd feel like, having those clever fingers on me. [ Sciel says, low, against his ear before he dips farther down. The lathe of his tongue on the other breast earns him a sharp inhale, then an amorous exhale to match. ] And that clever tongue, too.
[ Sciel rarely suffers from self-consciousness, and now is no exception. She utters each sigh and moan as he earns it, unabashedly making it clear that what he's doing feels good, that her body is ever-hungry for more. One hand winds its way again in the tousled curls, gripping with a little more neediness than before, while the other slips down his back, drawing a fistful of the shirt in her grasp. ]
Mm -- you do run hot. [ She breathes, chest rising and falling in a more pronounced way with his affections, her blood hammering just beneath the skin. ] I'm sure you're uncomfortable in all that, yeah?
[ It's up to him what, or how much, he'd prefer to shed next. In the meantime, she begins to find herself increasingly torn between wanting to continue enjoying their slow, deeply enjoyable exploration of each other and desiring intensely to liberate them both from the rest of their uniforms and lower herself onto his lap right now).
She has no idea which part of her will win out, but either way she comes out on top. ]
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You have, huh?
[Whether his fingers and his tongue have been on her mind for a short while or a longer one, it's a nice thought, the idea that maybe while he was off scouting and she was curled up by the fire – or vice-versa – they were connected by having these shared flames to stoke inside themselves, each giving off little sparks for the other to collect. And being seen as someone other than the whats and whys and lies of his existence is always a good feeling, even if it is one that he often questions whether he deserves.
No questions plague his mind now – or at least none about himself and whether he belongs here with Sciel. Even to him, it's clear that he does, and so he rumbles again at the notion of having to part so he can address his state of dress, hardly wanting to move. The cause is good though – very good – and as he pulls away yet again and starts working himself free of his clothes, the quirk to his smile makes it clear how invested he is in this next step.]
What else have you been thinking about?
[The shirt comes off first and relatively fast owing to its perpetually half-unbuttoned state. Once it's been tossed aside, making an unceremonious landing on the floor, he makes similarly quick work of his boots and his socks. A pause before he takes off his pants, though, thumbs lingering beneath the waistband of both them and his underwear.]
Because, you see, I've been thinking about giving you whatever you want.
[As for what he wants, in this moment it's simple: for this to be the last time he has to pull away from her to handle something else. So, when he does start taking off his pants, the underwear goes with them, and he stands there naked for a moment, unbothered by it as he kicks everything he's shed aside, before he leans back over her again, one hand making its way towards the topmost fastening of her own pants.]
Now who's overdressed? May I...?
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About having those fingers and tongue in me. And... [ Comes the reply, feather-light, as she again trails her eyes down the length of his body, lingering meaningfully lower before lifting again. As he withdraws at her request, she trails her fingers along his retreating arm, though her eyes are still on him with rapt attention.
Off goes the shirt, the shoes. It's a nice view on its own, just admiring the slopes and muscles of his torso, smiling in her sideways sort of way as she commits the details to memory. Visual memory, at least, since she intends to map him out with thorough physicality once he rejoins her in the booth. ]
"Whatever I want?" [ Sciel repeats, and there's a hungry sort of warning to the question. ] Well, well. We're off to a very good start, I can tell you that.
[ What does she want? Most immediately: once he slips out of his pants, she takes an unapologetic look across the whole of him, chin lifting slightly in appraisal. The sight of his cock drives another rush of need through her, pooling between her legs, and she drags her teeth across her lower lip as her clit pulses insistently.
Verso is quick to close the distance again, thank god. And though her first instinct is to press her kiss-worn lips to his again, to take him in hand and make him feel the dizzying lust that's building in her, he...has a good reason for the delay, so she permits it with only a short sigh. ]
I think you'd better. [ Sciel replies, moving to take one of his hands in hers and guiding it to press against her sex, where the effects of the night's events so far radiate clearly even through her trousers. ] I'm overheating a bit, myself.
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Right now, though, thoughts of being explored fall by the wayside, Sciel's answers to his questions proving far more compelling. They bring a throb to his cock, another rumble to his throat that lingers.]
Just what I wanted to hear.
[Soon, soon, soon, but still with no rush. Even as her reactions intensify, even as his own body begins to rebel against the notion of there being anything left to build up towards. And even as she brings his hand to her heat and the moan he makes gives him entirely away, he chooses soft escalation, running his fingers up and down the seam of her pants, taking in the warmth, the wetness, the way she responds to this, too, before he presses a kiss to her apex and begins relieving her of the rest of her clothing.
He's neater with it than he was with his own, tossing it over to land on his abandoned seat on the other side of the booth. After taking his own moment to rake his eyes over the whole of Sciel, the fantasy of her once again paling in comparison to reality, he manoeuvres himself back over to her, hovering almost nose-to-nose as his hand slowly snakes its way down her toned stomach to dip between her legs. First with gentleness, touch featherlight, rhythm slow and teasing, fingers taking their time in moving to slip between her lips. And when they finally do, he brings pressure to the motion, middle finger just teasing at her entrance before he starts stroking in earnest, nothing targeted for now, just getting a feel for her heat and her wetness and how she does or doesn't move with him.
Once the motion becomes more familiar, more natural, a little less demanding of his focus, he grazes his mouth over hers in a promise of another kiss, should she meet him the rest of the way.]
Not sure that helped with the overheating. But you feel good like this, so I'm not sorry.
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It's been too long, and though she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself when the need arises, this is...better. Much better.
Sciel helps him free her from her bottoms as best she can, settling back in on the bench and beneath his gaze when it's done. Verso is quick to close the distance again, hovering tantalizingly close but not yet moving in for another kiss. Her tongue flits out to wet her own lips in unconscious anticipation, though most of what she's doing is feeling the heat already radiating off their bodies as their skin, newly-bared, offers alluring new possibilities. ...Which he blessedly takes immediate advantage of, one hand drifting beyond her navel to start stroking along her cunt, which has her tip her head back again in another surge of electric bliss, her hips lifting slightly in response. ]
Merde. [ He's barely fingering her -- not yet pressing inside or working her clit -- but it as a more dizzying effect even at this stage than she'd been expecting. Anticipation, maybe? Whatever the case, Sciel is grateful when, once she tilts her head back toward him, he's so easily ensnared in another kiss, which gives her something to channel her buzzing energy into. And the kiss reflects her happily-agitated state: her tongue pressing for entrance, dragging her teeth across his lip, making little, starved sounds in the back of her throat. ]
I'm not sorry, either. [ She breathes, when there's a moment to do so. The non-apology is explained with the floating of her own hand down his torso until she can wrap it around his cock. Her mouth returns to his as she simultaneously drags her nails in the lightest of touches up his length, thumbing in circles at the head once she reaches it. ]
Ça te plaît? [ Comes the question, innocently-posed, with the least-innocent of intentions. ]
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At least until Sciel starts making those sounds. Then, he releases a rumble of his own moan and presses a finger against her entrance, slipping it just a bit inside of her on his next stroke down, establishing a new pattern when every time his fingers brush its edges they push in a bit deeper, a bit deeper, until there's room enough for him to curl them as he pumps, keeping them inside now, singularly focused on seeking that sweet spot inside of her.
Not singularly focused for long, though; painted memory of a long-dead man though he may be, he is still very, very human, still only human, and when he feels her fingers make their own downward trek, he hisses in a breath and curses before she even takes him in her hand. It's been too long for him, too, far too fucking long, and he's stricken by a moment of self-consciousness: what if he doesn't last long?
Verso's a stubborn man, though, and one with no short supply of command over himself. This, he repeats as a mantra until her touch escalates and she swallows the deep moan he releases in affirmation, the staccato almost-whimper that follows rising in celebration of that drag of her nails.]
Fuck. [No cheeky comeback this time, no verbal escalation of his own. His own hand stills for a moment, his body too enraptured by the feeling of being touched to remember how to move.] Ca me plait.
[Once his own desires overcome those centralised in his cock and he returns to most of his senses, he shifts his wrist to press his thumb beside her clit. Another finger moves to join the one inside of her, and he slows down just a bit as helps her acclimate to its presence.]
Et tu?
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So she continues to kiss him back even as her lips sting, unused to the frequency, the harshness. She drinks up every sound that he makes against her, eagerly swallowing them down and returning with heady utterances of her own. Her free hand rises to first gingerly trace the line of his orbital bone, thumbing along where the scar over his eye sits, before moving more energetically up and into his hair again, finding purchase as if holding on for dear life, or...for sanity, at least.
There's another sharp intake of breath as he begins to press inside, finger steadily burying itself deeper within. Her heart is racing so wildly that she's sure he can hear it, or maybe feel the way her walls pulse around him as he explores farther and farther. Sciel lifts her hips into the song he plays inside her, breaking their kiss again to moan into the open air. ]
Verso... [ The hand that had been entwined with his hair moves instead to his upper back, just beyond his shoulder, and she curls her fingers into the skin with a little bite to further emphasize the way he's steadily unraveling her.
She gets some clarity when his hand slows, allowing her to focus more fully on driving him mad with more precision. So she begins an experimental pattern of her own, languidly pumping him, delicately closing fully over his head between her middle and ring fingers, swiping the eventual bead of precum over him with her thumb. All the while she listens and feels for his reactions, letting them guide the actions that follow.
Until, that is, he fingers her clit directly, clinching it with the pressure of a second finger inside her. Sciel gasps at the immediate lightning that courses through her, causing the tips of her toes to buzz and her head to spin. She's careful not to react in any way that would cause him physical discomfort, of course -- there's presence of mind enough for that, if nothing else -- but her hand does still for a moment around his cock as she lies awash in an exquisite numbness. ]
C'est parfait. [ It's barely a whisper at his ear, but the emphatic honesty of it is unmissable. ] You feel amazing.
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To sound, too, as she matches his intensifications with her own and all he can do is let out a helpless, almost whimper of a moan. There's betrayal to how his hips buck into her touch, his body in eager pursuit of an end that neither his heart nor his mind are willing to see happen so soon. No matter how good it feels.
And it does feel good, so fucking good, to have her in his hand and to be every bit as much in hers, sharing all these expressions of mutuality, whether large or small. Regardless of what any of this will come to mean once they've been brought back down to the chill of winter and the brutality of their mission, at least, he thinks, he'll carry with him the memory of that feeling.
Even so, Sciel had said she wanted to feel so much more than a finger or two inside of her, so when her hand stills on his cock, he takes that as his opportunity to withdraw himself from her touch – though not without a growl of reluctance – to position himself properly between her legs and give her kiss-raw lips a break.
His own lips have only begun their work.]
So do you. [Slowly, he withdraws his fingers from inside of her and sucks them clean.] And, mm, you taste... irrésistible.
[Were his head less clouded with lust and his body less encouraging, he might have added some other dumb comment about going down for seconds or whatever, but no, no, his mouth has better things with which to occupy itself. One hand lands at the innermost part of her thigh; the other, right above her clit. And he fixes her with one last, long look before he wets his lips and drives his tongue inside of her, rumbling out another groan at the collision of heat and taste and wetness on his tongue as he continues working her like his body has forgotten the need to breathe and is sustaining itself instead on whatever reactions he can draw forth from her.
Neither is all that far from the truth.]
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Her own reactions, of course, are similarly genuine. Sciel is not a person who feels much shame, and this is no exception. In fact, she's inclined to provide this sort of affirmation with a partner, anyway: particularly a new one, to ensure they know the effect they're having and to spur them on even further. It's clear, then, from her hitched breaths and shaky moans that he's driving her steadily to the edge as he fingers her, her clit throbbing beneath his fingertips --
And then it stops, and she immediately meets his gaze with an almost wild look, body screaming in protest as she's left, however briefly, with a driving need and a stalled build of orgasm. But...he only shifts downward and she catches on immediately, offering him a shaky smile as her chest rises and falls with the racing demands of her heartbeat.
Those fingers again. There's another sharp hiss of air through her teeth as the sihgt of watching him suck the taste of her from them drives another rush of blood. Before she can comment, or protest, or help quickly guide his head between her legs, he's already repositioning, and then his tongue presses inside her.
The sensation is like a shockwave: the most intense yet. Sciel instinctively curls her toes, hips twitching, as the feeling returns in force. It's overwhelmingly arousing to watch him bob there, pushing within over and over again, and her body opens for him like a flower. Sciel herself watches, enraptured, as she etches these moments and the feelings into her bones before letting it all sweep her away.
It's the beard that does it. The rough tickle of his facial hair provides just enough abrasion to set the whole of her alight, dancing over the parts of her that his attentive tongue doesn't hit directly. With everything combined, it isn't a terribly long time before she utters a long, low moan that's laced with a new flavour of desperation. ]
T'arrête pas. [ She manages to say, bright eyes shining with a warning. A promise. ] I'm almost-...
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And it's fortunate that Sciel isn't making herself into a mystery in this moment, either. Free and shameless in a way that his cock responds to with a persistent throbbing, an ache he gladly endures because right now, he can't conceive of a greater pleasure in this moment than hearing and feeling and seeing her rise closer and closer and closer to the precipice, can't imagine a better feeling than the chill that her warning sends through him.
Even so, a hum of affirmation is all she'll get in response; he maintains his rhythm, his pace, the depths of his thrusts and the pressure of his thumb. It's only when he feels her reach her climax that he changes things up, slowing down, gentling, guiding her through those final moments until there's nothing left for him to draw forth, and so he withdraws entirely.
Not wanting to go back to crowding her on the seat, he lifts himself up and sits on the table instead, though not without leaning down a little to free a few strands of her hair from the sweat on her brow.]
I like the way you dance. And that look you get in your eyes... just wow.
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It makes the grand finale all the more deeply enjoyable. So when she finally is driven over the peak, Sciel is truly awash in a rare bliss, body shuddering through the orgasm, guided until the end by the calculated conducting of his mouth and thumb. When he eventually withdraws, she does finally tilt her head back against the glass of the window with a euphoric exhale, adopting a slow, easy smile as she revels in the afterglow.
She turns into the brush of his fingers at her hairline, chin lifting slightly. ]
I like the way you play. [ The 'look' that he mentions...isn't gone, either. Because although she's very much still sitting in the sweet comedown, her clit still pulsing with sensitivity...well, apparently, she's got a bit of an appetite. That keen gaze gives him another once-over where he sits, and she shifts a little to position herself beneath him, between his legs, running her hands up the outside of both calves. ] ...I think I'd like to see the look in your eyes, this time.
[ No: she's not yet finished, and by the looks of things, he isn't, either. So Sciel rolls her head to the side as she assesses him, lips pressed together in devil-may-care invitation. ]
I can stay down here, [ She offers slowly, eyes lingering on his cock long enough to make the implication. ] or join you up there. Your choice!
[ Honestly, she'll be perfectly happy either returning the favour or moving up to properly seal the deal, as it were. It's more a matter of his preferences, and...well, staying power. ]
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So, just that gentle grazing of his calves is enough to make him shiver and bring rise to another burst of goosebumps. A heavy breath follows, uneven as what remains of his restraint dissipates into the heated air, and he grateful that he had the frame of mind before to stroke at her hair because now it gives him a distraction as he tries to cobble together what he can of his thoughts to respond to the flirt she'd batted back his way with an effortlessness that also proves a bit overwhelming the more the tables turn.]
Oh yeah?
[Another distraction, another slight delay. There is significant appeal to the thought of her taking him in her mouth and discovering the kind of music she can play with her own fingers and tongue, but staying power is indeed a consideration he needs to make. It's been a long, long time and he wants to make the most of it, wants to make sure that Sciel can get as much as she can out of it, too. And in his mind, that means one thing:]
Get up here. [Don't say it, Verso.] It's the best seat on the train.
[Verso. At least he laughs afterward.]
Sorry, I couldn't resist.
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Terrible. [ She chides, and her previously-mischevious expression twinges into that dangerously fond territory. ...That's a problem for another time, though, and so she merely ducks her gaze briefly, lips coming together, apples of her cheeks lifting.
...Briefly. And then she returns to the task at hand, expression mellowing to something altogether more amorous again before she starts to move.
This is surely not what the little booth and its table are meant for, but since they're the only two making use of the train (as far as she knows), who's left to judge them? So the lithe expeditioner gradually crawls atop the table, moving with steady grace as she places her arms up on the surface, lifts her torso and legs, positioning everything just so. At the end of it all, she's straddling him with her bare thighs on either side of his, face again mere inches from his, breath coming in slow, deep pushes and pulls.
Her body is still technically bouncing back from the beautiful storm he'd wrought, but that doesn't appear to be a deterrent. ]
You were right, [ She says, hips still lifted above his own, though her hand moves gradually down to guide his cock toward her entrance as she speaks. ] the view from here is amazing.
[ And then, carefully, she lowers herself onto him. It's made easier by the foreplay, which allows her to take him in with immediate ease. Even so, she's slow throughout, still very intentional with each step, each new sensation, still very much committing the feeling to memory. So she first presses him within just a little, breath hitching as a fresh wave of desire floods her as if she hadn't been so recently satisfied.
What's the hurry? Every inch of him that further fills that wet heat is another burst of rapture, another rush of blood to the head. ]
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It's dramatic. He knows this, so he keeps it at bay, letting it reveal itself in nothing more than his breathing and in the slight jiggling of one of his legs. Which is miraculously doable; his hands find her waist as she lifts herself closer, closer, closer, and he shifts himself back a little more on the table to give her room to do... whatever she wants, whatever she needs.
And if what she wants and needs when she first settles onto his lap, wasting no time in reaching for his cock, is to pull a reaction from him, well, she'll get that too.]
Oh, fuck.
[Maybe not the most dignified response – least of all for the needy noise that follows its speaking – but he's still just a man. In the moment, all else fades besides the way she envelopes him, warm and wet in a just-so sheathing of his just-so throbbing cock. His fingers press just a bit harder into her waist until he catches himself and begins to run his hands along her sides instead, trying – and failing – to match his breathing to the slowness of his own rhythm.]
Yeah. [He says about the view once he remembers he has more to say.] One of the best I've seen.
[Pointedly, and with great honesty, he looks her in the eye as he speaks, head canted at a slight angle. One of his hands runs all the way up body to cup her chin as he pulls himself up into another kiss, soft and short. Sweet in ways he hasn't been able to express in far longer since the last time he's slept with anyone.
Another dangerous prospect to ignore for now.]
Perfect. Merde, you feel good.
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