poly_chromatic

Entry tags:

oc - saya wallace

audio;

I don't wear T-shirts.

[She does not sound pleased]

This one doesn't match anything. I will not be coming in today. Shop is closed. Go somewhere else.

The City could at least make this curse stylish.

[ooc: she won't be seeing anyone in person today because her shirt reads: I killed my father and ate him and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.]

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[It's fine by him. He's remarkably good at working blind, as one hand demonstrates, memory mapping her body and a degree of creativity kicking in to compensate.]

That sounds like an accident waiting to happen.

I'm stronger than any human. It wasn't so bad.

[Well. For her. She's definitely responding to his touch, though, moving her hips a little]

Do you like the challenge of cloth?

I was going to say [Much earlier, when she'd talked about protecting herself.] I wouldn't let anyone hurt you.

I like a lot of things. [He presses the fabric of her underwear between her legs until it's tight against her, then works his thumb over the wet cloth] Do you like friction?

[Her eyes flicker up to him. The only person who says that is Socrates - everyone else assumes she can protect herself. But then she's not paying attention to that, because she arching up against him, her hands going around his torso.]

Yes, I like friction. And the rub of cotton.

Then I'm on the right track.

[A hand against the small of her back, supportive, while he brings her off. Most women wouldn't hold out too long before shifting away from the constant, direct pressure. Her limits are often different and he's patient in finding them out.]

You usually are.

[She tilts her hips against his hand, and she moves one of her hands behind her back and down her underwear to meet where his finger is still pressing against her, and her other hand is going down the front of his trousers]

[He makes a small sound of discontent - not quite 'uh-uh-uh' but the tone is similar, catching the arm reaching for him and holding her by it.]

You first.

[Multitasking has a limit, Satya.]

Gentleman.

[It doesn't take much longer before she shudders a bit, her orgasm pulling a sigh from her, her eyes focused on him]

Just didn't want to miss that.

[He's grinning as he kisses her, finally consenting to drag her underwear down her thighs, his damp fingers catching against skin.]

Most men are not interested in my orgasms.

[She just kisses him back, shifting her legs so she can pull her underwear off, and her hands go to his trousers]

You won't deny me this, I hope.

[Given that his hands are already helping her - and elasticated scrubs pants aren't exactly a complex removal job - denial isn't looking likely. There's no folding going on once they're off.]

[She moves, bends so one hand is gripping him and the flat of her tongue is against the head of his cock for a moment before she takes him in her mouth. Most men, if they knew what was in her mouth, wouldn't let her near them like this.

But it doesn't matter. She's very good with her tongue.]

[Most men might not have asked to see her with her teeth bared, let alone run a thumb over the surface, eyes darkening slightly with - interest? One word for it.

It's not directly on his mind now, but he'd be hard pressed to focus enough to say what was. His response is on his lips instead, low and strained, a stream of incomplete words that shouldn't have been part of a good catholic education.]

[She adjusts a little, but her mouth doesn't stop working on him, her eyes flicking up the line of his body, the fingers of her hand tracing the curve of his ass, down his thigh, gripping there, her fingernails in the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. Not hard enough to pinch, but hard enough to be felt]

[The inner thigh is a mass of sensitivities. If a doctor takes a blood sample from there he probably doesn't like you much, but the right kind of pressure in the right spot and-]

Fuck. [This time the expletive isn't incomplete.

It's too hard not to buck his hips, but he restrains himself enough with a hand white-knuckling the headboard to the bed not to make it too rough. The other hand threads upwards from the nape of her neck, catching her hair in a thick, dark bunch.]

[From the angle, he can't see how she unlatches her jaw, how her mouth widens to accommodate more of his length. But she notices how much he likes her nails on his skin, and smooths them down his inner thigh, then back up the other leg, the right kind of pressure, the right kind of catch.]

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