poly_chromatic | 002

Entry tags:

blood plus - diva

002 - [ video ]

[ An underwear thief? How quaint. It's a shame she's far more used to going without then wearing any to begin with. She doesn't even notice its lack.

However, what might be just a little... strange is that there's a Diva showing on the flickering video screen, naked and curled around a cocoon. Two, in fact. Her precious babies. Crooning, she barely spares a glance to the video screen before she tapers off into a hum. ]

See what Karl's given me? [ she still hasn't gotten over it, the little gift that showed up on her doorstep one day, almost a week ago now. ] Don't even think of taking them back. [ her eyes glint a light blue, a warning to any deity hanging around. Or anyone else for that matter. Laughing, softly, she relaxes again and croons and caresses and hoards. ]

((ooc: open action to any housemates! And officially back from vacation now /o/ ))

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[ He's still kneeling at the foot of her bed -- a supplicant. It feels natural, right, even if he wants nothing but to seal all gaps between them. It's not in his nature to stay still, or deny himself. His hand splays across the small of her back as she inches backward, his upper-body flowing after her, against her. Gnawing at her throat -- the seat of those beautiful songs that tear him apart -- feeling the blood gallop beneath the skin. He traces a cool wet line across the bridge of her collarbone, down the slope of her chest, diverting to the two points of her breasts. Teeth and tongue, bites and suction, before nipping down her belly. ]

[ So many ways to worship her. But all it'd take is a glance or word from her to curb his path, to speed or slow his tactics. ]

[ He's hers to command. ]

[ she doesn't command, she mewls, voice catching in her throat as she shivers beneath his every touch. It didn't take much to get her going; it didn't take much to get her to stop.

But this? She simply hooked her legs around him, tugging Karl closer even as she bent upward, wrapping her fingers into that lush, silky hair. Wherever he was going, she approved. Wherever he wished to kiss, she hungered for it. Wherever he touched... it burned. ]

[ The mewl makes his blood sing, a plucked chord. Her shiver sparks his, racing up his body and out his mouth in a sigh. He can never presume to 'be someone' in her presence: he is only what she makes him -– and often, who she shatters him into. And for now he'd just her Chevalier. ]

[ His only purpose is to give his Queen a satisfying ride. ]

[ His hand, starfished across her back, slides down to one of her legs, hooked around him. He lets it rest there, feeling smooth skin and the strain and flex of muscle -- a sensate weathervane. Teeth biting the sensitive skin of her inner-thigh, his long hair a cool tickling brush, before his mouth presses to the center of her heat. He doesn't insinuate. He doesn't tease. He tastes with a cool wet tongue and long slow licks. ]

[ her stomach tensed at the first touch, a quiet, languorous sigh stretching full straight out of her body with the second. She looks down at him, eyes hooded in distinct pleasure at the bent of his head, the straight blackness of his hair shifting with each movement.

A satisfying ride indeed.

Still, it was lonely, just watching him, his one arm incapable of doing the work of two, and with a slow undulation against his mouth, she stretched. Arms rising above her, she let them fall slowly, caressing her skin, the slope of her breast, the dusty rose of a hardened nipple. She ached for this, she ached for more.

If Karl couldn't do the full job, she'll just take a hand in it herself. ]

[ He keeps his eyes open even as his mouth works. Memorizing her responses -- a bright neotic snapshot for moments (there will always be moments -- he's Karl and she's Diva and their affections and moods are never static) -- when she'll wrench herself apart from him. Punishing him with her distance. Except that cruel tantalization is what chains him so securely to her. ]

[ Keeps him begging for more. ]

[ His gaze darkens, tracking the path of her hand. His own slips up to echo her route, soaking up her heat and softness, worrying the springy nipple under his own fingers before pinching softly. Meanwhile he swirls his tongue around that flushed bundle of nerves between her thighs, languid, hungry, before slipping lower, his mouth pressing tight to her, cool and slicked. Focused, intensely, on the sound of her voice -- drinking in her every sound and breath to restructure his actions anew. ]

[ her breaths were coming quickly, never one to prolong pleasure when she could seize it. That was Amshel's game. She took no delight in playing it. Grasping his hand, she dragged it down her body, digging the nails into her flesh, scoring it.

Pain to counter the pleasure, a burst of white hot need that flooded her body in undulating waves. The first tremors, the first prelude to fulfillment. She was shaking, but not yet there. She needed more, she needed faster, she needed...

Pushing him way, pulling him up, she demanded that he rise above her, over her. However empty the act, she needed the illusion. Her children, her chevalier, everything that was hers right there next to her, in her.

Life ]

[ If she craves violence then violence is what he'll bestow. His jagged mind no longer differentiates between pain and pleasure -- half her tutelage, half under Amshel's. His nails rake her skin in hot lines of red, the aroma of her blood delicious. Dizzying. The wounds will close at once, smooth as melted glass. But he can't resist the urge to break from her and crane his head, to lap at the beads of blood. Rarest of treats, holiest of holies. A forbidden taste. ]

[ When she pushes and pulls, he obeys, catching his weight above her on the points of knees and his one arm. Settling against her then, his body a cool bony weight, as his hand drops between them to unfasten his trousers. The waves of her heat are so strong, ceaseless. Seeking more -- everything -- he guides his erection against the seam of her body. No playfulness. No artistry. He pushes inside, one deep slick stroke, feeding her cool breath from his parted lips. And all the galloping intense urgency spins away, replaced by perfection. ]

[ The act may be empty for her. But never to him. This, to a Chevalier, is the apogee of bliss. ]

[ yes, fight her, carve her up. Tear her to pieces and then ravage her whole. If she wanted delicacy, she'd turn to Solomon. If she wanted fondling, she'd seek out Amshel. If she wanted coddling, she'd ask Nathan.

No, this was what she wanted. This cool heat, this distant pain that grounded her, that pinned her to the sheets. She could feel him, deep inside and her hips rolled against his, seeking a higher tension, a better, closer fit. She was not inclined for patience on a good day but even that patience could be stretched thin. Her eyes turned dark blue, not the bright of irritation, but the dark of contemplation. Her arms moved to stretch above him, around his back.

And then she smiled, nails raking down his sides even as he had pierced her own skin. Delicious pain, delicious thrust. She gathered up a bead of blood and -- like for like -- licked it up. ]

[ He gasps as her nails dig in, leaving red furrows. Dips his head to crush their lips together, teeth catching, blood slicking the already coppery kiss. All black-burn and energy and violence -- but with something so sweet and needy darkening the edges of every touch. He's no more a creature born for patience than she. Especially not now, when he has everything he most wants. ]

[ Her presence in the City, his arms, his each waking thought, is precious and terrifying. ]

[ Not wanting to balance on one arm, to deny himself the chance to touch her, he rolls them onto their sides, her thigh notched over his hip. Starts a hard grinding rhythm, deep pressure and slick friction, his palm spanning the warm expanse of her back, splaying to dig into her hip, hard enough to bruise. But his kisses to her mouth are worshipful, blissful -- a pure inverse of the feral atmosphere spinning between them. ]

[ Even in the midst of their most filthy and violent games, he's always the one figuratively prostrated at her feet. ]

[ and she'll kick and scar him at every turn. Her eyes drifted closed, half lidded as she practically purred in slick pleasure at his sick perversions, the taste of blood on her lips a call to nip back, to taste his own blood again.

She was starving, but was full. She was bursting with restless energy, but trapped in the mingling of breath and flesh, her fingers yanking on hair as she moved, pressing first into him and then against Karl's hand. Her own rhythm was stilted, lacking grace as she twisted and bucked, frustrated.

She was, in a word, i>Diva, and while her body clenched tight around Karl's, she strove toward her peak. If Karl came with her, all the better, but with each tight clench of his hand on her hip, each droplet of blood on her lips, she lost another precious tendril of control. Rolling, she pinned him to the bed, riding him as she gave no thought to his pleasure, only her own.

Prostrated? Don't make her laugh. He was just the stepping stone to her passions, her needs. He was, simply, Karl. ]

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002 - [ video ]

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