Come Sail Away IC Inbox

[crushed_pearls]

Erin's voice mail message is in a weary voice: "Erin Peters. If you called in the middle of the night and I didn't answer, I'm dying. If I pick up and someone on your end isn't dying, they will be shortly. Text otherwise."

Comments

[abhorrently]

She'd known 44 was strong ever since she killed her, but there's feeling someone's strength aimed at destroying you and then feeling the same wrapped around you, lifting her with seeming ease. And exposed as she is, Fever welcomes the kisses, the touches, even as her hands fidget some in the cuffs from the reflex to want to touch her, draw her nearer. She hopes the bruises linger for a little while, her breathing and heart rate starting to pick up, a little sound when 44 hits an area that's particularly sensitive.

"How many times will you stab me if I make a crack about worshiping right now?"

It's a little breathless, no bite there as Fever tries to make certain she can stay still enough to not fall backwards.

[arrayerofrazors]

"Worshiping is the idea," 44 murmurs into 17's belly; she runs her tongue along the skin there, tracing a scar. "If I do my job right the altar will overflow with your libations, y'know."

She looks up with a teasing grin, and sinks down, and down, kissing, biting...

One hand on each of Number 17's knees, to part them. 44 bites her inner thigh, hard.

[abhorrently]

She likes everything that grin promises, and the bad joke she was contemplating dies in her throat for it. Instead she lets herself be moved, anticipating - and the sound that comes from teeth in her flesh is wordless, mixed pleasure and pain. It still hurts, of course it does, but it feels good all the same, firing along the same lines as if 44 had decided to tease her more directly.

A hurt that grabs her and makes her sink into her skin, really, keeping her pinned to here and now. That's definitely going to leave a mark for later.

[arrayerofrazors]

"You want to be hurt, don't you?" 44 murmurs, nuzzling the ring of tooth marks she's left on that soft flesh. She kisses the wound, fingers trailing 17's legs with feathery strokes. "I can do that. Just enough to feel good..."

Her lover is lopsided now. That needs fixing. Teeth sink into Number 17's other thigh before the Darkling nuzzles in closer; she's taking deep breaths through her nose. It's almost animalistic, like she's scenting for something...

[abhorrently]

What she won't say is that it all feels good, in its own way. Placing her life in 44's hands, the woman could do much worse than a few bites, and Fever would accept it under these conditions for the sake of feeling it. But the matched bite sends another throb through her body, making her exhale shaky, heart beginning to pick up in her chest. And though it takes her a second to place what 44 is doing, when she does get it, it settles into her body as a low heat.

Scenting her. There's whatever the Village left on her, with their clothes and their grounds and the day to day. There's the dust of the crypt they have her sleeping in, though it lacks the detachment from time. And then there's her, half-elven and willingly in 44's power, and this situation assuredly arouses her.

[arrayerofrazors]

Her face drifts closer; teasing, it has to be teasing on purpose. Scenting and smiling, looking at 17's nudity with a decidedly satisfied air. Nudging her folds with just the tip of 44's nose, playful and ever-so-gently mocking.

"Mine," the darkling breathes at last.

Her licks are long and slow, at first. She keeps stopping to smear the taste of her new lover all around her lips.

[abhorrently]

Anticipation is its own form of winding the tension closer, and she feels 44's eyes on her as a physical weight. Touching her without touching her, keeping her from being able to do more than wait, and it's novel. There's a difference between the bonds the Village wants to keep her in, and the ones she submits to - in one, she is safe.

Hers, for now. And being hers means that 44 can hear the way Fever breathes in, out slowly, a little more ragged. Eyes drifting half shut, focusing on feeling. The unyielding stability of the altar, the warmth of 44's mouth. It's a good contrast, and she enjoys it thoroughly.