It's like strong wine, hearing these things, feeling these things from him. He worships her body like he really means it. Her body has never been a thing of decoration, though she always secretly wished it could be. From the time her magic manifested, her body was meant to work hard for other people, not look pretty. Meant to house an invulnerable leader.
And here she is, bare and vulnerable underneath him but for her leggings, and he says she is beautiful.
She arches up against his touch, breathing raggedly.
He does mean it. Every word, every kiss, every caress - there is nothing in
them save sincerity, save a youthful honesty. He knows her position, knows
what one day she will need to become, but it never mattered to him.
His hands slide down her body, her thighs - stroking them through the thin
fabric before he lets his hand wander further between them, pressing his
palm against her, feeling the heat that's also rushing through him. He
moves his hand, rubbing gently, reverently, even as his other slowly pulls
the waist of her leggings down over her hips. His heart is racing, shifting
his body up to take a slightly clumsier kiss, more of desire, now, than
gentleness, though he is still tender.
A soft whimper escapes her, her fingers tangling in the grass, in her own hair, as her hips jerk against his hand. An involuntary giggle bubbles out, because bodies are strange and sort of funny and sometimes they move without you telling them to like that. It's swallowed by the kiss, which sweeps her well away from the "bodies are weird" thought and up into the clouds again, covered by his body and taken by his mouth. She kisses him back with as much passion, rolling up against him, fingers burying in his hair.
Her giggle brings a bright warmth to his chest, to his cheeks, to the tips
of his ears. An almost painful fondness, and he can't help but chuckle as
she does, and then kiss her all the more deeply as soon as that giggle
disappeared back into need. He groans into her lips as he pushes her
leggings, her small clothes, down past her knees. His hand returns,
pressing between her thighs, and heat is intoxicating. His body burns with
desire, a tremble rushing up his spine as he carefully sinks a single
finger into her warm, inviting body.
His breath comes quick, burying his face against her neck, breathing hard
as he explores her. "Creators," he groans, a quiet curse.
Pel moans, knees parting further so she can wrap her legs around him, oh, it's sinful what's happening right now. Not how he's making her feel, but the rush she gets from having this passive power over him, that she can make him desire her so badly simply by being desirable.
"Gavin," she groans, hips rocking against that hand partway buried in her.
His name, in that voice, goes straight to his blood - rushing in his ears,
pooling down into his groin. "Pel," he moans back to her, his finger moving
rythymically inside of her, a second sliding in along the first. He grinds
slowly against her, completely focused on her pleasure but unable to keep
his body from displaying its own reckless need.
He tries to distract himself - knows that the longer he can delay, the
longer he can hold back, the more he'll hear those moans of pleasure on her
lips, the more he'll feel her body writhe below him. So he moves his lips,
curving his body away from her so his mouth can wander down her chest, find
the curve of her breast, the supple flesh - his lips and teeth teasing.
He chuckled - he couldn't help it - sliding his fingers free as he moved against her, positioning himself.
"Can you blame me?" He whispered, his chest fluttering with something bright as he pulled her thigh up against him, as he sunk himself into her with a shuddering sigh. He pressed close, stealing her lips. "But I could never deny a request--"
Whatever Gavin was, rough and hard were not accurate descriptors for him. But eager to please certainly was, and here in the grass under the sun, buried up to the hilt inside the woman he loved most in the world, he was currently willing to do anything she asked.
So he braced himself - one hand straining and clenching into the ground below him, the other gripping tightly to the flesh of her thigh, and he gave her exactly what she asked for. He thrust, as hard as the angle would allow him, a strangled gasp leaving him, and then he thrust again.
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And here she is, bare and vulnerable underneath him but for her leggings, and he says she is beautiful.
She arches up against his touch, breathing raggedly.
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He does mean it. Every word, every kiss, every caress - there is nothing in them save sincerity, save a youthful honesty. He knows her position, knows what one day she will need to become, but it never mattered to him.
His hands slide down her body, her thighs - stroking them through the thin fabric before he lets his hand wander further between them, pressing his palm against her, feeling the heat that's also rushing through him. He moves his hand, rubbing gently, reverently, even as his other slowly pulls the waist of her leggings down over her hips. His heart is racing, shifting his body up to take a slightly clumsier kiss, more of desire, now, than gentleness, though he is still tender.
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Her giggle brings a bright warmth to his chest, to his cheeks, to the tips of his ears. An almost painful fondness, and he can't help but chuckle as she does, and then kiss her all the more deeply as soon as that giggle disappeared back into need. He groans into her lips as he pushes her leggings, her small clothes, down past her knees. His hand returns, pressing between her thighs, and heat is intoxicating. His body burns with desire, a tremble rushing up his spine as he carefully sinks a single finger into her warm, inviting body.
His breath comes quick, burying his face against her neck, breathing hard as he explores her. "Creators," he groans, a quiet curse.
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"Gavin," she groans, hips rocking against that hand partway buried in her.
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His name, in that voice, goes straight to his blood - rushing in his ears, pooling down into his groin. "Pel," he moans back to her, his finger moving rythymically inside of her, a second sliding in along the first. He grinds slowly against her, completely focused on her pleasure but unable to keep his body from displaying its own reckless need.
He tries to distract himself - knows that the longer he can delay, the longer he can hold back, the more he'll hear those moans of pleasure on her lips, the more he'll feel her body writhe below him. So he moves his lips, curving his body away from her so his mouth can wander down her chest, find the curve of her breast, the supple flesh - his lips and teeth teasing.
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"I'm not made of glass," she says at last, oddly articulate. "Take me, please, Gavin..."
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"Can you blame me?" He whispered, his chest fluttering with something bright as he pulled her thigh up against him, as he sunk himself into her with a shuddering sigh. He pressed close, stealing her lips. "But I could never deny a request--"
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"Now good and hard. Please, vhenan, Gavin..."
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Whatever Gavin was, rough and hard were not accurate descriptors for him. But eager to please certainly was, and here in the grass under the sun, buried up to the hilt inside the woman he loved most in the world, he was currently willing to do anything she asked.
So he braced himself - one hand straining and clenching into the ground below him, the other gripping tightly to the flesh of her thigh, and he gave her exactly what she asked for. He thrust, as hard as the angle would allow him, a strangled gasp leaving him, and then he thrust again.