Is there something else you'd like to ask for, Sasha?
[ she scrapes her teeth across the exposed bone of his hip as she patiently unbuckles and unloops his belt, rolls it carefully — it's one of the nice leather ones she'd bought for him, after all — and sets it aside.
she looks plainly up at him while she unfastens the button and zipper of his trousers, easing them and his underwear too down around his ankles. that glint is still there, in her eye. starving and steely. ]
( it's an order couched in a question, casually issued like she can't imagine he'd possibly disobey her.
his lips part, fingers flexing at his side like he's testing a theory, reminding himself that nothing of real consequence has changed. that he's still himself in all the ways that matters. )
Please — I want... ( draws his tongue across his teeth. ) I want you.
[ she reaches for his shoe. picks up his foot to ease it off, then the sock. she'll have him bare if she can get him. the neutrality of her expression is wasted when his cock is jutting between them. she hasn't touched it yet, tells herself she won't until he says the words. ]
Unless there's something particular you want from me. You're usually so eloquent.
( he makes a frustrated — perhaps even a little panicked — noise in the back of his throat. it isn't simply that she's going to make him say it. it's that he remembers, rather vividly, her doing this thing before and how much he'd enjoyed crumbling. )
You don't want me eloquent.
( it's one of the strangest things about her, honestly. how little she seems to care about the polish. )
[ once he's bare, she settles her palms on his thighs. her face is near enough to his cock that on every exhale, she can feel how her breath stirs around the obstruction. ]
I don't want you coy, either.
[ the playfulness leaks out of her expression. a ship with a hole in it. her nails dig in a little. ]
You want to cum, don't you? You want me to suck your cock. Say it. [ she wets her lips, hungrier for the plea than the actual act. ] Say, "Please, Sankta, suck my cock."
( the hand not currently gripping the window sill like it's the only thing keeping him upright settles in her hair. cautious, careful. she's not permitted him to touch her yet. )
Please, Sankta Alina, Daughter of the Fold, suck my cock. Make me cum. Even though I am so very unworthy.
[ her hand shoots up, grabs his hand at the wrist. she fixes him with a sharp, joyless expression. it's perhaps unfair. she tries to think of how things had been that week, the one they'd shared together in utter belief that this was the way things were meant to be. the only peaceful week of her life she can recall. had he been so contrary then? what she sees as critical now, had it then been playful? she hesitates, trying to decide.
the pills were supposed to make it easier. but they won't do anything for her memories, the way they taint every gesture. ]
And for a Submissive, you have a smart mouth. Maybe I should slap it.
[ it is not quite asking, as crais had urged her to do. but announcing her intention, at least, will give him the opportunity to rethink his answer if he doesn't want that. ]
( he goes very still. it only takes a moment to realize how he's overstepped — the shadow of menace undercutting her words suggests that he has one chance to fix this and one chance only.
[ his apology troubles her. it feels wrong, somehow. ill-suited to him, yes, but more than that. it feels too fully like their positions have reversed. like she is the monster here, and he is more helpless than she'd ever been. more vulnerable.
a shocked silence follows. she is not quick enough to console him, not quick enough to respond because despite the ease she feels in fulfilling her role, she is not at ease with what it means for the two of them. she does not want to break him. ]
It's alright. You're learning. [ she loosens her grip on his thigh. rubs it — smooth, encouraging. something stutters in her chest. suddenly, strangely, she feels like she is not herself. she had hoped to get closer to that other self, the untroubled self, by taking this medication, by demanding it of him too, but — instead she feels more foreign to herself. more unfamiliar. ] What will you say if it's too much? Pick a word.
( the first word that comes to mind. a grim reminder of the cost of letting anyone this close, especially her.
she's being far more tender with him than he truly deserves. even he knows that. what makes it all the worst is realizing that perhaps they could have had this far sooner if not for his pride. )
a shiver rolls through her. like he's just shared with her his greatest fear, and also the thing he'd tried to serve to her on a platter. if she had ever believed he might be faking, might not really have taken the pill, those last questions fade away now. no doubts can remain in the wake of that choice.
alina closes her hand around his cock, strokes him gently. too solid to tease, but too slow to go anywhere but to ensure that he has not lost any of his firmness in their little lapse. ]
Good. [ she wets her lips. ] Now try again. Make me believe you mean it, or you'll have only my hand.
There's nothing in the world that I want more than for you to touch me.
( the admission should feel liberating. instead it feels like he's given her something he'll never be able to take back. something raw and deeply personal.
[ with the hold she has on his wrist, she brings his hand to her face. her hand slides from wrist to the back of his palm. cupping his hand there. soft.
her other hand slides to the base of his cock so she can lean in, taking just the tip of him into her mouth. a little tease. barely more than an open-mouthed kiss. brief and wet. she licks him, then. the tip, the underside along the shaft.
she takes her time as she hadn't been able to, that day. learns the smell of him. her chest tightens with a grief she can't place. ]
( he goes very still. watches her move over his body like she's mapping new territory, cautious rather than avaricious because she's gotten what she wanted from him and this is clearly enough for her.
saints, let it be enough. he already feels like every muscle and every nerve is strung tight, poised to snap. trembles with the urge to move, to do something, anything. but he can't. not yet. not until she gives him permission. )
[ she can feel a tremor in him. tension. she wants to believe it's not that he's afraid of her. he would use that word if he were, wouldn't he? she brings her hands to his thighs, glides along them with soothing, encouraging strokes. ]
Let go. Stop worrying and focus on the feeling. Do you like what I'm doing?
[ she stops speaking to take him into her mouth, deep into her throat, eyes shut with the focus necessary to do it. she's sorry to not be able to watch his reactions, but she listens anyway as she sets a rhythm, sliding her lips up and down the length of him, pressing the tip of him along the roof of her mouth with every down-stroke. she takes only as much as she can safely — half of him, barely. ]
( that's easier said than done. he can't remember, truthfully, the last time he really let himself simply be.
certainly not without the city's helpful little nudges.
he breathes out through his nose, eyes pressing shut, because he doesn't dare look at her just now, just yet. not when it's already on the verge of being too much. )
[ she lets him fill her throat. gags on him. digs her fingertips into his hips to hold him steady so she can decide on the pace, the depth.
she finds herself missing his foul mouth. the assurance with which he had coached her through this once before. these sentiments pop like bubbles. gone in an instant, unable to sink in and find purchase. she is comfortable here. satisfied. there is a chemical running through her that tells her so. and even if she were not, she would never ask him for that. especially not after what he'd done.
she pulls back. ] How does my mouth feel, Sasha? Do you like fucking your Saint's throat? Is this how you want to come?
( a tremor of pleasure rocks his body. even the dig of her nails—vicious little crescents that are sure to leave a lasting mark—isn't enough to quiet the whimper that catches in the back of his throat.
it's humiliating. pitiful. yet not nearly enough for him to end things despite that little word sitting on the tip of his tongue. )
It's, ( he must look crazed, casting about for words to describe how he feels when the evidence is throbbing against her shining, perfect mouth. ) too much.
( she's going to wring him dry regardless, he thinks. hopes. the thought that she might leave him like this is almost too much to bear. )
[ it is the opposite of that, of course. it's a denial. he is near enough to the edge, to his limit, and she cuts him off. she rises to her feet, planting hands on his shoulders, examining him like a piece of fine furniture. ]
his impatience bleeds through with every action, all restless movement as he rushes to oblige her request. although it can't take longer than a few minutes to undress her, it feels like an eternity before he is touching warm, bare skin. )
[ she can't help but laugh at his earnestness. in part because it's so uncharacteristic of the darkling, who is all patient and placid like the surface of a dark lake. even his anger runs cold instead of hot. this is neither. this is a dog eagerly lapping up what food it's given. ]
Aren't you eager. [ she places her palm on the crown of his head as he helps her first out of her heels, then pants. they make a clumsy pile on his dirty floor, so sharp and bright and out of place. ] That's enough. Go lie down.
( a brief glance toward the bedroom. 'bedroom' is being generous, but there's a mattress that's (mostly) clean and the press of the chemical swimming in his blood driving him to swallow down whatever protests he may have.
it's a short journey, at least.
propping himself up on his elbows, he tracks her like a dog waiting for a treat. )
[ she approaches him. she has seldom been so comfortable with her own nakedness. not with her memories, anyway. but alina straddles him, settles over him, takes his hands and plants them on her hips, guides them up to her chest.
but she does not take him inside of her. instead, she presses her cunt against the underside of his length, pressing the tip up towards his abdomen. she rocks her hips, showing him how slick she is already, how ready. ]
You're not going to come before me. If you get too close, if you even think about it, I'm going to stop and ride your face instead. Do you understand?
( what does it say about him that he wouldn't entirely mind that? being used. a conversation to be had later, maybe, assuming she lingers once she's done with him.
he swallows. ) I'll do my best.
( he can't give her much more than that. and he doesn't think she'd want it, anyway. not with everything that still sits between them. )
[ he's left off that little nudge of respect, and she doesn't intend to allow him to forget it. she rocks her hips as she asks, a slow shift upwards, as if she were coaxing the words out of him: sankta alina, moya soverenyi, the particulars don't matter. ]
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[ she scrapes her teeth across the exposed bone of his hip as she patiently unbuckles and unloops his belt, rolls it carefully — it's one of the nice leather ones she'd bought for him, after all — and sets it aside.
she looks plainly up at him while she unfastens the button and zipper of his trousers, easing them and his underwear too down around his ankles. that glint is still there, in her eye. starving and steely. ]
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his lips part, fingers flexing at his side like he's testing a theory, reminding himself that nothing of real consequence has changed. that he's still himself in all the ways that matters. )
Please — I want... ( draws his tongue across his teeth. ) I want you.
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[ she reaches for his shoe. picks up his foot to ease it off, then the sock. she'll have him bare if she can get him. the neutrality of her expression is wasted when his cock is jutting between them. she hasn't touched it yet, tells herself she won't until he says the words. ]
Unless there's something particular you want from me. You're usually so eloquent.
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You don't want me eloquent.
( it's one of the strangest things about her, honestly. how little she seems to care about the polish. )
I want you any way you'll let me have you.
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I don't want you coy, either.
[ the playfulness leaks out of her expression. a ship with a hole in it. her nails dig in a little. ]
You want to cum, don't you? You want me to suck your cock. Say it. [ she wets her lips, hungrier for the plea than the actual act. ] Say, "Please, Sankta, suck my cock."
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( the hand not currently gripping the window sill like it's the only thing keeping him upright settles in her hair. cautious, careful. she's not permitted him to touch her yet. )
Please, Sankta Alina, Daughter of the Fold, suck my cock. Make me cum. Even though I am so very unworthy.
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the pills were supposed to make it easier. but they won't do anything for her memories, the way they taint every gesture. ]
And for a Submissive, you have a smart mouth. Maybe I should slap it.
[ it is not quite asking, as crais had urged her to do. but announcing her intention, at least, will give him the opportunity to rethink his answer if he doesn't want that. ]
I'm not convinced you want this at all.
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he ducks his head, expression softening. )
I'm sorry, I ... I'll be better.
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a shocked silence follows. she is not quick enough to console him, not quick enough to respond because despite the ease she feels in fulfilling her role, she is not at ease with what it means for the two of them. she does not want to break him. ]
It's alright. You're learning. [ she loosens her grip on his thigh. rubs it — smooth, encouraging. something stutters in her chest. suddenly, strangely, she feels like she is not herself. she had hoped to get closer to that other self, the untroubled self, by taking this medication, by demanding it of him too, but — instead she feels more foreign to herself. more unfamiliar. ] What will you say if it's too much? Pick a word.
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( the first word that comes to mind. a grim reminder of the cost of letting anyone this close, especially her.
she's being far more tender with him than he truly deserves. even he knows that. what makes it all the worst is realizing that perhaps they could have had this far sooner if not for his pride. )
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a shiver rolls through her. like he's just shared with her his greatest fear, and also the thing he'd tried to serve to her on a platter. if she had ever believed he might be faking, might not really have taken the pill, those last questions fade away now. no doubts can remain in the wake of that choice.
alina closes her hand around his cock, strokes him gently. too solid to tease, but too slow to go anywhere but to ensure that he has not lost any of his firmness in their little lapse. ]
Good. [ she wets her lips. ] Now try again. Make me believe you mean it, or you'll have only my hand.
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( the admission should feel liberating. instead it feels like he's given her something he'll never be able to take back. something raw and deeply personal.
he blows out a breath, brow furrowing. )
Please, Sankta. Grant me relief. Let me be yours.
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her other hand slides to the base of his cock so she can lean in, taking just the tip of him into her mouth. a little tease. barely more than an open-mouthed kiss. brief and wet. she licks him, then. the tip, the underside along the shaft.
she takes her time as she hadn't been able to, that day. learns the smell of him. her chest tightens with a grief she can't place. ]
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saints, let it be enough. he already feels like every muscle and every nerve is strung tight, poised to snap. trembles with the urge to move, to do something, anything. but he can't. not yet. not until she gives him permission. )
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Let go. Stop worrying and focus on the feeling. Do you like what I'm doing?
[ she stops speaking to take him into her mouth, deep into her throat, eyes shut with the focus necessary to do it. she's sorry to not be able to watch his reactions, but she listens anyway as she sets a rhythm, sliding her lips up and down the length of him, pressing the tip of him along the roof of her mouth with every down-stroke. she takes only as much as she can safely — half of him, barely. ]
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certainly not without the city's helpful little nudges.
he breathes out through his nose, eyes pressing shut, because he doesn't dare look at her just now, just yet. not when it's already on the verge of being too much. )
It's perfect. You're perfect.
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she finds herself missing his foul mouth. the assurance with which he had coached her through this once before. these sentiments pop like bubbles. gone in an instant, unable to sink in and find purchase. she is comfortable here. satisfied. there is a chemical running through her that tells her so. and even if she were not, she would never ask him for that. especially not after what he'd done.
she pulls back. ] How does my mouth feel, Sasha? Do you like fucking your Saint's throat? Is this how you want to come?
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it's humiliating. pitiful. yet not nearly enough for him to end things despite that little word sitting on the tip of his tongue. )
It's, ( he must look crazed, casting about for words to describe how he feels when the evidence is throbbing against her shining, perfect mouth. ) too much.
( she's going to wring him dry regardless, he thinks. hopes. the thought that she might leave him like this is almost too much to bear. )
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[ it is the opposite of that, of course. it's a denial. he is near enough to the edge, to his limit, and she cuts him off. she rises to her feet, planting hands on his shoulders, examining him like a piece of fine furniture. ]
Why don't you help me with my clothes?
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his impatience bleeds through with every action, all restless movement as he rushes to oblige her request. although it can't take longer than a few minutes to undress her, it feels like an eternity before he is touching warm, bare skin. )
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Aren't you eager. [ she places her palm on the crown of his head as he helps her first out of her heels, then pants. they make a clumsy pile on his dirty floor, so sharp and bright and out of place. ] That's enough. Go lie down.
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it's a short journey, at least.
propping himself up on his elbows, he tracks her like a dog waiting for a treat. )
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[ she approaches him. she has seldom been so comfortable with her own nakedness. not with her memories, anyway. but alina straddles him, settles over him, takes his hands and plants them on her hips, guides them up to her chest.
but she does not take him inside of her. instead, she presses her cunt against the underside of his length, pressing the tip up towards his abdomen. she rocks her hips, showing him how slick she is already, how ready. ]
You're not going to come before me. If you get too close, if you even think about it, I'm going to stop and ride your face instead. Do you understand?
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he swallows. ) I'll do my best.
( he can't give her much more than that. and he doesn't think she'd want it, anyway. not with everything that still sits between them. )
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[ he's left off that little nudge of respect, and she doesn't intend to allow him to forget it. she rocks her hips as she asks, a slow shift upwards, as if she were coaxing the words out of him: sankta alina, moya soverenyi, the particulars don't matter. ]
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