sunseeker | an ill-advised venture (for sarcaskick)

I might be.

[ Oh. Oh, this is good. He was worried that she'd delve into topics of feelings and family and honestly neither topic could go anywhere good, but he managed to get her stuck on his terms, in the muck where he regularly finds himself dwelling.

This is his game to win, even if this game wasn't really made to have a winner.

So he'll actually get up and slowly, deliberately, drag his chair around until it's next to hers, sitting back down in newfound proximity before meeting her gaze with a smirk. ]

Take your time. I've got all night.

[ Her heart is pounding in her ears, and that motion... does not help. Of course, she's not naive. She well understands that's the point. ]

You must think yourself very clever.

[ She pulls in a breath. Focus. Regain control of herself. Breathe out, let her smile return. She leans in somewhat, dragging a finger down his along his chest. ]

I did promise action. Is that what you want, then? A wall in one of darker corners, hoping nobody sees?

[ She would not actually consider this something low, but something new and exciting between ... friends? She does wish she'd managed a clearer answer on that earlier in the night. ]

I have a good thought from time to time.

[ What's especially funny to him is that she had asked him about his intentions earlier - and, with full honesty, he had answered that he didn't really have any. At the time, he couldn't have predicted things would swing just this way, and while he had certainly spoken suggestively he had mostly assumed she would deflect.

But just because he didn't have any intentions before didn't mean he lacked any now.

He doesn't retreat from the touch - in fact he reciprocates it with a touch of his own, his hand resting just above her knee with a light squeeze. ]

If you think I care about being seen, then you haven't really got me all figured out yet.

[ Good thoughts indeed. That's the problem with being a creature of impulse--things get taken too seriously, one too many called bluffs escalates. .... Not that she's complaining. Though a somewhat nervous laugh does spill from her lips. ]

That... was more for mine own benefit. An illusion of security, as it were.

[ She knows full well everyone is present is going to know what they're doing regardless of where they do it. But the idea of being pressed up against that back wall, mostly clothed feels ... safer, somehow, in spite of knowing better. Though it's not as though she's saying no either way.

Her palm flattens against his chest, and she tilts her head. ]

Might I kiss you?

[ An innocent question, given the context, but she'll still ask. Some seem to find the action too emotional, after all. ]

[ How?

Certainly, he had moved quickly with women before. A mutual agreement of the need for some physical relief, an itch that required impersonal scratching, an impulse sated with feelings left somewhere far behind. Those things, he was used to.

The fact that she requests the kiss, rather than simply taking it, is alien.

The fact that his stomach flutters even slightly - the fact that her request brings about the thought of her disarming smile from not long ago - is even moreso.

But, at the end of the day, Mercury is not one to deny his desires even when he questions them. So while one hand stays rested atop her leg, the other sneaks around the back of her head, fingertips grazing her nape. ]

You'd better, before I go mad.

[ Oh, thank the Twelve. She'd listen to whatever answer, of course, but working her away around that matter if he had said no would have been difficult. As it turns out, she wants to kiss him. Really, truly wants to, to a degree she's not certain she's comfortable examining.

Her fingers curl into the fabric of Mercury's shirt, and she pulls herself to his lips. Gently at first, pausing to feel the heat of his breath against her mouth, the lingering scent of the alcohol they've been consuming. She pulls back for a brief moment to look into his eyes, searching. Considering.

She thinks of testing that before I go mad bit, but being in much the same predicament, the desire to satiate herself wins over. She moves in to kiss him again--properly, this time. There's a deliberateness to it, the motions of her mouth slow and precise, yet so too is there a hunger there, a wanting of more. She ignores that, for now; she'd rather pace herself. ]

[ The way she kisses, too, is alien. "Gentle" generally doesn't fit into his vocabulary (unless it's accompanied by "teasing"), be it on the battlefield or in the bedroom or anywhere in-between. There are reasons for that. There is, in fact, a lot to unpack there. Thank goodness their mouths are otherwise occupied.

Alien, however, does not translate to bad - though truth be told there's more satisfaction to be found in the second kiss, when she begins pressing her lips to his in earnest, leading his fingers to thread through her hair in a light grip. The urge is there to go on the attack, so to speak, but there's a certain pleasure in letting her set the pace, feeling her lead the escalation.

It's nice to feel desired.

So he returns the kiss unhurriedly, savoring the hint of mulled wine on her lips; their drinks, now forgotten on the table, observe silently. His hand glides up her leg, palm running along her thigh before traveling back down, then up again in a slow rhythm. None of this had necessarily been his intention when he first invited her to the tavern.

But what will be, will be. ]

[ She can feel her breathing beginning to slow, each little breath growing heavier. There is a temptation to escalate things, and yet she finds herself continuing to want to move slowly, to drink deep of it until she can no longer stand it.

She's uncertain where she's found the patience.

She does move to undo his jacket, making eye contact as she slides doen the zipper, but she chooses not to remove it. It's simply easier to slide her fingers under his shirt this way, one hand squeezing his hip. The other, delicately tracing his abs. The feeling of skin under her fingertips helps ground, gives her hands something to do so she doesn't get overwhelmed.

Though she pulls her face back after a moment, flushed. It's getting.... Difficult to keep this up. ]

Can we move? [ she's almost loathe to, but truly, anywhere would do. The back wall, the stairwell, the bar, the filthy mattress kept upatairs-- ] I want to feel... smothered.

[ To be pinned into place, have his full weight pressing against her.

Perhaps she's losing her patience more quickly than she thought. ]

[ He wonders, at first, if she's actually going to go for the middle-of-a-crowded-tavern scenario when she unzips his jacket, sneaks her fingers beneath his shirt. Would he stop her? No... no, probably not. He has no grand reputation to uphold, and he always preferred living in the moment with no regard for the consequences.

It gets him in trouble sometimes. Trouble can be fun.

But she draws away, giving him the chance to take in the sight of her again - the new hint of color in her cheeks, the haze that comes over one's eyes when they're lost in the heat of the moment. It's a good look on her; he looks forward to seeing it again in the future.

... The future? No, no. Live in the moment.

Her request now is far less innocent than when she had simply asked to kiss, bringing out a low chuckle as his hand circles from the back of her head to cup her chin in his fingers. ]

Sure. But not too far.

[ The hand at her thigh slides up again, this time not stopping to retreat back to her knee but instead advancing further and further up, until his thumb finds itself pressed firmly between her legs. ]

I don't really think I can wait much longer.

[ Truth be told, the thought that she could even be allowed to back down hasn't occurred to her. She has a bad habit of being too honest--of taking what could be construed as a suggestion to heart. It might betray a certain innocence, but therein lies the rub: though she doesn't live on the shady underside of it, she's still a thrill-seeker at heart. A stubborn, impulsive one, easily swept in flights of fancy, at that. Such is like to make little quips dangerous, and so it is that the idea of saving her own dignity doesn't does not come to mind.

She's committed to her path. Thinking has been long abandoned. Foresight, she never had much to begin with.

Her breath hitches at where his finger lands, her fingers curling ever so slightly. She isn't going back on what she said she wants, but it's made it quite difficult to muster the willingness to stand. Her hips seem to want to rock into it on their own. ]

... Nor I.

[ She gives a weak smile, diluted by her own state of need, and disentangles herself to rise to her feet, relecutantly. She grabs one of Mercury's hands and pulls him along, not thinking much of it, or whether he'll chose to go along with it or not. But either way, she does not think she could wander far if she wanted to right now. Just a few feet, as the plan was all along. (A plan in her mind. Not an idea.)

She places her back against the wall and waits. ]

[ Of course he'll go along with it, and not just because there are a few ales influencing his mentality. There's a time and place to show defiance or to be difficult, and there's a time and place to go with the flow. It's true that he tends to lean hard towards defiance, often when he shouldn't (which, again, gets him in trouble) but when the reward is right in front of him it's easy to comply.

How far will she take them? A room wouldn't be the end of the world, but he was hoping for something a little less safe, a little more-- he can't even finish wondering about it before she's already stopped, positioning herself against the wall, and he's as relieved as he is excited.

She's fun.

She also doesn't have to wait long at all. There isn't another clever remark to foreshadow his advance - one step forward and he's on her, lips crushed against hers with ravenous intent, urging her legs apart so he can settle into place between them, their bodies flush against each other. His hands seek her hips as if to keep her still while his hips roll forward, pressing her against the wall with desperate friction.

"Smothered" was the word, wasn't it? ]

[ She exhales in relief at the contact, widening her legs compliantly, more than inviting him to press against her. Especially like that. Her hands snake around to his back, once again finding their way up his shirt. She soothes encouraging circles against his skin, pulling him towards her as though to encourage more weight. To not simply be held against the wall, but to all but crushed into it. The kisses are returned with equal hunger, though she does tilt her head, hoping she can guide him to her neck. She wishes could return that grinding motion, but with her hips held in place, she can but strain them somewhat.

Anyone could simply glance at them and know what they're doing--they are not being subtle. But she still has some sort of instinct to preserve her last little shred of dignity, breaths coming in sharp exhales. Biting down on her lip if she suspects she's about to make a noise. ]

I...

[ ... can't take much more of this, evidently. Her hands begin to trail towards his pants. ]

[ Her hands at his back get the message across as he leans into her aggressively; she may be small but she certainly isn't dainty, and he isn't going to treat her like a doll that may break if played with too roughly. He conveys that message in return when she offers him her neck, his lips and teeth finding her skin to not only kiss but bite, certain to leave some marks that are bound to last long enough to be the subject of some questioning gazes.

Not that questioning gazes are apparently a concern for either of them, all but rutting against the wall where anyone might see. But this isn't exactly a high-class establishment. As long as no one's getting murdered it's all fair game, and even the murder might be occasionally justifiable if enough coin is present. Suffice to say, even if they're seen, they're not likely to be scolded.

And hell, maybe Mercury even likes people to see. He likes to show off.

Her single word draws out a laugh, muffled against the skin of her throat, before he murmurs a reply. ]

You what? Speak up. My ears aren't as good as yours.

[ One of his hands slips behind her, cupping her ass in a rough squeeze. ]

[ The teeth against her neck all but do her in. It's always been a sensitive area for her, the heat of his breath sending tingles down her spine, heat stretching out to her limbs. The rough touches are a bit foreign, but something in them is enticing, and though she was already well past the point of wanting, it's begun to spill into need.

And need does some curious things. It's no longer a matter of preserving dignity--she genuinely finds forming sentences difficult, at the moment, even for as talkative as she can be at times. She's laughed and had conversations in bed before, but this is different. This, she can barely think clearly. ]

I want... more.

[ She hopes that's enough, but her pride has vanished. She'll say more if need be. She finally manages to get her hands around to his front, fumbling with his zipper, easing his pants down only enough to free his cock. She stares up at him in a desperate plea as she wraps her fingers around it. ]

[ Her words might not have been enough if they hadn't been accompanied by action, but her fingers speak well enough for her. She'll find him hardening in her grip, thick and eager, an eagerness that can be found in the heat of his gaze when she looks up. ]

Good.

[ His hands follow her lead to find the waistband of her shorts, which are annoyingly in the way. They could change positions, make it work, but... instead he unfastens them to tug them down right then and there, along with whatever undergarment may have been in waiting underneath. He only gets them down to just above her knees - she'll have to kick them off the rest of the way herself - but it's enough that he can roll his hips forward to press the head of his cock against her folds, gliding his length against her. ]

Get those off, and you'll have it.

[ She nods, swallowing thickly instead of replaying with words, still in a bit of a daze. As it turns out, the little shorts are her underthings, so she simply slides them down the rest of the way, pulling a boot through. They're left dangling from her other ankle instead of fully removed; she can't be bothered. She's too eager to feel that length against her again, trying to press her hips in to rub herself along it. The sensation of skin is so much better without layers of cloth in the way, and makes it exceedingly obvious how wet for him she already is. ]

I want you. Please.

[ It was not her intent to beg; it simply slips out. She looks up at him again, wanting to watch his face as the moment unfolds. ]

[ He looks back down at her at those words, the emphasis on "please" drawing out a particular thrill that sends a jolt through his veins. It's no secret that he has an ego, and it does love a good stroking, but there's something particularly exciting about hearing such desperation from her. Is it because she's the famed Warrior of Light, beacon of hope and virtue? Does he feel good about seeing her so debased?

... Maybe. Probably. His morality is as gray as his hair.

But he's had a hard, unkind life, and his worth has been devalued time and time again. So maybe it's just that feeling of being needed with such fervor, even if it is just physically.

Which it is. He definitely... definitely doesn't feel anything beyond that. No ma'am.

But right this second the only thing he wants to feel is her. So he grins down at her, shifting his hips to press the head of his cock against her folds, and slowly - deliberately slow - pushes forward to enter her inch by inch, hissing out a breath of relief as she envelops him. ]

[ The tip is always the most difficult part for her, stretching out the entrance of her pussy in a way that almost hurts even in spite of how slick she is. She clamps both her hands around her mouth for the initial hurdle, still not brave enough to cry out in the middle of the tavern, even though they're already getting plenty of attention; the rolled eyes, the snickers, even a cheer. It's a bit humiliating and...

And she doesn't know how to feel realizing that's giving her a little something extra. So she's not going to think about it.

Once the tip of his cock is fully inside her, it much easier for her to take the rest of him, let it sink deep inside her. But the slowness of it is agonizing, and she has to bite down on her gloves to suppress a whimper. She wants her hips to roll, but it's too difficult in this position. She'd need to toss a leg over his arm, or even have him hold her up. Right now, she feels capable of arranging neither of these things on her own--she's fully under his control. ]

M... Mercury.

[ It's comes out a little breathless. And more than a little desperate. ]

[ Her wetness is a real saving grace; there's certainly a difference in their size as he stands nearly a foot taller, to say nothing of size elsewhere. The ego gets another stroke as she reacts so visibly to his cock, speaks his name with want on her breath. To think he almost chose business over pleasure, tonight. What a grave mistake that might have been. ]

What's the matter? Afraid to speak up?

[ Wouldn't it be fun, he thinks, to make her break that silence.

His hips draw back, nearly far enough to unsheathe himself from her altogether, only to push forward again - and this time it's a proper thrust, rocking her body back against the wall, a wet smack accompanying the collision of their hips. Another, then another, at a slow but deliberate pace, with each thrust a little harder than the last. Perhaps from coincidence or from shared mentality he realizes that her legs could stand to be a little less in the way, reaching down to grab one beneath her knee and hoist it up before beginning to pound her in earnest.

His other hand travels back up to her head, fingernails dragging dully at her scalp just at the base of one of her catlike ears, which he leans down to groan into.]

Do I need to go harder?

[ It works.

She isn't expecting that first thrust to happen quite in the manner it does, just as she feels like she's adjusted to the girth inside of her. Just as she's letting her hands fall away. It's the surprise that makes her cry out at first, with nothing there to stop it. She tries to quiet back down, but as he hoists up her leg and they're able to find a better angle, all hope is lost. He penetrates right where she needs him, and she can no longer prevent herself from groaning into every thrust.

Gods that feels good.

While she still can, she rips her gloves off. They were fine before; now she wants to feel as much of his skin as she possibly can and begins to let her hands wander. The whisper against her ears sends a shiver down her spine, and her fingers curl, unconsciously scratching down his back. A souvenir, perhaps. ]

N-no... Just don't stop. Please don't stop. I--

[ There's another sharp cry as one of his thrusts hits and especially good angle, accompanied by a look somewhere between mortification and resignation. She's not trying to stop it anymore; she doesn't have the capacity to focus on much of anything but the feel of his cock stretching her out. ]

[ Mercury is, for the most part, selfish. He does what he wants because he wants to, and rarely takes into consideration the wants of others when it doesn't suit him. One might assume, then, that he would view sex similarly - a way to get himself off, without caring much about the satisfaction of his partner. As long as he gets his, what else matters?

One would be wrong - because it's only really enjoyable when your partner is giving back the same energy that you're putting in, and that only happens when their needs are being met. So he's learned to respond quickly when he finds something that works, something like the one spot he manages to hit that makes her cry out just right - it's easy to aim for that angle again and again, eager to hear just how loud she can be. It's why he leans down to let his mouth attack her neck and throat again, sucking against the skin hard enough to bruise. The nails down his back are certainly encouraging, from the way his back arches into the touch, hips working in a frenzy as if trying to pound her straight through the wall.

They've probably drawn a crowd; he can't be bothered to turn and look. ]

Good girl.

[ But if they're putting on a show, it might as well be a damn good one. ]

[ Much as she loves what he's doing to her, she wants to see more of that; the smug praise, the way he arches into her. Enough so to get her to go from embarrassment to actually embracing the noises of pleasure that keep escaping from her throat, continuing to rake her nails along his skin. The eyes around them are still a bit much for her to endure, so she keeps her gaze focused on Mercury as much as she able. The ceiling, when she can't, which gives him more space to access her throat, to give her more of those markings that make her skin sting and her extremities tingle. One of her hands lifts to his hair, simply wanting to comb through it at first, but the sensations are becoming overwhelming, and she curls a fist into it simply to hold on. ]

I-- [ There was a going to be sentence there, but it's cut off by a groan. How is he so good at hitting just the right spot? ] I'm getting close.

[ For better or worse, it's been a while, so her stamina in these particular proclivities is not at it's best. Whatever he wants to do with that, however, is his choice. It's clear enough that right now, she'll do almost anything she's told. ]

[ There's a grunt of appreciation from the way she grabs onto his hair - between that and the marks she's assuredly left from raking his back, it's pretty clear that he likes it when she digs in to show her appreciation. Big surprise, the guy who fights for a living enjoys a bit of pain with his pleasure.

It's easy to tell what it is that she enjoys - and her confession confirms that he's doing just what she needs him to. It might be fun to turn things around and deny letting her get what she wants for a bit. He could slow down, stop altogether, watch her squirm, make her beg. He did so love the way she sounded when she was desperate.

But he really wanted to hear how she sounded when she went sailing over the edge.

So he lowers his free hand to grab beneath her other knee to life it similarly, holding her against the wall more by the pressure of his body against hers than anything else, hips pounding relentlessly as he lifts his lips to her ear once more. ]

Go on. Do it. We're only getting started.

[ She might not be able to see it, but she can all but hear the grin in his voice. ]

[ She doesn't know how to say anything but nod meekly, the heat of his breath giving her goosebumps. Once he swings her second leg up she curls her other hand into his hair as well, gripping tightly to help keep balance, and because she feels like she needs something to keep them occupied.

There is cry there that sounds different in intensity from the others somehow, and he'll know he's met the end by how her words change, no longer a little noise from the back of her throat but something that's enunciated; how she cries out to the Twelve and begins to call out his name in a desperate plea, almost like a prayer.

Her pussy contracts and begins to quiver around his cock, and it's all she can do but to wrap her legs around his waist to ride it out as best she can. After a moment, her legs tremble and go slack, and she slumps against him, her strength suddenly gone. If he releases the weight against her, it's like that she'll just collapse to the ground without any help.

She's panting in exhaustion, her head left to rest against his chest while she can. Just the beginning...? She's not sure what she could possibly do in such a state. ]

[ There's something so immensely satisfying about hearing his name cried out alongside the Twelve, as if he was rising to their ranks through sheer physical gratification. It's nearly enough to bring him to climax just hearing it, and the way she clenches him tight with every part of her body that she's able brings him dangerously close, but...

Gods, is he a stubborn thing, to be so determined not to let this end so soon.

While he has her against the wall, limp as she is, he leans in to press his lips to her ear once more, whispering smugly. ]

'Atta girl.

[ But there's no fun in just doing the same thing again - staying here with her against the wall would just be a repeat, and he's all about changing things up. There's a room upstairs that's open for use (containing the aforementioned dirty mattress), and if she's going to need to lay down it seems better to go there than stay here. So he leans back from the wall, careful to manipulate her weight in doing so such that she's resting against him fully instead of having her fall back away from him. With his cock still buried inside of her he turns to carefully start making his way to the stairs; her legs may have gone weak, but his are more than strong enough for the journey. On the way he remarks to the bartender to "put it all on his tab", so hey, at least drinks are paid for!

It doesn't take long to make it to the room, kicking the door closed behind him before lowering her (and himself) to the bed so she can actually lay back, finally removing his cock from inside of her. ]

You still with us, Warrior?

an ill-advised venture (for sarcaskick)

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