Perhaps most women might be intimidated or put off by the fact that he could smell her arousal, which was growing each moment, with every one of his actions. Ninon would not take umbrage with it. After all, it wasn't as though he'd be able to hide his own arousal for long. Perhaps it put them on an even more level playing field and in the end, he would know how she was truly feeling.
As he sets her down on the bed, she looks up at him as he expresses his very real concern, the moment slipping from playful to more serious. For a moment, she thinks he worries about hurting her in a way a man might hurt a woman the first time they are intimate and she almost laughs.
But then she remembers who he is, what he is. Shifting beneath him slightly, she reaches up to touch his face, thumb tracing his lips. She so rarely sees his teeth, he keeps them so well-hidden from the world, a symptom of the prejudice he lives with. "Darling," she murmurs softly. "I am no stranger to pain." She is a woman, after all. "But I give you my word to tell you if you are hurting me, if that will ease your worry."
Slipping her thumb against his lips a little more, she wants to coax his mouth open so she can see his teeth. "Just remember, that the sounds I might make are ones of pleasure and not agony. There's a very fine line. "
Benedict continues to frown at her, despite her reassurance that all is well, totally unsure of all this even though she seems blithely unconcerned with the fangs that will be making very close friends with rather intimate parts of her anatomy.
"You don't know that," he responds somewhat peevishly, "I haven't done anything yet."
She might make sounds of agony, she doesn't know.
Still, he obligingly lets her part his lips, her thumb slipping between them so she can poke and prod at his canine teeth. Benedict is scrupulously careful about his teeth nearly every moment of the day. It is one of the reasons he is so soft-spoken, why he murmurs asides to those around him instead of loudly declaring his thoughts, why he smiles with his lips together and huffs quiet laughs through his nose instead of braying out his amusement with the unselfconscious abandon of humans. There is nothing he can do to hide his eyes, short of wearing sungoggles day in and day out, but at least he can keep others' attention away from his mouth.
Whatever heat she'd been feeling moments ago is gone now, his worries are like a splash of cold water. She cannot fault him for having them. How could she? And she cannot say that she is well-versed in what it is like to be physically intimate with a warriorborn and what instinct might drive him to do, should he lose his concentration (like she wants him to). And yet...
"You are not a beast, Benedict," she reminds him firmly, her thumb slipping from his lips as she refuses to inspect him like a farmer might inspect his dog's mouth. "You are more controlled than most men I have ever met. And you have proven yourself capable of kissing me without harming me." There's a prickle of disappointment (that she hides very well) that comes with what she is about to say.
"However, you need not let your worries ruin your enjoyment of this. I am quite capable of bringing pleasure upon myself." She offers him a wicked smile, accepting that this liaison may have its limitations but she will not put an end to it simply because he is cautious about using his mouth or hands. "You may watch if you like."
She pulls her hand away from his mouth, chiding him for believing himself incapable of restraining himself, and while he does appreciate the sentiment and her firm convictions, he also think that perhaps she should acquaint herself with the teeth that will be brought so close to her body. So, instead of letting her hand drop completely, he catches it and lifts it one more to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm as she continues to speak, offering to let him watch her pleasure herself.
That is a very interesting prospect.
"I am a scholar above all things," he jokes, trying to lift the mood once more now that he's brought it crashing down to the Surface. "And I do enjoy watching you."
Carefully, slowly so that she may pull her hand back if she so wishes, he shifts his grip on her hand and draws it back to his lips, opening his mouth so that he can very gently press her thumb to his sharp teeth. He leaves it there, giving her the choice to press harder or to pull back, watching her seriously over their entangled fingers.
"I thought you would be tired of it by now," she teases softly, letting him make his attempt to elevate the mood if only because she desperately wants him to be more at ease. Intimacy and sex are difficult enough as it is without one or both persons being tense.
However, before she can get to it, he keeps her hand at his mouth, after having kissed her palm. Watching with a curious expression, it is clear what he means to do after a moment, her thumb now pressing against his teeth. She feels no urge to pull her hand away, although there is a modicum of fear knowing what those teeth might be able to do. However, she does not doubt his restraint. After all, it'd taken her this long to get him in her bed, hadn't it?
She carefully sides her thumb over the sharp edges, like one might touch a knife, light and gentle, cautious not to make a quick move. "I trust you." Is that what he needs to hear from her? Because she thought he knew this by now. "The choice is yours."
He feels painfully vulnerable, perched as he is over her with his mouth hanging open, her thumb brushing over his teeth. Even though he put her hand there, he all but forced her to touch them, he cannot help but feel uncomfortable with the whole thing, his deeply-ingrained habit of keeping them away from others warring with the knowledge that it's a stupid way to behave, and she doesn't care about his teeth.
Mentally squaring his shoulders, he forces down the discomfort welling in him and focuses instead on the look on her face, the soft tone of her words.
"I would like to watch you," he confesses after a moment, licking her thumb almost playfully as he pulls away enough that he can speak without her fingers garbling the words. "Though I would also like to touch, I think."
"At the risk of sounding like a besotted idiot or a poet of some sort... I think you are perfect."
She pulls her hand gently away from his mouth after he tells her that he would like to watch her but to participate in some way. If that is the compromise they need to make, she is willing to make it. There is time, she hopes, to push boundaries later. With experience, comes confidence, so in time; he will come to trust his own restraint, she hopes.
"You will need to undress me first." It's an almost laughable request given that all she has on is one silky shift and nothing else.
It's not that he never believed her interest in him — that would be difficult to do, as Ninon has been the instigator in nearly all of their affectionate moments, most notably the very first time she kissed him just on the other side of that door in her library — but he almost feels like this is the first time he can really believe it.
The pink in his cheeks has nothing to do with shame right now, and when he rolls his eyes and huffs, the expression he wears is far more bashful than he thinks a man his age should be looking.
"I know I don't have any experience with this, but I'm fairly certain that's my line," he murmurs, letting himself sway down enough that he can kiss her, soft and chaste as is his wont.
If he's going to undress her, he's going to need both hands free, so once he's had his fill of kissing her for the moment, he shifts his weight back until he's kneeling over her — he pauses for a second to set this moment indelibly in his memory, the way she looks sprawled beneath him with her hair loose about her head and her nightgown doing very little to cover her at all — and then slowly, carefully, starts to tug the silk she wears higher up her body.
She has done little to hide her attraction to him, there's no denying the way her eyes follow him about a room, the way she pulls him into her embrace whenever possible is wanton, desirous. And it would sadden her to know that even then he did not truly understand it.
There is a look on his face she has never seen before and she revels in it, her lips quirking at the corners as she resists pulling him in for a kiss until he speaks and moves to do the same. "I am the one corrupting you," she points out, pressing a slower, deeper kiss to his lips before he can pull away.
He works the silk up her body with those hands of his and she moves with him, arching off the bed when the fabric catches and then sitting up enough so he can pull it from her body, leaving her completely bare beneath him.
"That is very true," he agrees equanimously, smiling down at her. "You are a terrible influence on me."
He doesn't really sound very much like he cares, though.
Finally, once he has pulled the silk of her nightgown fully off of her and has dropped it carelessly off to the side somewhere, he can sit back on his heels and look at her properly. During his studies, Benedict has learned to view the human body with a sense of clinical detachment. In fact, at one point during his schooling, he had spent a memorable lesson learning anatomy on a cadaver, using the body of a deceased tradeswoman from a lower habble. It had been...strange. She had smelled lifeless, and like the chemicals used to preserve her. Touching her body had been unnerving.
Now, as he sets one broad palm on the gentle sloping plane of Ninon's belly, the only feeling he can hold on to is wonderment and fascination.
"You are so beautiful," he breathes, with the sound of a confessional, letting his eyes trace her body in its entirety, from the elegant slope of her shoulders down to the full weight of her breasts, the dip of her waist and the gentle flare of her hips, the blond curls nestled at the apex of her long, shapely thighs.
If she were a younger, less experenced woman, she might feel uncomfortable just laying there completely bare before him. She might feel awkward as his eyes move along her body, his expression one of awe and keen interest.
But he is not the first man to share her bed and she is confident enough in the way she looks to lay contently upon the bed and let him look at her for as long as he pleases.
When he touches her, her eyes flutter and her stomach makes a similar movement. His hand is outrageously warm against her skin, the sensation delightful against the chillier air of her room (despite the fire in the hearth nearby). "Thank you," she murmurs softly, lifting one hand to touch herself, hand sliding up along her own side until she cradles a breast, perhaps instructing him or perhaps simply due to her impatience to be touched.
She had said she was going to touch herself. Benedict remains kneeling over her, one hand on her belly and the other resting on his own thigh, watching keenly as she slides her own hand up the length of her body, settling with cupping her breast. She can be certain that he is mentally taking notes of this experience, so that when he touches her of his own volition, he will know what he's doing and what it is she likes.
"Do you still want to watch?" She asks with a playful sort of smile, watching his gaze fall to what her hand is doing. Her other hand moves now to slide slowly up his arm, teasingly, enticingly.
"Yes," he replies instantly, watching her as she touches herself, as she touches his arm, her fingers curling in the fine cotton of his sleeve. Is he ever going to be able to look at her hands and not think of how her fingers look bracketing her nipple? Will he ever be able to smell the scent of her skin as she passes by and not think about this moment, with her spread out before him like an offering, teasing him with coy smiles and the promise of more?
The hand at his arm reaches out as best she can to push him back some, just so she can have the room to move but also to torture him slightly. If he is to make her do all the work, she will have a little fun with it.
Once he's settled, she lets the hand not already touching herself move between her thighs with no preamble, fingers slowly dipping between to already slick skin. Her eyes stay on him as she slowly strokes her fingers, just feeling herself for a moment.
Shuffling backwards on her bed, Benedict shifts happily to give her some more room to work, glad for his cat-like eyes as they allowed him to keep from missing a single moment as she takes the hand not on her breast and slides it purposefully between her thighs.
He can feel her eyes trained on his face, but he cannot help but watch instead the motion of her fingers, the way she strokes idly, the scent of her becoming stronger as she delves between her labia to touch what he has really only ever encountered in a diagram in a book.
Despite the fact that he had just said he wanted to watch her, he finds himself sliding his hand from her belly down across her hip, wanting to touch her himself but also not wanting to knock her hand away, winding up touching her thigh with a cautious sort of indecision.
For all his insistence that he might hurt her, she trusts that he will not. And there is no apprehension in her as his hand moves along her skin.
She'd had a feeling he may not be content to just sit there while she does the heavy lifting, so to speak. Benedict can be patient and still but he is also a man of action.
Still, she lets herself fall into touching herself, eyes falling shut as she shifts her fingers and starts to rub small circles at that bundle of nerves that gets her heated more than any other touch.
The hand at her breast squeezes and pulls as she moves her hips a little against her hand, a few gasps falling from her lips (one or two are soley for his benefit).
Ignorant of women's pleasure as he is, Benedict does not know if the noises slipping from Ninon's lips are, in fact genuine. But, knowing what he knows of men's pleasure, being a man himself and also having spent a large portion of the last ten years living in dormitory situations with others of his own gender, he knows enough to be at least a touch suspicious.
Benedict is no stranger to masturbation, even though he does not particularly indulge in the habit himself, and despairs of the entire invention when others around him do. (They seem to forget what he is, late a night when the urge strikes; he can hear every rustle of clothing, every slick slide of skin, can smell the musk and bitter saltiness that ensues. It's quite upsetting, to be honest, since it almost always manages to pull him out of a decent doze well on the way to a true sleep, and then he struggles for an hour or more to fall back asleep after his now-sated neighbor is snoring away contentedly, truly relaxed.)
Still, feigned or not, this time Benedict has no problems with enjoying the sounds of Ninon's gasps, or with watching her avidly as she shifts to meet the touch of her hand.
In shifting to settle on the bed properly, he has moved to kneel over her legs, more or less pinning them together. At the time, it hadn't even registered as something that might pose a problem to him, but now that he is here, watching her touch herself, he has discovered a major drawback to this situation: he cannot actually see very much. So, sliding the hand he has left on her thigh out to her flank, he curls his fingers beneath her leg and tugs gently, coaxing her to shift beneath him so that in the end she can drape her legs over his thighs as he kneels between her legs.
While Benedict may abstain from touching himself, Ninon does not. As a widow, a woman unwed trapped in a manor where any companionship with or attention given by men would be noticed, she has to provide herself her own forms of pleasure.
Her fingers are practiced at what she's doing. There are times she likes to draw out her pleasure and there are times when she is frustrated enough that it only takes a few minutes to come to climax (those times have recently been preceded by watching Benedict in the training yard, shirtless).
For now, she knows she should draw it out, although when he moves, he makes it a little harder for her to move, although it does increase the pressure of her fingers for a moment. It does not, however, last long before he is repositioning her and soon enough her legs are spread and draped over his legs.
"You have entirely too many clothes on, Benedict," she murmurs, fingers slipping lower to press inside of herself, giving him something to think about and see.
For all his vaulted senses, the supposed superiority of his hearing et cetera, when Ninon speaks to him, it takes him quite a long time to respond, struck dumb as he is by the sight of her pressing those long, slender fingers inside herself.
This is very different than how it had seemed in his textbooks.
Finally, her words pierce the fog blanketing his mind, and he shakes himself a little, swallowing audibly before tearing his eyes away from her fingers and instead looking up at her face. She has a point. Ninon isn't wearing a stitch, and yet Benedict has only taken off his jacket. His saber is still bumping against his leg.
Nodding dumbly, he flexes his hands and then shifts to rectify the situation for her, undoing his belt with slightly clumsy fingers, peeling it away from his hips and letting it and the sword attached fall to the floor beside the bed before lifting his hands to the polished buttons that trip down the length of his chest on his waistcoat.
His slowed response only makes her smile a most self-satisfied sort of grin. Never before has she seen him so distracted, taken from his senses and well... human. Not even the first time she'd kissed him and settled in his lap.
Her fingers keep to a lazy pace as he works on getting his belt and waistcoat off. "I do like you in your waistcoat but I think I will much prefer you naked." It's not a hard assumption to make, given how she feels about seeing him barechested.
And to encourage him further (or perhaps to distract him), she starts moving her fingers faster, deeper before she moves them back, now slick, to rub a little higher, where she usually gets better results.
Benedict is not, intellectually, ignorant to the fact that he is considered handsome. From behind, certainly, when it is impossible to tell if he is human or warriorborn, he knows he cuts a fine figure. Tall, broad-shouldered, and athletic, he is exactly what a young guardsman should be. And, according to the mostly-unbiased claims told him by his cousin, his face is not displeasing either. However, being what he is, most of the interest thrown his way tends to fizzle out quickly once he is discovered to be warriorborn, so quite early on he decided he would simply ignore any and all interest shown in him so that it would not sting so when it waned.
Ninon's interest does not seem like it is waning in the slightest.
Partially because he is so distracted, and partially because he cannot help but preen a little under the frank enjoyment in her eyes as she watches him, he takes his time undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, popping them out one by one and letting the heavy ethersilk brocade fall open, revealing the plain cotton of his shirt beneath.
"Have you spent much time considering the prospect?" he asks, amused, as he finishes with the final button of his waistcoat and reaches up to pull out his cravat instead of shrugging out of the waistcoat immediately. "Or have you been spying?"
Ninon does not and has not ever discriminated when it comes to what she finds attractive, gender can be included in that although she very much prefers the physicality of men. Benedict is more than handsome, he is a sight to behold in her opinion, one she has coveted for too long. And now that she has her chance, she will not waste one moment.
"Spying of course," she murmurs with a playful whisper, distracted momentarily from her touches as she speaks. "But I suppose I should say that a lady never tells." If he wants to take his time getting undressed, that's his prerogative, she, on the other hand, would take this time to push herself towards that delicious peak.
Her eyes fall shut as there is not much to see yet, focusing instead on how to better touch herself. She hums softly in slight frustration at the position, the friction is not enough. Her hand moves restlessly, alternating between thrusting her fingers inside of herself or stroking higher, putting him out of her mind (or rather thinking of what he might do to her later, to help arouse her further).
It truly is fascinating to watch her. Benedict finishes with his cravat and also deposits it somewhere off the side of the bed, all while staring at her fingers as she touches herself, making note of what she seems to prefer and just how firm her touches can be. Perhaps it is just as well that she offered to let him observe first: he would never have been so firm with his fingers had she put them on her without instruction, too afraid of hurting her by pressing too hard or rubbing the wrong way.
At least he always keeps his fingernails scrupulously neat. He very much would like to mimic what she's doing, and the thought of accidentally nicking her with an errant chip on his nail is horrifying to even contemplate.
His shirt is easy to remove, now that he has finished with his cravat and waistcoat, and he hauls it over his head quickly enough, dropping it off to the side like all the rest, leaving him bare from the waist up. Leaning over her once more, he nuzzles in to kiss her, wanting desperately to touch but not wanting to distract her from her end goal too much.
"Now that I know I have an audience during training, I will be sure to put on a better show for you," he promises, amused at the thought that she'd been watching him as he ran with the other recruits or sparred in the courtyard. Did she come back to her rooms and do this to herself afterwards, thinking about him? He hopes so.
"Not always," she breathes out distractedly, against his lips. Her eyes flutter open as she feels his body closer to hers, feels the heat of it and then the warm brush of his bare skin against her own. Her smile is distracted, his words having brought her out of her reverie for a moment.
And as if she could read his thoughts, "Sometimes I have to stop watching, to go to my rooms and do this." She draws in a sharp breath when she feels a spike of pleasure as she finally hits the right combination of touches, her body involuntarily arching upward in response. Her free hand moves to his arm, fingers curling around tightly, trying desperately not to move too much but riding towards that restless feeling you get when you're about to come, the one that begs you to stop and keep going at the same time.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2018-12-12 03:22 am (UTC)As he sets her down on the bed, she looks up at him as he expresses his very real concern, the moment slipping from playful to more serious. For a moment, she thinks he worries about hurting her in a way a man might hurt a woman the first time they are intimate and she almost laughs.
But then she remembers who he is, what he is. Shifting beneath him slightly, she reaches up to touch his face, thumb tracing his lips. She so rarely sees his teeth, he keeps them so well-hidden from the world, a symptom of the prejudice he lives with. "Darling," she murmurs softly. "I am no stranger to pain." She is a woman, after all. "But I give you my word to tell you if you are hurting me, if that will ease your worry."
Slipping her thumb against his lips a little more, she wants to coax his mouth open so she can see his teeth. "Just remember, that the sounds I might make are ones of pleasure and not agony. There's a very fine line. "
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Date: 2018-12-12 03:42 am (UTC)"You don't know that," he responds somewhat peevishly, "I haven't done anything yet."
She might make sounds of agony, she doesn't know.
Still, he obligingly lets her part his lips, her thumb slipping between them so she can poke and prod at his canine teeth. Benedict is scrupulously careful about his teeth nearly every moment of the day. It is one of the reasons he is so soft-spoken, why he murmurs asides to those around him instead of loudly declaring his thoughts, why he smiles with his lips together and huffs quiet laughs through his nose instead of braying out his amusement with the unselfconscious abandon of humans. There is nothing he can do to hide his eyes, short of wearing sungoggles day in and day out, but at least he can keep others' attention away from his mouth.
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Date: 2018-12-12 03:55 am (UTC)"You are not a beast, Benedict," she reminds him firmly, her thumb slipping from his lips as she refuses to inspect him like a farmer might inspect his dog's mouth. "You are more controlled than most men I have ever met. And you have proven yourself capable of kissing me without harming me." There's a prickle of disappointment (that she hides very well) that comes with what she is about to say.
"However, you need not let your worries ruin your enjoyment of this. I am quite capable of bringing pleasure upon myself." She offers him a wicked smile, accepting that this liaison may have its limitations but she will not put an end to it simply because he is cautious about using his mouth or hands. "You may watch if you like."
no subject
Date: 2018-12-12 04:04 am (UTC)That is a very interesting prospect.
"I am a scholar above all things," he jokes, trying to lift the mood once more now that he's brought it crashing down to the Surface. "And I do enjoy watching you."
Carefully, slowly so that she may pull her hand back if she so wishes, he shifts his grip on her hand and draws it back to his lips, opening his mouth so that he can very gently press her thumb to his sharp teeth. He leaves it there, giving her the choice to press harder or to pull back, watching her seriously over their entangled fingers.
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Date: 2018-12-12 04:11 am (UTC)However, before she can get to it, he keeps her hand at his mouth, after having kissed her palm. Watching with a curious expression, it is clear what he means to do after a moment, her thumb now pressing against his teeth. She feels no urge to pull her hand away, although there is a modicum of fear knowing what those teeth might be able to do. However, she does not doubt his restraint. After all, it'd taken her this long to get him in her bed, hadn't it?
She carefully sides her thumb over the sharp edges, like one might touch a knife, light and gentle, cautious not to make a quick move. "I trust you." Is that what he needs to hear from her? Because she thought he knew this by now. "The choice is yours."
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Date: 2018-12-12 04:16 am (UTC)He feels painfully vulnerable, perched as he is over her with his mouth hanging open, her thumb brushing over his teeth. Even though he put her hand there, he all but forced her to touch them, he cannot help but feel uncomfortable with the whole thing, his deeply-ingrained habit of keeping them away from others warring with the knowledge that it's a stupid way to behave, and she doesn't care about his teeth.
Mentally squaring his shoulders, he forces down the discomfort welling in him and focuses instead on the look on her face, the soft tone of her words.
"I would like to watch you," he confesses after a moment, licking her thumb almost playfully as he pulls away enough that he can speak without her fingers garbling the words. "Though I would also like to touch, I think."
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Date: 2018-12-12 04:23 am (UTC)She pulls her hand gently away from his mouth after he tells her that he would like to watch her but to participate in some way. If that is the compromise they need to make, she is willing to make it. There is time, she hopes, to push boundaries later. With experience, comes confidence, so in time; he will come to trust his own restraint, she hopes.
"You will need to undress me first." It's an almost laughable request given that all she has on is one silky shift and nothing else.
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Date: 2018-12-12 09:29 am (UTC)The pink in his cheeks has nothing to do with shame right now, and when he rolls his eyes and huffs, the expression he wears is far more bashful than he thinks a man his age should be looking.
"I know I don't have any experience with this, but I'm fairly certain that's my line," he murmurs, letting himself sway down enough that he can kiss her, soft and chaste as is his wont.
If he's going to undress her, he's going to need both hands free, so once he's had his fill of kissing her for the moment, he shifts his weight back until he's kneeling over her — he pauses for a second to set this moment indelibly in his memory, the way she looks sprawled beneath him with her hair loose about her head and her nightgown doing very little to cover her at all — and then slowly, carefully, starts to tug the silk she wears higher up her body.
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Date: 2018-12-12 03:08 pm (UTC)There is a look on his face she has never seen before and she revels in it, her lips quirking at the corners as she resists pulling him in for a kiss until he speaks and moves to do the same. "I am the one corrupting you," she points out, pressing a slower, deeper kiss to his lips before he can pull away.
He works the silk up her body with those hands of his and she moves with him, arching off the bed when the fabric catches and then sitting up enough so he can pull it from her body, leaving her completely bare beneath him.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-12 08:25 pm (UTC)He doesn't really sound very much like he cares, though.
Finally, once he has pulled the silk of her nightgown fully off of her and has dropped it carelessly off to the side somewhere, he can sit back on his heels and look at her properly. During his studies, Benedict has learned to view the human body with a sense of clinical detachment. In fact, at one point during his schooling, he had spent a memorable lesson learning anatomy on a cadaver, using the body of a deceased tradeswoman from a lower habble. It had been...strange. She had smelled lifeless, and like the chemicals used to preserve her. Touching her body had been unnerving.
Now, as he sets one broad palm on the gentle sloping plane of Ninon's belly, the only feeling he can hold on to is wonderment and fascination.
"You are so beautiful," he breathes, with the sound of a confessional, letting his eyes trace her body in its entirety, from the elegant slope of her shoulders down to the full weight of her breasts, the dip of her waist and the gentle flare of her hips, the blond curls nestled at the apex of her long, shapely thighs.
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Date: 2018-12-12 08:37 pm (UTC)But he is not the first man to share her bed and she is confident enough in the way she looks to lay contently upon the bed and let him look at her for as long as he pleases.
When he touches her, her eyes flutter and her stomach makes a similar movement. His hand is outrageously warm against her skin, the sensation delightful against the chillier air of her room (despite the fire in the hearth nearby). "Thank you," she murmurs softly, lifting one hand to touch herself, hand sliding up along her own side until she cradles a breast, perhaps instructing him or perhaps simply due to her impatience to be touched.
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Date: 2018-12-12 08:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-12 09:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-12 09:14 pm (UTC)Probably not.
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Date: 2018-12-12 09:37 pm (UTC)Once he's settled, she lets the hand not already touching herself move between her thighs with no preamble, fingers slowly dipping between to already slick skin. Her eyes stay on him as she slowly strokes her fingers, just feeling herself for a moment.
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Date: 2018-12-12 09:56 pm (UTC)He can feel her eyes trained on his face, but he cannot help but watch instead the motion of her fingers, the way she strokes idly, the scent of her becoming stronger as she delves between her labia to touch what he has really only ever encountered in a diagram in a book.
Despite the fact that he had just said he wanted to watch her, he finds himself sliding his hand from her belly down across her hip, wanting to touch her himself but also not wanting to knock her hand away, winding up touching her thigh with a cautious sort of indecision.
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Date: 2018-12-12 10:07 pm (UTC)She'd had a feeling he may not be content to just sit there while she does the heavy lifting, so to speak. Benedict can be patient and still but he is also a man of action.
Still, she lets herself fall into touching herself, eyes falling shut as she shifts her fingers and starts to rub small circles at that bundle of nerves that gets her heated more than any other touch.
The hand at her breast squeezes and pulls as she moves her hips a little against her hand, a few gasps falling from her lips (one or two are soley for his benefit).
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Date: 2018-12-12 10:18 pm (UTC)Benedict is no stranger to masturbation, even though he does not particularly indulge in the habit himself, and despairs of the entire invention when others around him do. (They seem to forget what he is, late a night when the urge strikes; he can hear every rustle of clothing, every slick slide of skin, can smell the musk and bitter saltiness that ensues. It's quite upsetting, to be honest, since it almost always manages to pull him out of a decent doze well on the way to a true sleep, and then he struggles for an hour or more to fall back asleep after his now-sated neighbor is snoring away contentedly, truly relaxed.)
Still, feigned or not, this time Benedict has no problems with enjoying the sounds of Ninon's gasps, or with watching her avidly as she shifts to meet the touch of her hand.
In shifting to settle on the bed properly, he has moved to kneel over her legs, more or less pinning them together. At the time, it hadn't even registered as something that might pose a problem to him, but now that he is here, watching her touch herself, he has discovered a major drawback to this situation: he cannot actually see very much. So, sliding the hand he has left on her thigh out to her flank, he curls his fingers beneath her leg and tugs gently, coaxing her to shift beneath him so that in the end she can drape her legs over his thighs as he kneels between her legs.
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Date: 2018-12-12 10:29 pm (UTC)Her fingers are practiced at what she's doing. There are times she likes to draw out her pleasure and there are times when she is frustrated enough that it only takes a few minutes to come to climax (those times have recently been preceded by watching Benedict in the training yard, shirtless).
For now, she knows she should draw it out, although when he moves, he makes it a little harder for her to move, although it does increase the pressure of her fingers for a moment. It does not, however, last long before he is repositioning her and soon enough her legs are spread and draped over his legs.
"You have entirely too many clothes on, Benedict," she murmurs, fingers slipping lower to press inside of herself, giving him something to think about and see.
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Date: 2018-12-12 10:37 pm (UTC)This is very different than how it had seemed in his textbooks.
Finally, her words pierce the fog blanketing his mind, and he shakes himself a little, swallowing audibly before tearing his eyes away from her fingers and instead looking up at her face. She has a point. Ninon isn't wearing a stitch, and yet Benedict has only taken off his jacket. His saber is still bumping against his leg.
Nodding dumbly, he flexes his hands and then shifts to rectify the situation for her, undoing his belt with slightly clumsy fingers, peeling it away from his hips and letting it and the sword attached fall to the floor beside the bed before lifting his hands to the polished buttons that trip down the length of his chest on his waistcoat.
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Date: 2018-12-12 10:49 pm (UTC)Her fingers keep to a lazy pace as he works on getting his belt and waistcoat off. "I do like you in your waistcoat but I think I will much prefer you naked." It's not a hard assumption to make, given how she feels about seeing him barechested.
And to encourage him further (or perhaps to distract him), she starts moving her fingers faster, deeper before she moves them back, now slick, to rub a little higher, where she usually gets better results.
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Date: 2018-12-12 11:04 pm (UTC)Ninon's interest does not seem like it is waning in the slightest.
Partially because he is so distracted, and partially because he cannot help but preen a little under the frank enjoyment in her eyes as she watches him, he takes his time undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, popping them out one by one and letting the heavy ethersilk brocade fall open, revealing the plain cotton of his shirt beneath.
"Have you spent much time considering the prospect?" he asks, amused, as he finishes with the final button of his waistcoat and reaches up to pull out his cravat instead of shrugging out of the waistcoat immediately. "Or have you been spying?"
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Date: 2018-12-13 12:32 am (UTC)"Spying of course," she murmurs with a playful whisper, distracted momentarily from her touches as she speaks. "But I suppose I should say that a lady never tells." If he wants to take his time getting undressed, that's his prerogative, she, on the other hand, would take this time to push herself towards that delicious peak.
Her eyes fall shut as there is not much to see yet, focusing instead on how to better touch herself. She hums softly in slight frustration at the position, the friction is not enough. Her hand moves restlessly, alternating between thrusting her fingers inside of herself or stroking higher, putting him out of her mind (or rather thinking of what he might do to her later, to help arouse her further).
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Date: 2018-12-13 12:40 am (UTC)At least he always keeps his fingernails scrupulously neat. He very much would like to mimic what she's doing, and the thought of accidentally nicking her with an errant chip on his nail is horrifying to even contemplate.
His shirt is easy to remove, now that he has finished with his cravat and waistcoat, and he hauls it over his head quickly enough, dropping it off to the side like all the rest, leaving him bare from the waist up. Leaning over her once more, he nuzzles in to kiss her, wanting desperately to touch but not wanting to distract her from her end goal too much.
"Now that I know I have an audience during training, I will be sure to put on a better show for you," he promises, amused at the thought that she'd been watching him as he ran with the other recruits or sparred in the courtyard. Did she come back to her rooms and do this to herself afterwards, thinking about him? He hopes so.
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Date: 2018-12-13 12:45 am (UTC)And as if she could read his thoughts, "Sometimes I have to stop watching, to go to my rooms and do this." She draws in a sharp breath when she feels a spike of pleasure as she finally hits the right combination of touches, her body involuntarily arching upward in response. Her free hand moves to his arm, fingers curling around tightly, trying desperately not to move too much but riding towards that restless feeling you get when you're about to come, the one that begs you to stop and keep going at the same time.
"Touch me. Please."
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