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.
"I can't believe you," he breathes, sounding awed and amused and very, very pleased. "Here I am, bettering myself for the benefit of the Spire, and you watch from the balconies thinking base thoughts about my body."
If she cared to look, if she wasn't quite so distracted by her own impending orgasm, she might notice just what that thought does to him, the effect watching her touch herself has wrought on his own body. His trousers, while snug on the worst of days, are indeed quite tight right now, especially at his groin, where his hard cock is straining against the material in a most distracting fashion. Benedict ignores it completely for the moment, still focused on her instead, and when she begs him to touch her, he happily obliges.
Careful to not get in the way of her hand as she works herself over, he places the hand he is not using to brace himself above her back on her body, trailing his fingers along her side until he can cup her breast as she had been doing, kneading her flesh gently for a moment before circling her nipple with his fingertips, tweaking the flesh as she had done before she grew too distracted.
"As you know, as of late, my hobbies are limited to what I can do in the manor," she murmurs, sounding more breathless than she means to, but amused by his teasing nonetheless. She feels no shame in admitting that to him, it is only right that he knows how much he stirs her. And she will tell him as many times and as often as it takes for him to truly believe it.
She will marvel at his cock later, to be sure. For now, she's a little more focused on her own body, on the way she's making herself feel. His touches are nice for a moment but with every passing second, she gets more and more worked up. And soon it is not enough.
Anxious to come, her voice is rough with need as heat threatens to come over her but stays frustratingly at bay. "More. Please. Your mouth. On my neck."
"Am I to be added to your list of hobbies, then?" he asks, not minding in the slightest if the answer is 'yes.' There are worse things he could be considered, he knows.
He bends further to oblige her, nosing briefly at the hinge of her jaw before sliding his lips over her neck, kissing her carefully, chaste as first as always and then slowly growing less and less so, his mouth hot and wet on her skin as he tastes her sweat beneath his tongue.
That is what she wants, his mouth hot and wet against her skin, to feel that sensation of heat. And that's all it takes to send her right over that edge, without even answering his question. Her fingers work at a furious rate right until she gasps out, her whole body shuddering, trembling, back bowing, which presses her chest into his.
Moaning low, for a moment, she cannot sense anything but a warm body above hers, his mouth hot at her neck and white-hot heat racing through her as she falls, falls, falls. It's an all-consuming moment before she falls back against the bed, practically panting.
Her hands move to clutch at his face, dragging his mouth to hers for a kiss even though she isn't even sure that she can breathe.
The scent of her his overwhelming, and Benedict can't help but pant, open-mouthed against her neck as her climax peaks, leaving her shuddering beneath him, her body pressing up against his and her shivers all but telegraphing from her body into his own. He can't help but press into her in response, bearing down against her and instinctively rocking his hips down towards her, her wrist between his groin and hers. It doesn't seem to bother him any, as he does it again, letting her tug his face up from her neck so she can kiss him breathlessly.
It takes a moment for her to wade through the fog that is the aftermath of her orgasm. But when she does, she feels his obvious arousal, even through layers of cloth. It's hard to miss with the way he's grinding it against her wrist. Humming softly, she decides that she very much approves of the idea of his cock being hard already, just by the fact he'd seen her naked, seen her come undone.
She deepens the kiss as best she can while still struggling to catch her breath. And when she finally pulls away from his mouth, her voice is a ragged whisper. "That, Benedict, is a woman's pleasure."
He hadn't meant to start grinding down against her, it had been instinct. And, like most instincts, it was rather difficult to stop once he started, and so despite the fact that he knows he should pull back and make some sort of quip as to why women don't do that all the time, forget getting anything useful done with their lives, Benedict finds himself instead continuing to suck in unsteady breaths through his open mouth, feeling drunk on the smell of her and the heat building in him, his hips jerking a handful more times before the urge that had been coiling at the base of his spine erupts through him, leaving him shuddering above her instead of the other way around.
After, once he realizes just what an ass he's made of himself, he moans, mortified.
"Oh god," he groans, rolling off her and landing on the bed beside her so he can cover his face with his hands as the situation demands, hiding the fiery red blush that has stained his cheeks and spilled down to his chest. This is a nightmare.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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).
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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?"
no subject
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).
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
Date: 2018-12-13 12:52 am (UTC)If she cared to look, if she wasn't quite so distracted by her own impending orgasm, she might notice just what that thought does to him, the effect watching her touch herself has wrought on his own body. His trousers, while snug on the worst of days, are indeed quite tight right now, especially at his groin, where his hard cock is straining against the material in a most distracting fashion. Benedict ignores it completely for the moment, still focused on her instead, and when she begs him to touch her, he happily obliges.
Careful to not get in the way of her hand as she works herself over, he places the hand he is not using to brace himself above her back on her body, trailing his fingers along her side until he can cup her breast as she had been doing, kneading her flesh gently for a moment before circling her nipple with his fingertips, tweaking the flesh as she had done before she grew too distracted.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-13 01:12 am (UTC)She will marvel at his cock later, to be sure. For now, she's a little more focused on her own body, on the way she's making herself feel. His touches are nice for a moment but with every passing second, she gets more and more worked up. And soon it is not enough.
Anxious to come, her voice is rough with need as heat threatens to come over her but stays frustratingly at bay. "More. Please. Your mouth. On my neck."
no subject
Date: 2018-12-13 01:24 am (UTC)He bends further to oblige her, nosing briefly at the hinge of her jaw before sliding his lips over her neck, kissing her carefully, chaste as first as always and then slowly growing less and less so, his mouth hot and wet on her skin as he tastes her sweat beneath his tongue.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-13 01:33 am (UTC)Moaning low, for a moment, she cannot sense anything but a warm body above hers, his mouth hot at her neck and white-hot heat racing through her as she falls, falls, falls. It's an all-consuming moment before she falls back against the bed, practically panting.
Her hands move to clutch at his face, dragging his mouth to hers for a kiss even though she isn't even sure that she can breathe.
no subject
Date: 2018-12-13 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2018-12-13 01:48 am (UTC)She deepens the kiss as best she can while still struggling to catch her breath. And when she finally pulls away from his mouth, her voice is a ragged whisper. "That, Benedict, is a woman's pleasure."
no subject
Date: 2018-12-13 02:09 am (UTC)After, once he realizes just what an ass he's made of himself, he moans, mortified.
"Oh god," he groans, rolling off her and landing on the bed beside her so he can cover his face with his hands as the situation demands, hiding the fiery red blush that has stained his cheeks and spilled down to his chest. This is a nightmare.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: