longwillows | ✨ somnia inbox

[More disappointing than her thoughts of Sleep, of not being able to use the ring, is having to puncture his enthusiasm for the suggestion. But she's trying to follow the spirit of the concept even if she doubts the possibility of hiding anything from Sleep, particularly after having earned her ire on a personal level.

The thumb of her right hand finds the base of her ring finger, rubbing its pad along the space where she hasn't worn the ring in months, fearful that her unpredictable shapeshifting would cause it to be lost or damaged. She would have liked to use it for this. As it is, the only reminder of reality it gives is that this is the longest she's ever been apart from the person who gave it to her.

Loneliness washes over her in the breeze and then is carried away by the very same wind in Kalmiya's refusal to linger on it, even as she speaks of skills that she wouldn't have if not for someone else very dear to her.] A jeweler sounds good. I'm familiar with some of those tools.

It'll be an ugly little thing, but— [She shrugs one shoulder, glancing back to the gritty smears of blue on her canvas.] There's no charm in perfection.

[ While their tether is weaker than it was, he's still gotten to know Kalmiya well enough to recognize the fidgeting she does with her hands. Her fingers trace the empty space near her knuckle, clearly used to wearing a ring there. Briefly, he wonders why she wouldn't, in the moment. Perhaps she doesn't, when she's painting. Or maybe she didn't want questions? When she'd shown him before, it had seemed to be taken out of a pocket.

Another thought occurs, as he takes in the pensive slant of her furry ears and the sway of her tails: shapeshifting with the ring on might damage it. And clearly, it meant a lot to her, so, not something she would want to risk. As he thinks it, he gets that twinge of loneliness across the connection. Truly, it isn't that strong, but he's familiar enough with it to know the label. In typical Kalmiya fashion, she doesn't let it linger. ]

Should be one close by. I've got a few more tools to fill in the blanks, if they're missing anything. [ They'd been in his hand, when he'd awoken in the Guggenheim; a small, well-organized pouch of tools meant for slightly more delicate workings. He thought they might have come from Sleep, but with the latest reveal of One being the dreamer, perhaps he had a different benefactor. What they meant, he isn't sure.

Either way, he grants her a small, crooked smile as she looks over her paintings. ] Perfectly misaligned or something like that. It'll work better with some flaws to it, honestly.

[The discussion of tools draws her eye back to the brushes abandoned in by her canvas; with her immediate excitement abated and more complex realizations settled for the time being, she reaches down to finish her task. As she swishes and dries each brush, Arthur's humming thoughtfulness and little smile in her peripheral, she gives a fond chuckle.] Might want to supervise if you're going to let me use yours. I've never been left unattended in a workshop before.

[Well. She was once. And got very close to setting off an explosive failsafe on a set of anti-magic wrist cuffs.

Those were extenuating circumstances, though.

She's exaggerating her general destructiveness, anyway; she handles her own brushes delicately enough, and she'd never treat a friend's possessions with less care than her own. Her grip is gentle as she gathers them up with her palette and then rises out of the nest of cushions to set her supplies back at her desk. Lightly,] Think that's all the painting I've got in me for now. Unless you have any requests.

I doubt you'll break anything; paintbrushes are way more delicate than a screwdriver. [ But, he isn't turning down the possibility of supervising. At least, he'd want to accompany her out of sheer nosiness if nothing else.

She reinforces his confidence in the care of her motions as she goes about cleaning her brushes off and drying the bristles of excess water. They're gently gathered up and placed back where they belonged alongside her palette, set out in a way that would let them continue to air dry. His eyebrows raise as she asks if he has requests, though, and he tilts his head, looking over her paintings with consideration. ]

Not at present. It's more interesting to see what you do on your own. [ Besides, he can't really think of what he'd want to have displayed on a canvas. Maybe he'll think of something another time. Either way, he's touched that she made the offer—art took time and energy. ] Although, I could think of a request unrelated to painting.

[ His gaze slants away from her paintings and towards her instead, cautious interest sparking in his expression. ]

Is there a reason you've been holding back, recently? [ While he can certainly make some logical guesses, he wants to hear it from her instead of filling in the gaps. Before One's dream, he wouldn't have said they were very platonically affectionate, aside from a couple standout moments. Their sexual expression, though, had formed a natural kind of chemistry. Arthur hadn't expected her to bounce back immediately after what Sleep had done, but something about her felt—tightly wound. Contained. Things he didn't associate with Kalmiya in the least. ]

[Even as someone often interested in the processes of others' passions, she has a hard time grasping it when that interest is reciprocated. Moreso now in her shaken state, when she's still trying to pick up some of the scattered pieces of her confidence.

As it turns out, that pertains to his request even though it isn't art-related. Even before he asks, before she turns to meet his eye, she senses his gaze on her, a weight in the air and a spark on the tether. One of her ears flicks, sensitive to the change in the room. The anticipatory prickle at the back of her neck echoes at the base of her spine, fluffing the fur at the base of her tails, which have gone still in her sudden alertness.

Perhaps without that chemistry, without the tether, she would ask for clarification. There's a lot she's been holding back recently while she adjusts to this new understanding of what existing in this world means for her and the people she cares about. However, he refers to something specific: something she's been trying to set aside while she recalibrates, excepting the occasional reprieve of Toki's easy affection. Having it noticed—and being noticed now, in this moment, by someone she's still very much attracted to—brings a faint, flustered warmth to her cheeks.

While she wasn't expecting the question, it's clear that it's been on her mind from how short the pause is that precedes her answer, like she might have already thought about needing to explain herself.] It seems like a lot to ask in light of everything we know now.

And I'm— a little sensitive at the moment. [In many ways. Though especially to anything that might lead her back in the direction of that painful solitude—such as rejection, an irrational but painfully present fear lately.]

[ Kalmiya turns to follow the flick of her ear, clearly attuned to the sudden shift in the conversation. When she does, there's a bronze-pink flush across her cheeks. At this, his eyebrows go up marginally, surprised to see the question left her feeling flustered. It's not that he thought it an impossible emotion for her, just that she had a high tolerance for most things that would normally make people shy away.

Her answer, though, is much in line with what he knows of her. Because that's a trait of Kalmiya's he likes immensely: she's thoughtful. Their tether had been borne under the red moon's influence, something they hadn't known until they'd left that physical entanglement with mental impressions of each other, a lingering connection that stayed. Of course, they hadn't strayed from it, even with the knowledge in the aftermath.

That aside, he gets the faint sense of fear from her end. It's a quiet kind of rustling, buried underneath the light way she mentions being sensitive. For a moment, he frowns, turning it over in his head. He doesn't think she's afraid of Sleep—not even after the altercation. They share a similar disdain for deity figures, though he thinks hers runs much deeper, based on the glances he's gotten of her past. Could she be afraid of everything being severed again? Maybe. It would fit.

Though, it wouldn't be the fear of the pain or the punishment, the more he thinks on it. No, he remembers her mirror, how it taunted and jeered, asking what made her worthy of love. Below her feet lays a canyon of blackened loneliness, one she resolutely looks away from. Sleep had forced her eyes downwards, showed her the abyss she's worked hard to build a bridge over by forcibly cutting off her connections. He'd only gotten a small taste of that, when he and Sharon woke up to find a gap where Kalmiya had once been in their mind's eye.

That was the heavy pit of truth, sitting like a stone and weighing her limbs down. Fear she'd be an island again, that any previous tether would turn it down if offered again—because no longer could they claim ignorance. In perhaps other circumstances, he would consider that the path forward. Why would he want to be emotionally tangled up with someone he hadn't known that long? His relationship with Kalmiya isn't a normal situation, though.

So his frown eases up, expression toeing the line of mischief. Across the tether, as weak as it is, there's a warm hum, as serious as it is understanding. ]

Then I'll ask: how do you feel about casual sex? [ It feels right, to make this a cyclical conversation. ]

[Though not a force enough to stay her candor in the first place, the buzz of worry persists beneath her admission into the beat of quiet that follows. The electronic whir she's so accustomed to is fainter over the tether than in her sensitive ears at this proximity, the pulse of his artificing magic louder than his thoughts in the too-empty mental space they share. Though her posture remains neutral, eyes settled somewhere amidst the nest of cushions, the twitching of her ears and tails give her away, too-attentive little flicks as her senses try to compensate for what her intuition can't pick up.

It's the warmth that pulls her gaze to Arthur, which does little to ease the flush in her face when she catches that edge of mischief. She knows him well enough by now to know what's coming, though the way he chooses to ask catches her off-guard, prompting a bubble of laughter both disbelieving and amused. Claws clack restlessly atop the surface of her desk as she tries to tamp down the intensity of her relief in the moment afforded by that laugh. Reckoning with the deep yearning for the former strength of their tether is a bit much for the present moment, but she can't entirely avoid it in the wave that washes the tension from her body, held in such subtle increments that she hadn't noticed it until it was gone.]

Positive, on the whole, [she answers once her laughter ebbs, turning to face Arthur fully. She folds her arms over her chest as she leans her weight back onto the desk's edge, playfulness softened by sincerity as she continues.] Though I don't know how casual it is at this point.

[She still has no name for what it is, despite her suggestion that she'd eventually find one. Truthfully, she feels little drive to understand its exact nature, nor to risk placing expectations on it by ascribing an ill-fitting label. But she knows it's something intimate—something important. It's gone well beyond the realm of impulsive physical gratification. And if it's worth having, it's worth acknowledging as something serious. Something worth the fear she feels over losing it.

A curious tilt of her head. A hopeful lick of heat along her spine, her tails swishing slowly.] You're really still interested?

[ There she is, he thinks, as her expression morphs from disbelief to the shimmer of delight, her laugh ringing out in an utterly joyful peal. While her magic doesn't work here, not as it did in the dream, with the bob of her hair seeming to be in otherworldly suspension, it almost seems as if it's doing that now, her curls shaking with the suppressed motion of her shoulders. It's catching, in its own way, as his smirk softens at the edges, amusement tilting the line of it instead. ]

I figured as much. [ He replies, once she's been able to find words again through her giggles. As for whether it's casual or not—well, it's a label that works for now. While he doesn't like to leave things so open-ended, he also doesn't know what to ascribe to their relationship. To call it committed isn't exactly wrong. Nor is it right. So, he gives her a one-shouldered shrug, both agreeing and not having any further input at the moment.

He will, he's sure, later. After he's had a lot of time to ruminate. ]

Kalmiya, you should know I don't offer things I have no interest in.

[A smaller wave of laughter, just a chuckle that buoys her words.] I know, I know, just— I told you, I'm sensitive!

[It's more a tease than a reprimand, and the humor is at her own expense, anyway. She knows very well that he wouldn't ask if he weren't truly interested; in fact, the fact that he got to asking at all means he's likely given it a lot of thought prior to bringing it up. There's no justified doubt in her heart, no real reason not to trust that he knows what he's asking for.

There's just that little twinge of fear. Which she knows better than to give an ear to, but—she just wants to make sure. Much as she doesn't want to venture anywhere near that aching void again, the idea of getting Arthur hurt through her thoughtlessness is worse.

Regardless, she has her sought-after reassurance. She also has the persisting heat beneath her skin, more intense at the apples of her cheeks and the base of her spine. Languidly her arms unfold, the palms of her hands settling on the edge of the desk to brace her lean as she shifts her weight and scuffs the ball of one foot idly against the floor. Clear excitement undercuts the attempted mischief in her blooming smile, the slow sway of her tails picking up some speed beneath the large, loose-fitting shirt she wears as a smock.] So, what's the expected turnaround time for this request? I can get to granting it immediately if you need a rush job.

[ Despite his reiteration, he can't bring himself to feel frustrated by Kalmiya's near-paranoid triple checking. For one, she's very recently been through an ordeal like none other. For two, she normally didn't need such reassurances. She'd learned to handle herself, measure out her confidence, and give her trust when it was warranted.

The encounter with Sleep had thrown all of that into disarray. While she didn't seem to be on the verge of a crisis, she was still getting back up on wobbly legs; a newborn foal, beginning the process of walking on her own all over again. Judging from the shift in her body language, though, he thinks that she's well on her way. There's mischief in her expression, in the languid swish of her tails, the familiar curve of her mouth. ]

Well, you know me, I'm willing to be patient. [ He says, tone warm with amusement–sometimes it was fun to push buttons. ]

But–[ Leaning forward, he catches the slide of her foot on the hardwood floor, slowly dragging his palm up the bridge of it to loosely curl around a delicate ankle. All the while, he doesn't turn his gaze away from hers, angling it upwards as he continues. ]–if you're offering a rush job, I could hardly say no.

[His amusement encourages her little smile into a toothy grin. Even with the tether in a weakened state, it shakes with her excitement—as do her tails, their sway becoming a full-on wag. His palm is met with a slight and sudden tensing of her tendons as it alights on her foot, which relaxes as his hand moves upward to circle his fingers around her ankle.

(In tandem with the bloom of supernatural heat beneath her skin, the faint and brief sensation of a tickle passes over the psychic connection.)

She keeps his gaze steadily, irises shimmering with iridescence in her delight.] I'm always happy to shuffle you to the top of my priority list.

[Delicately she bends at the waist to reach down to him. The points of her claws and pads of her fingertips are both gentle as they brush down the side of his face, over the hollow of his cheek and down, where her thumb settles in the shallow dimple of his chin. She's captivated by the resulting warmth, a comforting taste of what their tether used to be.] As long as you don't spread word about my favoritism, of course.

[ A hum travels along their connection; surely an effect of her giddiness. It's translated all the way to the tips of her tails, which have gone from an interested sway to a joyous wag. So, the answering smile he gives her is full of both humor and warm desire, his palm sliding further up her leg.

There's only a pause, the arc of his fingers fitted to the lovely curve of her thigh, as she brushes a touch along the side of his face, the delicate press of her thumb still enough to have his lips parting as if in anticipation. ]

Your secrets are safe with me. [ It's going along with a tease in this moment, of course, but there's an additional impression along their tether–an underpinning of something more serious. Whatever was said here, in the thrumming wires of their connection or in the woven syllables aloud, it's all kept close to the chest. Cradled like something precious. ]

[At the distant end of their rapidly reconstituting tether, it's akin to the slight vibration felt from a rumble of thunder, or the aftershock of an earthquake miles away. Distinct, noticeable, but nowhere near catastrophic.

That is not what Kalmiya feels at its epicenter, the catalyst her own pulse pounding like an ancient drum. The protective weave of that promise finds more than just her secrets. Stretching, creeping, those hanging threads are swept up into the whirlwind of feeling in her chest; unrestrained and yet unintended, the soft tangle of them knots around her heart.

The rush leaves her lightheaded, goosebumps rising from the frisson that sweeps her skin as his hand ventures higher and her affection runs deeper. For a flicker the quality of her gaze changes—not only in sentiment but in color, the ever-shifting iridescence lifting and then settling into the uniform clarity of polished silver. Discerning. Not searching, but understanding. The curve of her mouth softens with another faraway rumble.

This tempest will abate before it can touch the core of their still thin tether. Before it can irreparably flood their connection. For now, though, Kalmiya feels every gust of it wash over her as she cups Arthur's face in both hands and urges him closer with her embrace. Overwhelmed by the warmth of his attention, the jest falls out of her words even as she follows the bit to its logical conclusion, her voice velvety and intent.] Then I suppose I should get to work.

Where would you like me to start?

[ Within the cup of her hands, everything else has fallen away. Arthur's always been someone with impeccable focus and this is no different, his attention sharpened on the crackle of the tether, the heat of her regard, the sheer affection permeating the space between. Tilting his head, he nuzzles against one palm, pressing a kiss to the center of it. He trails upwards, lips tracing over her pulse point and along the line of her wrist. At the same time, his hand slides to the back of her thigh, resting just under the curve of her ass. ]

I think you should start by getting your pants off. [ There were other starting places he could've chosen, of course, but this one seemed the most pertinent. Maneuvering to the bed, after all, would hardly be a trial. And it wasn't wholly necessary, for what he had in mind.

As if to give a preview, he kisses back down her arm, all the way to her fingertips. With his free hand, he gently turns hers, placing a nearly chaste kiss to her knuckles. Which he follows up by taking two digits in his mouth, tracing the pads with his tongue, humming a contented sound. ]

[A delicate, responsive twitch of her fingers follows as his lips brush the skin of her wrist. She's captivated by the display, intent in a way much softer at the edges than her predatory demeanor at the banquet. It's something closer to wonder, which sparkles in her eyes and sits in the gentle curl at the corner of her mouth. Can he feel the racing thump of her heart as he works his way back down her arm? It seems impossible that he couldn't, with how loud it is in her own ears.

A more characteristically impish quirk comes to her expression once he slips her fingers into his mouth, though her palpable affection doesn't abate even as heat piques low in her abdomen.] Mm. I'll do what I can.

[Which is not to say it's a difficult instruction. The issue becomes much more obvious as her free hand skates up her thigh to catch the long hem of her shirt, pulling it up to reveal that there are, in fact, no pant-like garments to take off. Just some very embellished panties, which she very permissively hooks her thumb beneath. Pushing them down over her hips is a clumsier process with only one hand—but she figures he's still got one free if he wants to help.]

[ And help he does, after a surprised lift of his eyebrows when he sees she has forgone any form of pants or shorts and has opted instead for a long shirt over lacy underwear. Hooking his thumb under the waistband, he gives a tug, letting out an interested hum around her fingers as the garment slides to the floor. Both hands settle at the backs of her thighs, giving them a squeeze as he reluctantly pulls his mouth off of her fingers.

Of course, this means he's now free to trail kisses up the insides of her legs. He presses in soft at first, working his way upwards. Right before the juncture of her hip, he sucks a mark onto her skin with a pleased sigh. Naturally, he gives her a matching one on the other side before he finally laves the flat of his tongue across her pussy, his hands slipping up to palm her ass.

After a few teasing licks, he lightly sucks on her clit, unable to help the low groan that works its way out. ]

Here, turn around, I wanna try something. [ If she does, the desk will serve as a support (again) when he parts her shapely cheeks to lean in and slide his tongue over her hole. ]

[It's a struggle to hold still as he kisses and marks her inner thighs, every nerve more sensitive for the neglect they've undergone since her tethers were snapped. She eases her legs apart just slightly as he works to give him more room, head tilting back with a pleased moan when she feels the drag of his tongue. As usual, her hand quickly finds the top of his head so that she can run her fingers through his hair, now that he's no longer holding the digits captive in his wicked mouth.

Her toes curl, pressing the pads of them into the floor when he reaches her clit and sucks, the action also prompting some shorter, sharper sound of appreciation. Mild and breathless confusion follows when he pulls back to speak, though it quickly becomes an interested arch of the brow and a curious smirk, her big ears already piqued by Arthur's vocalizations.] Yes, sir.

[And turn around she does, settling her hands flat atop the desk to support her shoulders as she leans over the well-tested piece of furniture. When she feels the wet heat of his tongue further back between her legs, it draws a surprised gasp, a startled flinch seizing her hips momentarily as she reflexively tenses up—which lifts her tails too, fur fluffing near her spine and their tapered tips curling upwards.

Then the sudden intake of breath escapes again as delighted laughter. No need to make it any more difficult on him; she steps out of the fallen panties and edges her heels outwards along the floor to widen the open angle of her legs in invitation. She makes an effort to keep the drape of her tails off of him too, but they already tremble with even that level of restraint—or perhaps it's the excitement.]

[ That first startled inhale pulls a soft laugh from him, breath warm where it ghosts across her ass. Cute, he thinks, as her tails react in kind, sticking nearly straight up in shock, the fur at the base of them rising like hackles. Of course, she hasn't pulled away, so he continues on, palms smoothing all down the backs of her thighs. He digs his fingers in when he feels the muscle flex as she steps out of her panties, stance widening to give him space.

Shifting his weight, he gets comfortable on his knees, hands tracking upwards again. One settles on a shapely cheek, thumb pressing it to the side so he can more easily lave the flat of his tongue over her hole. His other skims along her hip and up to the base of her tails, loosely circling his fingers around their soft fluff. With a low groan, he slowly pushes his tongue in, starting to work the tight furl of muscle open. Each pass has him remembering the eagerness she'd licked him with in that pink washed room, a hot pang filling his cock out at the memory and the current clench of her rim. As she begins to relax, he hooks a fingertip in, holding her open wider as he fucks her with his tongue, thumb extending down to lightly brush across her folds. ]

[Though her initial jump was mostly the start he'd given her, the jittery edge of her reactions persists through the first few moments, a sensitivity that has returned with the lessened frequency of stimulation in that area. Quick, tense twitches of the muscles both in her legs and beneath his tongue, only sharpened by the primal, anticipatory jolt when he takes hold of her tails. Even with a gentle grip, the suggestion of a tug sits at the edges of her awareness, and some thin pleading sound escapes her in a sigh.

Relaxation comes to her eventually as she adjusts to the warmth of his mouth and the firm press of his tongue, the tips of her claws scraping as her toes curl against the floor. Though not a conscious recollection on her part, the dreamy, humid haze of pink light seeps into the vision behind her closed eyelids, a memory both fond and filthy running under the demanding sensation of Arthur working her loose.

A moan runs along the arch of her back to escape her before she realizes it, her tails tensing in his grasp when she feels the tug of his finger along her rim. Though he's barely gained ground there, the bare brush of his thumb yields a responsive tense from her other entrance. Suddenly feeling that her wrists are inadequate for the job of supporting her, she bows deeper over the top of the desk, arms trembling faintly as she sinks down to her elbows and bears her weight with the full length of her forearms. It's a much more exposing angle, but that was half the point.]

[ As with everything, he's thorough, paying close attention to all of her reactions. She's extra sensitive in more ways than one, every touch seeming to ignite all her nerves. He notes the sound she makes when he'd loosely closed his fist around the base of her tails, the whine more breath than any vocalization. While he isn't too far into his exploration, her toes are already curling, nails scraping the floor underneath.

Instead of pulling away or softening, he presses on, eagerly fitting the width of his tongue in the loosening clench of her hole. His thumb pets along her folds, tracing the shape and dragging the beginnings of wetness up to circle her clit. Between her body's natural inclination and the wet slide of his mouth, it's enough to keep his touch relatively frictionless, the excess dripping onto the floor.

Her further bow forward helps his motions, and soon he's satisfied with the amount he's been able to work her open. Of course, he isn't done yet, not nearly, and he blindly reaches for one of the desk's side drawers, procuring the bottle of lube they'd stashed there however many months ago.

(A lesson they'd learned, after building said desk and then having to pause in the middle of him bending her over it.)

Uncapping it, his hand pulls away solely so he can slick his fingers, warming the cool liquid before he rubs it across her rim, slowly inserting one digit. Carefully, he rocks it in and out, angling his mouth lower to lave the flat of his tongue over her clit in the same sinuous pattern. She's grown wet enough that the taste permeates and he can't help the low groan he breathes out, hips giving an aborted hitch from sheer desire. ]

[Like sedimentary bedrock, her present sensitivity was built in layers. The very foundation, the touch starvation she's lived with since she was born; the once-bitten modesty of someone who fears the moment the jaws will close again; and the too-direct tie from her heart to the tight spiral of heat of her abdomen, her affection spilling over the line into the nerves he won't stop teasing.

It's all brought her here, where she can hear the faint drip of her own eagerness against the floor even more clearly than her own sighs, a patter that would be lost to less keen senses. In other circumstances, for other people, it might be embarrassing to be so wet from so little. But Arthur has never minded her inclination towards mess. And he definitely doesn't seem to mind as the sound of rummaging within one of the desk's sturdy drawers reaches her ears, some half-remembered forethought bringing a dip of amusement into her breath as he retrieves the lubricant.

Keeping her feet planted firmly when his mouth ventures to her clit and his finger eases into her ass is a difficult ask; each synchronized press of digit and tongue strikes her nerves in a jolt, up her spine and down into her legs in sharp, responsive twitches. With a needy groan she pillows her head onto her folded arms, too aware of the parallel pulse of Arthur's unresolved desire beating alongside her own through the strengthening tether, and the subtle change in his scent as his want swells. Nearly a plea,] Fuck—

[She hadn't forgotten how good it was. But she certainly hasn't been letting herself think about it since they woke from that dream.]

[ There's a push and pull, an expected rhythm in the way he laps at her, how he stretches her open. Underneath that is another flow, a looping feedback over the rapid re-connection of their tether, as if every touch brings dead nerves sizzling back to life. The pink room hovers at the edge of both their minds and the pleasure blends, making it harder to distinguish if the buzz of need is solely his own. Because he can feel the throb of hers, nearly in time with the wanting pulse of her body, burning at the same degree as his own.

Slick drips, collecting in a small pool on the floor, and he encourages more of it as he closes his mouth over her clit and sucks. One finger nudges up to two, the tips curled as he stroked her inside.

His other hand caresses the curve of one cheek to her hip and then up to her belly, petting the soft contour of it, thumb dipping in to the divot of her navel. Dragging even lower, he skims through her curls before diverting, the barest scratch of short nails along the inside of one thigh. Releasing the suction of his mouth, he pushes his tongue in her pussy, two digits still rocking carefully into the tight squeeze of her rim. ]

[The familiar suction at her clit has her burying her face fully into the belabored fold of her arms, seeking the solace of darkness and easing herself of one of the too-many stimuli in this glowing pink sea of pleasure. Without the bleary close-up of the wood grain of her desk, she's dragged deeper into the rushing, intangible current of their tether, a tug she has absolutely no desire to resist. Her thighs twitch and tremble, every muscle in her abdomen tensing with the sharp yank at her nerves every time he sucks, a flex only faintly perceptible when his hand slides just below the plush curve of her stomach.

A wordless and pleading whine cuts the air at the scrape of his nails and the momentary departure of his mouth, though it pitches down into something guttural as she feels the hot press of his tongue into her while his fingertips curl into the nerves normally accessed from the other side.

Holding her hips still is no longer in the question. Desperate for friction and fullness, they rock down once onto Arthur's tongue before the restless motion travels up into her tails, loosed from his hold and shivering. They lash— tense— curl upward out of the way, as if she could possibly present herself more fully to him in this position. She can't, not really, but the groan in her throat is more beastly, the stretch of her shaking leg muscles more generous.

Faintly through the strengthening tether, there is the sense that he is being called to, wordless and needy.]

✨ somnia inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject