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[longwillows]

reach out?

the smell of fresh water in dry desert air. the feeling of cautious curiosity. a place as dangerous as it is resplendent.

c

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[pointedlook]

[ 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. ]

[longwillows]

[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.]

[pointedlook]

[ 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. ]

[longwillows]

[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.]

[pointedlook]

[ 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. ]

[longwillows]

[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.]