exequy: (103)
Kostos Averesch ([personal profile] exequy) wrote 2018-04-13 05:29 am (UTC)

[ If it were about winning, if Kostos were keeping score, he'd give himself a point. He gets four smiles a week, max, and he wastes one of them against her lips, bared teeth and an inhale at the press of her nails, before he launches a counter strike on her mouth and slides his hand around her thigh, between her legs, to search for heat through the cloth and spend a few seconds working to draw out more.

And then that really has to go—the underwear, which requires pulling free of her hooked knee so he can pull them down past her thighs. The skirt gets in the way a bit, so it's next. The stockings he pauses to contemplate, fingers pausing at the hems for a moment, before he decides yes and leaves them there. It's cold. They're hot.

When he moves back in, it's with that same hand pushing between her thighs, curled not quite into a fist, definitely not meant to bruise, but not soft, either, and more knuckles than fingers. The other he uses on a handful of hair, to pull her head back, firm and abrupt, and move his mouth to her neck to suck hard on her pulse point.

He doesn't like to talk. He doesn't particularly want her to talk, either. But if she gets desperate enough to ask him, that's another point for the tally he definitely isn't keeping. ]

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