albinomilksnake | Open RP: Smutty nonsense

Frazer sets her fingers-- nail first-- across the mid-point of his thigh. Between the two of them he's the worse off when it comes to wine, but she's always had a weakness for curiosity and control, in equal amounts.

"Oh, I don't know, mate," last bit slipping out before she can catch it. He won't find that charming if he's sober enough to catch it. Ah well. "The conversation might not be as enlightening, but I like to think it has its fair share of assets."

Assets. Get it.

Talbot isn't nearly so far gone that the touch doesn't get his attention. But it's so unexpected that her other faux pas slips his notice.

His grip tightens on his glass, and he eyes the hand on his thigh warily, like a strange and exotic insect he's never seen before.

"For example?"

She has her palm over his thigh and he still isn't taking the hint. Adorable, really.

"Finish off your drink first." Or she'll do it for him, because there's nothing more awkward than trying to balance a half-full glass while--

And he does. Not because the glass is inconvenient, but because as her hand warms that spot on his leg and its implications sink in, he has an inkling he'll need the fortitude in a moment.

Talbot isn't blind. He knows Frazer is a very beautiful, very desirable woman. But until this instant, he hasn't allowed himself to see those traits as anything more than a useful set of tools--a set now in service of the Order.

"Frazer..." he warns. There isn't much conviction in his voice.

It's odd. He's a completely different breed than the sort she's used to dealing with, and for all his polish and training, he's-- well, he's still a bloody kid isn't he? Young and inexperienced even if it's hardly obvious.

Must've been nice, growing up like that.

"Don't worry darling, I'm not gonna hurt you." Teasing or not, Frazer's fingers crawl up a few inches higher as she leans in over the gap between them.

"Pain isn't what concerns me." His voice cracks when he laughs, the sound almost a whisper. He's light-headed, he's warm, and it isn't just the wine. There are a dozen reasons he should brush her off of him and stand, scold her and leave. And yet the one urging him to stay is the strongest, originates in the repressed curiosity of a disciplined young man who's never been with a woman.

She's fascinated by it. Not the intimacy, that she's more than comfortable with, but the shift in power that comes from her hand running along the inside of his thigh, slipping up beneath the hem of his waistcoat and digging in around the edge of his belt. Marlowe holds all the cards ( and likely always will) it's just that before this moment, Talbot seemed above her as well. Untouchable, stern, nearly inhuman with how dedicated he is to the Order's cause.

Frazer presses her lips to the center of his throat. Breathes in once and catches the scent of cologne and pressed laundry. It's strange. It's all strange. He's a bloody guard dog, and she's never once seen a speck of dirt on him.

"Well you're certainly not afraid of me."

The change in the air between them hasn't been a subtle one, either. Even though her mouth at his throat and her fingers at his belt throw his focus, he feels it too. She has him.

That knowledge isn't distressing as he'd expect it to be. The frantic flutter of his pulse under Frazer's lips has nothing to do with fear.

"Never," Talbot says, swallowing down a shiver. "As I said, we're family."

"Good."

Family. Most families don't adopt with suitcases filled to the brim with money, or expect their newly adopted to endure ops level training under the influence. She has to suppress a scoff from slipping out, covers it with the scrape of teeth and a firm tug on his belt to pop it open. Using the leverage of it to climb over him is easy.

The whole thing is, really.

"Shame you've missed out on this for so long..."

There is no avoiding looking at her when she straddles him. He shifts his weight toward the nightstand before she can finish settling hers in his lap, fumbling with his empty glass until it clatters out of his reach and clinks gently off the side of the decanter.

"Have I? Are you so sure?" But he isn't fooling anyone. Once his hands are empty, he finds he has no idea where to put them.

He gets a raised brow for that remark, and the slim, half-curled fraction of a smile that's only locked down for courtesy's sake. She leans back far enough to straddle him, though, one leg on the floor and the other curled around the side of his body. Easier to undo the rest of the fastenings.

"On my hips is fine."

He scowls at her, resentment rising like bile in his mouth at how easily she reads him in this. But it doesn't last, because in an instant his hands are at her wonderfully full hips and his trousers are open and she'll find him hard an risen to the occasion.

Which honestly only serves to encourage her more.

"Thought we were family." She says, all low and breathy through her teeth - through a grin that's just as malicious as it is eager. "You don't mind family having the upper hand now, do you?"

The heel of her palm digs in under the seam of his trousers, slides up lazily till her fingers touch shirt tails. Upper hand. Literally.

"I don't know--" Talbot begins, the last syllable docked short when her hand finds him. He exhales harshly, his fingers biting into her hipbones. It takes a tense, shuddering moment for the sensation to even out and let his head out of its vice long enough to finish his thought.

"I've never had a sister."

"That's sick, mate." Not that she isn't chuckling as she says it, enjoying the sting of his nails sinking in through fabric and settling against bone. Keeps kneading away as she looms over his tense angles, takes in the sight of his face while she does. Control. It's been a long bloody time since that was back in her hands.

"This wasn't my idea," he reminds her. Tempered perhaps by a slipping determination to save face, his voice is remarkably even now. But the rest of his body tells Frazer everything she needs to know: a thin sheen of perspiration gathers at his temples, his Adam's apple works soundlessly in his throat, and he tilts his hips eagerly up into the pressure of her skillful hand.

"Suppose you're right."

And she curls her fingers under him then, rolling the hard points of her thumbs over exposed skin, momentum of it driving her hands down to grab hold of whatever fabric's left in the way and pull his hips free; can't work properly with no space for it, after all.

"Will she mind?" The thought slips in unexpectedly. Inexplicably, even, given that she doesn't share Talbot's admiration of the woman running it all.

The conscious part of his brain doesn't even register his hips lifting to allow Frazer room to free him. It's preoccupied by the beating of his pulse in his ears and--more significantly--in his moisture-tipped cock as it sways free of his underwear.

But he does bite down on his tongue when her question pierces the fog, and he puts a hand on her wrist.

There is no doubt in his mind Marlowe would disapprove.

"We...can't. We shouldn't."

Ah.

Frazer shifts up slightly, leans into the pressure on her wrist as casually as she can manage. Bright eyes flick down to the lines of his hips. "Don't think you really mean that."

He means it. But intention isn't worth a thing on its own, and Talbot doesn't want her hand anywhere but on his cock. His grip on her wrist weakens when she presses down into him, his breath comes hot out of his nose when he grits his teeth.

But beyond that one whimper of resistance, he says nothing.

His mind might, but the rest of him--

She finishes pressing down, resting her teeth against the solid weight of his collarbone through the thin, expensive fabric of his shirt. Bites down. Rolls clothed hips over his when his grip wanes, just for the sound of his breath hitching up in his throat at the tail end of every arc.

"Don't worry: I won't say a word."

There is no resisting her. Even if he had doubted Frazer's word, he is too far gone to let the threat of punishment stop him. So he submits: abruptly releases her arm and turns his hand over, resting his palm on her inner thigh, his fingertips biting down into her soft, covered skin as she rocks and grinds into him.

The fabric is harsh on his bare, over-sensitive skin. In seconds she's already worked his blood into a frenzy, his heart drumming in his ears and his body twitching reflexively with every touch.

It's certainly not a gentle way to get him worked up, but in her opinion, nothing worth it ever is. And it's good, the thought of breaking the rules, when day in and day out for months on end all she's done is stick to someone else's expectations. The idea of dragging him down with her.

So Frazer keeps the rhythm, tugs her jacket off and her shirt along with it. It isn't until her hand curls around the swollen arch of his cock that she--

"You know how this works, right?" Because if not, she's more than content to give a crash course.

"I've a feeling...I've a feeling I'm going to find out either way," Talbot says hoarsely, exhaling hot, shaky breaths through her hair. That he can speak at all is astounding, considering the only coherent thought he can put together otherwise is how desperately he wants her to show him.

"I'll take that as a no, then." murmured off against his skin, low and deliberate and with more teeth than necessary to form words. But she doesn't ease off (does she ever, really?) just keeps the pressure on with that aggressively choking hold, rolls the tug of her wrist in time with how she barely cants her hips.

Open RP: Smutty nonsense

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

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)