voktys | 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔡

⟪ she feels him smile into the kiss just before the tie in the back is loosened, and it draws out a smile of her own to find their wants matched like this. there is another kind of intensity to his touch, as though he is reading her. like this, his hands are neither claiming nor tearing for his goals, and there's a fire in the pit of her stomach at the sensation that demands nothing short of more.

their kiss deepens, and she allows herself to get lost in it until she feels him seek about the belt. it's a tricky beast, that one, and while one hand remains at the back of his neck, tracing a light pattern, the other guides his to her side, where the buckle is half-hidden. it's a simple, circular thing, golden as her choker, a pin running through it from top to bottom, keeping it in place. it is good that she needs to break away for air, anyway – ⟫

You need to pull the pin out entirely. ⟪ she places a kiss to his throat, right by his pulse point, lips burning as ever as she barely pulls back to speak. ⟫ It's quite sharp.

⟪ it's a last means of self-defence, essentially, and she doesn't want him to accidentally pierce himself on it. ⟫

Mhm. [ his throat rumbles with her kiss, a breath smoothly exhaling with a gentle gravel. ] Right.

[ with her guidance he gets his fingers on the top of the pin, and tugs it cautiously to loosen it before giving it a full pull. her belt loosens for him to undo and pull off completely, letting it drop from his hand with a clapping clank to the hardwood ground. his hands waste no time reaching to her shoulders, slowly pulling off her robe and glad when it comes apart.

he pulls her in for a quick kiss, to her lips, then under her jawline, then trailing down her neck, humming low. ]

Mind helping with my shirt?

[ with the poncho off he wears a navy blue dress shirt with a collar that covers up the end of his neck right before his adams apple. his hand goes to undo the large button up by the collar, modified to make it easier by a tailor he tipped well, and leans his body and arms away from her. ]

⟪ she shrugs out off the long sleeves, casting the robe aside as much as she can in her position. most of all, she wants it out of the way so none of the hidden compartments can open. it is not an accident she herself has had, but as most of the alchemical powders she carries are common among priests of her station –– there have been incidents, and few of them pretty. under his attentive kisses, she stifles a moan, and her heartbeat quickens, and truth be told, the robe is half forgotten already.

so far, she has made no move at all to undo any of his clothing, and it had not struck her as odd – some preferences were easier to accept than they were to argue, and stannis had much preferred to stay as dressed as possible. it must have almost become a habit. ⟫

Nothing I would rather do. ⟪ and she means it, her voice a low hum. it's been... a while since she had the chance to truly discover a partner like this, and her fingers are swift and skilled, the buttons coming undone one by one as she touches her lips to his skin with every newly revealed inch of it. the contrast to her fingers is sharp, the lack of sun in the many years she's spent in asshai have left her bone-pale, while his skin has the warm tone so often found across essos. ⟫ You are very handsome.

⟪ her breath half-caught in her throat marks her words true, even if they feel like the contrived, silly words of someone much younger than she. truth is, most her nights have been spent with men and women of the faith, and thus, most compliments she paid, while genuine, were layered with praise to her god. after all he has suffered through his own order, the horrors he has witnessed, it would feel... inappropriate, though, to use such words with him.

strange things fellden does to her, when she would normally be so willing to end any other worship. ⟫

[ a heavy breath, caught up in her touch- ] I try.

[ cocky, yes, but what can he say? he hasn't seen himself in a while of course, but still grooms to the best of his ability. he rather ditch his beard all together if he's honest, but the constant shaving he would need to endure makes it a chore. instead he carefully grew it into a good shape that's easy to maintain. his hair has always been in a ponytail since he was young, after someone he has forgotten pointed out to him he would run his hand through it when nervous.

speaking of his hair, his fingers wind back behind his head to pull the band off. the rubber coils around his wrist, a good way to avoid losing it, and he takes a moment to shake his hair to let it down. it flows down straight with only a light wave, curling at the ends to just past his shoulders. ]

Better?

⟪ she gives a soft laugh at his tones, not vain, per se, but self-aware.

it is almost by reflex that she reaches out to touch his hair when he opens it, though, running her fingers through it with no little admiration. he is well-groomed, common across most essosi cultures, but a struggle with some of the westerosi if life among the soldiers had taught her anything. ⟫

It suits you well. ⟪ and if she were to kiss him again at that, would anyone blame her? at least with her hands buried in it, she can draw him ever closer. ⟫

[ he mutters a quiet 'thanks' right as she dips into him again, and his arms stretch to wrap around her waist, one hand settling on the small of her back while the other flattens on the curve of her spine. a quiet yet more than appreciative moan is breathed as she threads through his hair, his bare chest flushed against hers, enjoying the intensity of her heat even if its near scalding. he keeps up with her pace, matching her mouth to his with the low burn of passion coursing through, parting ways only to come up for air. ]

Can - Can you lie down on the bed? [ his breath is ragged as he asks, words spilling out even as he tries not to rush. ] I need to get my pants off.

[ he swallows tight and if she thought to glance down she would see the obvious tightness in his form-fitting pants. ]

⟪ she draws back, and does cast her gaze down, before resting her face against his throat in such a way that he can feel her lips twist into an appreciative smirk. ⟫

Please do. ⟪ next time – why she assumes that there is a next time, she does not know for certain, but all there is to say that she relishes his company –

so perhaps there won't necessarily be a next time. that's a thing to consider. she shifts against his hardness. ⟫ Unless you wish me to aid you there in the same way I did with your shirt?

⟪ should he choose to decline, she will abandon his lap to wait by his side on the bed. ⟫

[ he stifles a grunt when she shifts, suspecting it was intentional if that smirk pressed to him is any hint. he's starting to guess that she's deceptively devious and he likes it.

as for that- ]

Yeah, that works too.

[ he'll at least undo the two buttons with one hand, but along with his pants are his high boots going up to an inch under his knees. he's both glad and regrets that he attempted to dress for a good impression because he was meeting her. ]

Do you mind if I ask - [ he hopes she doesn't mind, he's always been too curious for his own good ] - your skin is really warm. Is that how it always is?

[ it seems like any time they have ever come into contact her skin has had the warmth of a small fire. he brushed it off as an oddity, but being in full body contact makes it much more apparent and hard to ignore. ]

⟪ she is out of his lap, for it would be best to be before him to do what she wishes to do next

unfortunately, she then does pause at the question – and his clothes will have to wait a moment as she tries to evaluate how to keep her unspoken promise regarding her magic without revealing things she keeps so close to her chest. which, considering that she sits almost entirely naked safe for a slip of an underskirt, is a bit of an ironic thought. ⟫

It is. ⟪ she takes a deep breath, as if to try and clear her mind from the daze. ⟫ Life within the Red Temple can bring many changes, if one is so blessed.

Mhm. [ then she considers it a blessing. interesting that and a line of questioning he wants to pursue, but...

he clears his throat, the tightness not going away. ]

As long as you're ok. Not - that you're not, but just... [ he rakes a hand through his hair, only noticing his old bad habit as his fingers thread. ] Just making sure you're ok.

[ nailed it. ]

⟪ so often is he calm and perfectly collected that it is charming to see him a little undone, stumbling over a sentence, running a hand through hair that he usually keeps so neat. ⟫

I could scarcely – ⟪ and with that, she leans forward to rid him off his boots ⟫ – be better.

⟪ a white lie, not because she is not well, but because she knows this is not the appropriate answer. what she ought to tell him is that her well-being hardly matters, seeing how she is a vessel for her god. what she should not do is feel warmed by his concern for her person. ⟫

That's good.

[ he feels his feet freed up one by one, and takes the chance to pull down his pants. a pair of black boxer briefs still tighten him, but he sets his hands flat on the edge of the mattress. he senses she might want that for herself. ]

Just... don't get me off, ok?

[ if he finishes in her mouth this early into the night he'll just leave and suffer in the rain, it's fine. ]

⟪ for a moment, the phrase confuses her, before she catches his meaning and hums her agreement as she shifts forward. part of her wishes to tell him that she would hardly be mad – and another part of her relishes the fact that he is invested enough in her own pleasure to wish to hold off.

but then, at this point, she rather thinks more talking would border on the torturous for him – truth is, she has trouble keeping still herself – so instead, she finally frees him of his restraints, swallows, and leans forward. at least now, there is no harm in her hand being warm as she runs it up and down his length just once, and then places almost cruelly teasing kisses against his shaft, slowly moving upward. all the while, she listens closely for his breathing, watches his movements, seeking signs that tell her to stop. for all intents and purposes, she wants to keep to his wishes. ⟫

[ kanan can't see as she comes down on him, but he takes a breath in anticipation to brace himself. his hands grip hard on the mattress when the first touch comes, and he quietly breathes out his puff audibly when she takes him into her mouth. it's been a while since he's been with anyone like this, and he's pretty sure the last time it happened was with an alien that had some extra appendages that clung onto him. it's a big galaxy after all.

his eyes flutter close and his head lowers. in silence he counts, breathing, not slipping into meditation but using similar practices to keep collected. his hands continue to press hard, fingers digging into the sides and lightly scratching in a way that can't be missed. he doesn't want to come so he has to restrain himself. it's so hard though - her lips are teasing and smooth and he swallows down any instinct to push in a little closer to her mouth. he must be patient and he must retain focus. ]

⟪ her pleasure in this comes, yes, from the act itself, from taking him in, from tasting him, from knowing that there are few prayers holier than that between two people in this position – any many others. but it also comes from teasing him, from knowing that she could drive him to completion with ease, from hearing him breathing in a way so controlled it speaks of restraint.

but his fingers are digging into the mattress, she can tell he is tense, and with slow reluctance, she ends up withdrawing, though she does rest her cheek against his thigh. ⟫ More?

[ in and then out, his breathing remains rigid and even. in the jedi order, meditation was one of the very first skills a youngling was taught to master. they would sit a child no more than six or seven in a room, alongside a group of other children the same age, and were taught how to meditate. once basic lecture was done, it was time to put it into practice.

the teachers could tell when someone's thoughts started to ran or they became distracted inside their head. they would gently whack them with a wooden pole on their shoulder, not painfully but certainly with a thud, and add another half hour onto their practice time. not just for that one youngling, but for the entire group. the order was a collective - they worked together, succeeded together and were reprimanded together.

caleb dume was awful at meditation and everyone damn near hated him for extending their time multiple instances in a session.

however it means that years of drilling have made him very good at it. still he can slip in and out with ease, so he doesn't miss a beat with her question. ]

Yes. [ his voice is firm and restrained, but not devoid of want. ] I'll let you know when it's too much.

[ now that he says that though, he thinks she'll take it as a challenge. ]

⟪ with no little fascination does she wonder if he is using the same technique now that she had witnessed in the gods wood just a few weeks prior. and it is true that it takes her... a fair deal of self-control not to see if she can find the edges of this ability. ⟫

Do.

⟪ she presses a kiss to his inner thigh before she returns, this time only with more mischief on her mind. she kisses the tip of his cock in the same slow fashion he has become so intimately familiar with, only to take it properly into her mouth next. not deep by any means, but enough, she hopes, to tempt him to movement. she teases his tip with her tongue only to withdraw again, and then to use her tongue against the length of him. ⟫

[ the next batch of breathes are shakier than the initial, even as he keeps them dangerously even and precise every ten seconds. he counts in his head while she rolls her tongue around his prick, and feels his insides constraining for how he resists the urge to push into her mouth. he's glad this time he can't see her, he thinks he wouldn't be able to resist opening his eyes to look at her. it would ruin him.

his hands only keep gripping the bed like he's about to fall off the edge of a cliff, holding on for dear life. his toes curl and his heels right slightly, the only physical indication of how this is affecting him. he swallows, throat now dry, but isn't ready to tell her to stop. it's a matter of pride for him even. he even constrains his throat to not make a sound, even now feeling a moan attempting to claw its way out for a verbal release. ]

⟪ not sure if she feels challenged or amazed by the fact that, though ragged around the edges, he still keeps his breathing in that steady fashion. there is a different tension to his legs – is he digging his heels in? she can't tell from her position, not without stopping.

and stopping, so it has been decided, is out of question unless he tells her to. he has not made a sound yet, and she takes him deeper into her mouth then, near fully, and begins to feign a steadier rhythm than before. if he could see her, she wonders if his task of holding out would be made more difficult, but that just so sparks another idea.

the next time she is lingering in tantalising cruelty at his tip, tongue teasing him before she covers him once more with her mouth, she allows herself a quiet moan. ⟫

[ oh- ]

Ngh-

[ he chokes down a sudden moan that tries to surface, the knuckles of his hands whitening and in pain as he becomes desperate to stay still. he regrets ever telling her he liked her voice, now he sees what he has wrought. the pace of his breathing starts to stutter, and he's trying his fastest to get it back on track as his heart quickens. ]

Cheater. [ he mutters quietly, still keeping any sound that tries to get out from emerging. ]

⟪ and is it not cheating to try and get her to talk now? something like that she might say, if that wasn't exactly her point. so instead of words, she flicks her tongue against him. she knows, too, that she could exploit this weakness to a far greater deal were she to use her powers, but that is neither here nor there. she enjoys the game, a great deal even, but only because it is a game. the fact that there is, if his hardness is any indication, an amount of pleasure for him in trying to hold back excites her. who wins the game is neither here nor there, there is no one who truly loses here.

she sucks the tip of his prick into her mouth, takes him to the deepest point yet, but she knows that forming a proper rhythm, truly making it so he fucks her mouth, would likely shatter his focus all too soon for his liking.

that doesn't mean she can't sigh softly against him, just for calling her a cheat. even though her voice has a shudder to it that easily gives away that she, too, is desperate to be touched. ⟫

[ he can feel her sigh, the shuddering breath, vibrates through his groin and it's becoming too intense. she gets her wish when she feels his throat hit the back of her throat, a strained and strangled moan breathed out as he tilts his head up and opens up his eyes sightless.

his body leans back so he can stretch out, hands nearly losing their hold on the mattress. he wants her to keep going, to push in deeper, and that's a bad sign. he's starting to lose slip of his control. ]

Mel... [ his voice trails off after that first syllable, a shuddering breath drawn out from his throat in place of the rest. ]

⟪ there's a doubled sense of intimacy here, between the shortening of her name and the way he draws his breath. he need not say 'stop' for her to know that this is what he means by it, and she pulls back, lips parted in a slight gasp.

and then twisting into a smile as she looks up at him. ⟫

Your focus is quite a challenge to best. ⟪ and she does not feel as though she managed that, as he'd not exactly lost himself to the point of giving in entirely. ⟫

[ a shaky laugh is his response, and added on- ] I could keep going.

[ bravado is his nature, even when he's so obviously spent. he loosens his hold on the mattress, getting one of his hands up behind his neck to smooth out the hair that slings to his neck. face flushed, damp with sweat, and he's taking the few moments of respite to even out his breathing again.

he leans upright again to sit up straight, close to the edge though he can still remain sharp, he offers his hands to her. ]

Come here. [ his breath, still ragged, pants out with need. ] I want to hold you.

⟪ she, too, straightens, first and foremost to slip out of her underskirt as he recovers slightly –– though he does not seem to need much recovery, what with the cockiness already plain as day in his voice again. the laugh she breathes out is almost exasperated in turn, and she takes his hand, quite expecting to know where his sentence will lead when it begins with 'i want'.

as often, she did not guess correctly. in the time before asshai, such... gentle requests were more commonplace, but the city of shadow has different ways, and little room for things that do not serve the immediate relief of an urge or the passionate trade-off of a prayer.

and still, she returns to his lap, entirely bared now, and brushes back a last strand of his now more mussed hair, and then, a thumb across his flushed cheek. ⟫

You are a very unusual man.

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