“Oh,” he says, a breath.
“’Oh’ is right.” Vex'ahlia steps out from under the high-vaulting archway and into the bedroom proper, lifting her skirt by the knees to prevent the smooth gossamer from clinging to the splintered hardwood. She gives a playful spin to show it off, arms up, eyes closed, until she faces him again and bows, long chestnut curls tumbling down around her face.
Where she expected a comment or gasp or, hell, a word of approval, lovely Percival is silent. She faces the floor, bites her lip, and slows her breathing. The heat of his gaze prickles and warms as it ghosts from the crown of her head down to the small of her back, nearly prompting a shudder.
She turns up to him, and he’s purposefully glaring a hole at her collarbone, presumably to avoid glancing any further down. The strangled press of his lips is one of the better things she’s seen on his face. He’s sitting primly on their bed–one bed of the several pre-existing in the castle–with his brogues kicked off, and his chemise both untucked and unbuttoned. His pale cheeks, turned upward at her beneath a snarl of hair, are coloring nicely.
“Well?” she smiles, hopeful. His gaze snaps up to meet her eye, and she sweetly bats her lashes at him. “Do you like it?”
She’s referring to the dress, of course. It starts as a beaded silk shroud over the shoulders, smooth and creamy white, with little embroidered jay-blue petals and lilies around the edges to frame. It’s nearly the only opaque element of the outfit. The rest is an eventful series of satin crinkles and silk belts to form a decidedly fetch little boudoir dress, sashed around the waist. The dress itself is hardly a defense against the white lace brassiere and underclothes beneath it. She hopes Percy understands that it was intentional. There’s a chance he’s trying to convince himself she’s mistaken and has stepped outside to show him an outfit, neglecting to realize that he’d be able to see through the chiffon and charmeuse. Oh no, indeed.
He hums, thoughtfully, and clasps his hands together, how he does when he doesn’t know where to put them. He makes an abortive gesture to hold onto her shoulders, and instead places them behind his back. “I– Yes,” he mutters, making meaningful eye contact with the peeling wallpaper. “It’s—. You look nice.”
“… Nice?” she parrots. She spent a pretty sum and even more pretty hours helping Keyleth weave those lilies onto there. It had better be more than lovely. He’d better be grateful.
She’s in the middle of stewing over how she’d like to be shown that gratitude when he lifts one hand halfway to her chest and then reels back, clasping and unclasping as he goes.
“Nice isn’t nearly kind enough, but,” he says, voice quavering, “I believe I’d need time to find something better. I’m a bit occupied at the moment, you see.”
“Good save,” she grins, winks fondly at him, and allows herself to step closer. Even while sitting on the bed, Percy’s height is almost level with her shoulders. He leans back, then forward again, sitting up in excitement.
“I was, um. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I was expecting something smaller,” he laughs, reaching out to gently swish the satin against her hip.
“Smaller?” Vex takes a step back, and peers down at herself beneath the hem of her dress. “Smaller than this, even?”
He cringes, and shakes his head. “No, no– I mean. Not as… high of a caliber of a gift. Not as affecting.”” Percy takes the material of the hem between his fingers and absently feels at the embroidery, eyes locked onto her and her scrunched nose of confusion. “When you said you’d be right back, my mind had gone to those little rabbit slippers, not… lingerie.” He says it like it’s something vulgar as sin, an edge of appreciation to his voice. “This is… a surprise, I suppose. A very nice one, at that, I’ll have to thank you.”
“Oh!” she snorts, hand covering her mouth. “That’s… sweet. Thank you? Or, well. You’re welcome.”
He’s distracted by the sash around her waist, now. He tugs at it gently, as if wondering what might happen if it came undone, but not quite sure if he had the permission to do so. Her hands rise to press at the sides of his face, scratching at the stubble just beneath his jaw and trailing up to grip his hair. She scratches there, too, and he leans into the touch hard, an easy grin forming on his blissful face, like Trinket on a good day. He'd always been easy to touch, quick to please, even beside himself. She stops herself before she can get carried away; if allowed the opportunity, they could do this until she lost track of time.
He nearly whines at the removal of her hands, and reaches out to take them again. The action pulls her closer, but also brings the swell of her breast nearly inches away from Percy’s eyeline, and he chokes, turns away, somehow still bashful even when aware of what comes next.
“Sorry,” he laughs. With a finger, she wordlessly lifts his chin to meet her eye, slowing all progression of thought. Then, meaningfully, takes his hands in hers, and brings them to her soft waist, where the sash rests heavy against her hips and underclothes. His lips, pried together, unstick. The question goes unspoken. You want me to… ?
“Go ahead,” she smiles, eyes glittering with humor and something darker, richer. Percy swallows and pulls decisively at the sash, the slide of silk against silk lasting until the length of it falls through the loop of the other and the hem of her dress parts like a curtain.
There’s a novelty to the way it exposes her naked midriff, even when he’s seen far more of her than this before. He gives a little appreciative sigh, an absent smile creeping up to his mouth. He’s not as prudish as he used to be, months ago, before their marriage, but there’s still a flavor of caution to the way he slowly reaches out to touch her, stammering and faulting in the action, as if he's afraid of what he'll do to her if he isn't careful. She allows the sheer fabric of the dress to fall down her naked shoulders until they hit the floor like a cloud, and Percy’s eyes flutter and hiccup like they can’t seem to keep themselves open. “Oh, wow.”
With the dress off, more of her underclothes are exposed to the air, and he looks down for the first time to realize she’s wearing stockings.
“You’re kidding me,” he says through a laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners with open amusement. “Garters, too? Really?”
“They were on sale,” she muses, stepping back across the room to pose for him, hands trailing heavy from her thighs to her chest and up the sides of her neck, slow, in a terrible impression of a Marquet dancer. “Eight silver a pop, babe.”
“You got a good deal, then.” He’s started giggling at her flagrant dancing, and pulled his legs up the bed to watch. “Is the back any different?”
“Oh, you want to see the back, do you?” Vex teases, eyes shining.
“Y–Yes, I believe I do.” He tries to push out an even, playful tone, but the strangled catch to it reveals exactly how much he’s enjoying this. She obliges, slowly spinning with a swing to the hips. The back of her panties have a little heart shape cut through them. Even without facing him, she hears his choking laugh.
“Oh my god,” he says, wheezing into one hand. “Oh my god.”
Here’s the killer. “Wait a moment,” she says, spinning to face him with transparently feigned shock. “Oh, my, I’ve made a mistake.”
The expression on his face is clear: Oh no. “What have you done.”
“My, my, Percy, dear,” she swoons, rushing up to him on her tip-toes, kicking the dress on the floor out of her way. “I seem to have put these on backwards.”
He groans, grinning, like he’s being teased. “What are you doing. What are you doing, you monster.”
She twists around, inches away from his lap, and faces away again. He can’t see her beaming grin, but he knows. “Dear, I believe you’re going to have to rectify the situation.”
Once she pulls her hair over her shoulder, he’s eye-level with the back loop of her brassiere, and looking down reveals the aforementioned swell of her tush. Tush? Bottom, surely. The line of it is visible through the cut-out heart shape. He leans forward, pressing the soft curls at the front of his scalp to the skin of her back. “Is that so?”
“Yep.” She slides one finger beneath the string at at the side of her hip, and snaps it resoundingly against her skin. “Go right ahead.”
There’s a puff of hot air at her back, and then his lips are on her skin unexpectedly, searing hot and lingering. His mouth travels down the ridge of her spine to the cold skin at the small of her back, broad hands rising up to rest heavy and warm on the sides of her hips. It gives her a startling thrill to have his grip on her, gentle as it is—he’s tall, and the length of his delicate hands allow them to wrap almost entirely around her waist. With his index fingers, he rubs circles into the dip of her hipbone, hooks beneath the string of fabric at either side, and pulls down.
He doesn’t remove his lips from her skin until the fabric is about halfway down her thighs. He laughs, shuddering, into the small of her back, and lets go. The white lace drops to her feet, and she feels the tilt of his head against her body– he’s allowed himself to glance down, and she doesn’t miss the sudden squeeze to her hips. She’s staring at the opposite wall, where her vanity set belongs. Her reflection, prim and pretty, is beginning to flush around the cheeks. She’s almost surprised at her own nakedness; his hands, gripping hard at her hips, are leaving little white marks of pressure on her rosy skin, long black hair falling free and wild over her shoulders. Percy doesn’t dare look at the mirror to see her front, and she thrills at it.
“Turn me around, dear.”
He obliges. With some pressure at her waist, he gently spins her around, eyes closed. When she fully faces him, her lace-covered breasts are again at eye-level, but he’s even averted his face as to keep from bumping his nose against one.
She stares down at him, in this position—slightly turned away, delicate lashes smudging shadows against the high rise of his cheekbones. His jaw works like he’s fighting on a thought, and his parted mouth glistens a bit with the wet kisses he left on her spine. She needs to look down her nose to really see him, and he remains partly obscured from beneath the twin swells of her breasts, but she knows how close he is to touching the base of her hips, and just the sight of it makes her stomach swoop. She burns with something so needy, so feral it nearly makes her whine—wants to reach out and press his lovely head to the mattress and make him whimper, wants to feel and touch and pry at everything tender about him and make him jolt and gasp and flush crimson—but she knows there are better ways to do it, and knows exactly how destroyed he becomes when she allows herself to make it last.
“Pull them back up, darling.”
Eyes still fluttered shut, he nods and presses a wet kiss to the arch of her hipbone. He pauses there, inhaling deeply, before stooping down to pick up the lace at her feet. Now reversed, the heart-shaped cut-out is placed squarely over the dark snarl of hair between her thighs, allowing it to remain exposed as the fabric hides everything else.
Once the underclothes are back on her body, she places one hand beneath his chin, and tilts his head up to face her. “I think you can open your eyes now, dear.”
He does. She watches as they refocus in the dark, meeting hers, and then traveling down the brassiere, down her belly, to the base of her hips. She wiggles them. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in his fine throat. “That’s new.”
“Mmhmm.” She steps into his space, between his parted knees, and parts them further with a shift of her thigh. He leans back, putting weight on an elbow, and groans from somewhere raw and surprised. “O-Okay.”
Vex only smiles when she puts a delicate hand on the hairs at his chest, where his shirt is unbuttoned, and continues to part it as she trails down his stomach, scratching lightly with her fingernails. His soft stomach gives a little jump at the sharp touch, and he closes his eyes when she puts the full weight of her hand over where his pants are tented. “O-Oh, dear. Alright. Can I, uh. Make a request.”
“Yes?” she says, though her attentions remain on his pants, already unbuttoning them enthusiastically. He startles with a gasp, one leg hiking up in surprise like a bracket around her.
“Can we, uh. Start with you?” he rasps urgently, hands gripping the bedsheets like they’re somehow going to save him. “I think I need a little time to, uh. Y’know.”
“Oh,” Vex says, eyes flying up to him. Something like a light bulb shines behind the honey-brown of her eyes, beaming with brilliant zeroed-in focus. Her mouth is parted in a perfectly pink ‘o’. “Oh, yes, of course. Do whatever you’d like, I’m here.” She stands up, removes her hands from him and brings them to rest together behind her neck, toes wiggling with anticipation. She makes her best effort to arch her back slightly towards him, making her chest and waist more prominent, like a doll waiting to be touched.
“Thank you,” he sighs, sitting back up and leaning forward. Both hands, broad and warm, meet at her waist and slide up her sides to the bottom of her brassiere, the callouses on each only serving to tickle and give rise to goosebumps. She lifts her elbows to give him more space, and he slides a hand beneath the white lace to cup at a pert breast. She bites her lip and stares down attentively as he rolls a pearled nipple between his fingers, startling a gasp from her.
He leans further in, the other hand sliding up the fabric to do the same for the other breast. In all his hesitance, his hands are steady and warm as they knead and pinch, and she steps closer in spite of herself, making little sharp noises at the back of her throat. At some point he tugs at the underwire holding both cups together and lets it snap softly against her skin, not hard enough to sting but certainly hard enough to startle. She laughs and huffs and struggles to keep her hands behind her neck, letting her head tip back to enjoy the attention.
He brings her further into his space by the waist, and stands up. She nearly takes a step back, struggling to meet his eye at his newfound height, but he holds her by the waist flush to his body, and immediately stoops down to kiss lavishly at the skin of her neck, nose and rough stubble nuzzling into her pulse line. He then kisses and nips beneath her jaw, up beneath her ear, takes an earlobe between his teeth and tugs, and she can only giggle and gasp and try to accommodate him, weight shifting from one foot to the other again and again. The evidence for his arousal brushes up by her thigh, nearly level with the exposed slip in her pants, and this time, she does whine.
“Do– something,” Vex hisses after a time, arms beginning to ache. Nobody told her to put them there, but it’s the unspoken rule between them, of course: sometimes, if you’re being given attention, it’s time to keep your hands away from intervening. Percy’s slowly becoming more forceful with his hands, pressing at the sides of her hips, tugging up at the string of her pants, sliding under her lace defenses to grab and knead at anything and everything. She’s appreciative, of course, but—she chokes, when he ducks his head down to lift her brassiere and take a beaded nipple into his mouth—there’s only so much she can handle.
He pops his mouth off her skin and hums to himself, still rolling and pinching absently with his broad, warm hands. “What did you say, sorry?”
“I said—do something,” she says, hands reaching up to grip at her own hair helplessly; it’s all she can do not to reach out and grip him. In the moment she blinks, he’s gone. “Wh–?”
She searches for his face in the dark, trying to gauge where the hell he’s going next, and nearly shouts when something hot and wet and rough slides against the folds of her labia.
“Oh—my god—,” she gasps, stumbles forward until something catches her and holds her secure. Percy has situated himself effectively on his knees, face turned up towards her in earnest, hands holding her trembling thighs. The sight of it is something so beautiful, so brilliant—him at the base of her feet, eyes glossed and icy-blue and glittering with mischief, oh—and he smiles, reverent, puffs hot air at her where she’s exposed, and goes back under.
“Oh, you beautiful—shit,” she gasps, “Shit, shit, shit.” He’s used a thumb to expose the line of her clit and closed his lips around it, sucked hard and slow like it’s a thick mead, and traveled further down, kissing up into her, nosing at the inside of her thighs. She can’t keep her arms away anymore and braces herself against the bed, one hand clutching helplessly at the back of his head. She feels him hum inquisitively at the bow of her hips, the vibrations of it traveling up and nestling warm at her spine.
There’s a moment of hesitation where she imagines he’s thinking, or overthinking, or both—and then there’s a finger or two gently trailing up the length of her entrance, pressing and smoothing but never slipping in. His mouth is still there, still laboriously licking into her, but the fingers gently press around her clit, once, and then swirl around it, slow and simmering, how he knows she does to herself. She groans, bucks into his mouth, boring down on him as hard as she can go. He’s doing so much, she knows, so much, but it’s not nearly enough, and she doesn’t know how to communicate that she needs him to pick up the pace without opening her mouth and whining outright.
He pulls back, face wet, and peers up at her. When she looks down, she notes that a sheen of sweat has formed around her thighs.
“Is it alright if I start, uh,” he says, and trails off, almost as if hoping she had the imagination to elaborate. His voice is thick, and the hot air he breathes against where she’s most sensitive is like. Is like—
“God, yes, just—,” she growls, fighting to keep from tugging at his hair. “Do it, go, now.”
“Okay,” he breathes, and goes back down. There’s another few hard swirls with his fingers at the root of her clit, and his mouth quickly replaces it. One, two nimble fingers push and curl into her, now, and she gasps like there’s something to marvel at.
“Back, back, back,” she urges, pushing him with her feet so that he’s flush against the mattress, the back of his head reclined against where he’d previously been seated contently. She rushes back over him, one leg hiked up onto the bed proper, giving him even more room to work, but it’s not enough, not enough, God—
She grips him hard by the collar of his shirt and pulls him up and onto the bed, (he yelps, of course), clambering over his gasping face and flailing limbs until she’s fully laid back with effort and his mouth is on her again, fingers back to curling and toying. She growls and whines, all the delicacy in her tone gone and vanished when she arches off the bed and into his mouth. He detects the urgency in her voice and inserts another finger, sweating where her hand grips the back of his head, panting hard and hot into her frame. She knows he loves this, knows he loves every bit of it, the proximity, the control—he looks up at her like he’s failing to hold himself together, hands trembling and faulting where they enter her, where he knows exactly where to curl, where to press into at each little thrust.
She grits her teeth and bucks against him, and one of his hands suddenly reaches up to her hip and pins it down to the bed. “What—,” she gasps, tries to arch into him again and can’t against the strong line of his arm, and she whimpers helplessly, tugs at his hair, immobile.
He lifts his head, eyes clouded and lidded near-shut, mouth crinkled in a lopsided smile. With his other hand, he tweaks once at her clit and she jumps, but her hips are held down fast to the mattress. She lifts her head to glare at him, black curls slick to her neck with sweat. “Excuse me?”
“Can’t do my job if you’re moving around like that,” he says, accent thick and slurred. Within her view, he kisses sweetly at her entrance, and pulls her hips closer to him. She instinctively parts her thighs further, almost embarrassingly far, and doesn’t hesitate to smack at his shoulder when he chuckles, “Eager, huh?” into her folds.
For now, he slows, fingers sliding in and out at a steady, meaningful pace. She grips at his hair, panting like something in her lungs is going to give out. He’s good at this. Better than he has any right to be, being who he is, and what conditions he’s come from—it wasn’t like Vex'ahlia was expecting the last heir of supernaturally vulnerable nobility to be fantastic at eating women out. When she first knew they—her and Percy—were going to happen, she’d mostly been hoping for him to not be entirely impotent. Anything more was a luxury.
Sitting back and allowing herself to be pampered in full lingerie was… Well. Decidedly luxurious.
One of his hands reaches up and tugs her lace underpants down and below her thighs. The opening allowed for easy access, but he’d apparently needed more room than that. She giggles and kicks them off, not even startled when he descends upon her again. He picks up speed, however, and rubs hard circles up and around her clit like he’s on a mission. The sudden pressure makes her jolt a bit, and he works off her noise of near-pain, fingers moving faster, unrelentingly, around the white-hot burn tight in her belly, pooling low and frantic and feverish. When she arches up and cries out, he presses her hips back down into the mattress, and it only serves to make her gasp higher, grip his hair harder.
“God,” she hisses, “Gods,” kicking blindly, rutting against where he fucks into her, grabs and rolls at her own breast, the pressure building and seething in her stomach. He works at her and surges into her until she’s urgently tugging at his neck, thighs trembling and slick around where he’s nestled, swallowing air and sweating through his chemise. His deft fingers find a marked corner, a silky cove in her body that positively sings at his touch, wants to scream every time he prods against it, and she shakes like there’s nothing holding her together anymore, tears brimming in her eyes, sealed shut and blinded. He probes against it experimentally and she jumps like she’s been shocked, yelping and swearing, wheezing air from clenched teeth, giving a helpless whimper when he removes them.
He rises up onto his knees to better move his elbows, flashes the brightest, sweatiest grin she’s ever seen on him, and with all three fingers—
A second skips in time and she finds herself holding his face, kissing the dew from his mouth, sobbing and gasping as he pushes into her, still, again, again, until the blood rushing in her ears burns out into a brilliant white glare and the spark in her stomach crackles and pops and leaps up into her throat, choking her of all noise and light and— and—
Ah.
“H– Hey,” he smiles, kisses her cheek. “Welcome back.”
She’s still weakly thrusting back against his hand, but he removes it gently to wipe it on a nearby surface, and she sighs, smiling back. “Oh, my.”
“Oh my’ is right,” Percy says, in a perfect imitation of her—though his voice is partially destroyed. “Dear Pelor. You really, uh. Really did a number on my face, there.”
“Did I?” she purrs, pulling his chin up to face her. “I believe you did a number on my… everything else.”
“I’m not sure about that,” he laughs, and she smooths her thumb over the little crease between his brows. “I just did what you asked of me.”
“Hmm,” she hums lovingly, scratching her nails beneath his jaw. And then. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“I didn’t get you off, did I?”
Percy snorts and shakes his head. “Vex'ahlia, you don’t have t—oh,” he breathes, a shudder, when she puts her hand down his pants. “Oh, okay.”
“Come up here,” she says, hand luxuriating around the line of his cock but never really holding it. He hesitates, and then climbs up by the elbows to put his hips at her eye-level. Or mouth-level, really. His pants are still tented delightfully, but upon a hard press (of inspection, of course), she finds a little spot where he’s … well.
“You don’t have to,” he says again, cringing at the sudden pop of his trousers opening. “You’re… tired.”
“Not tired enough to fall asleep on you, darling,” she coos, tugging his underclothes off and away. His cock springs out and, Percy being on his side, weeps precariously against the bedsheet. “Ah,” she grins. “Here you are.”
“Don’t— talk to my dick like it’s not me,” Percy grouses, and Vex tilts her head up at him coyly.
“Do you want me to suck your cock or not?”
He sighs, pressing his hand to his mouth. “Please.”
“Wonderful,” she says, and then smiles down at his cock, one hand wrapped delicately around the base. “He says ‘yes’, little guy.”
“Oh my god.”
“He doesn’t seem to like it when I talk to you, so I’ll just… start doing the rest, alright?” she chuckles, not ignoring the way her voice seems to crackle and burn around the edges. She’s just as exhausted as he is, though a bit more. Thoroughly ravished.
“Vex,” he pleads, and she gives a playful little tug.
“Alright, alright,” she laughs, and lazily licks at the slit of his head, flats her tongue at the beaded dribble of precum steadily weeping out of it. Percy’s hips buck and shudder, unused to the sudden heat and wetness and—everything, really. He gasps from above her, airy and distant.
She smooths her hand up and down the line of his cock, appreciating the weight of it. On her side is a much more relaxed position than on her knees, but she’s struggling to stay focused. Mostly, she just wants to fall asleep. Maybe she’ll fall asleep with it in her mouth as a compro—no, no, she thinks suddenly, none of that. Gods.
“Percival, darling,” she says, the tone more like a domestic question. “I won’t be going very deep, alright? This isn’t the angle for it. Unless you want to move your hips.”
He wordlessly shuffles closer, almost bashfully. “This alright?”
“Perfect,” she sighs, and nuzzles against the fine little salt-and-pepper hairs at the base of his crotch. Reaching up, she closes her lips around the head and sucks thoughtfully, not ignoring the spasm that his hips give as soon as she does. It’s not a very bad taste, she’s found, pumping the root of his cock with one hand. It’s always saltier than she’s ever expecting, but, then again, she’d never really bothered thinking about the palette of—
He puffs out a breath he’d been holding, and Vex has a little ah moment, where she realizes how sensitive he is here, again. It’s always a surprise. She kisses the crown, the slit, where it sticks a bit to her lips, and trails her mouth down to the base, where she licks until the very tip.
“Shit,” he sighs, though it’s muffled. She looks up to see him covering his mouth with one hand like there’s something to defend her from. She meets his eye with a sweet smile, and descends upon his cock again, both hands working the base independently, working up the whole damn thing. He’s brand-hot and brilliantly red, springing back whenever she pops her lips off the tip, and leaks wonderfully; she couldn’t be bothered to find any lubrication.
Though…
She reaches down, between her legs, and sweeps her hand around the moisture before placing it back on his cock. Above her, he hears him hiss, “Oh my god, Vex—” like he’s being strangled, though her hands slide noticeably a tad more free up his cock, so. Appears it did the trick.
He whimpers and bucks into her hand, and once she puts her mouth back on him, he’s bucking into that too. A low, injured growl resonates from his chest the more she takes of him into her mouth, and doesn’t miss how strained it becomes when she slowly takes him to the root.
“Oh—kay,” he rasps, one hand flying up to grip at the bedpost, the other meeting at the back of her head. It’s a tender grip, unlike the snarl she had on him, and makes her flush a little more when she slowly pulls off with a pop.
Her lips stick shiny and sweet to his head, and she swirls her tongue around the tip with a little flourish, pumping hard and slow with one hand, the other reaching up to scratch at his stomach, the skin of it jumping and twitching. She thinks back to all the other times she’s done this before, on her knees at his feet, remembers what he likes, and bobs her head low. His hips shake against her, trembling as she swallows down the line of his cock, until he gasps and jerks sharply away from her, beside himself, now fully resting his back on the bed.
She blinks with confusion when the cock is gone from her mouth, but crawls over on her elbows to follow it back. Now upright over him, she’s capable of applying more pressure to the game, lets it sit low on her lips before taking it in, and he groans, high and sharp and crystalline, arches his back off the bed and scrambles at the sheets. She ducks her head and scratches at the insides of his thighs, taking him in, swallowing air and his lovely dark smell all at once.
“Shit,” he gasps, and his straining cock springs back up to his belly as soon as she lets go. She licks a line up the underside and flats her tongue again at the slit, laves up the salt, and he jolt-thrusts into her mouth, her head locked in place by his grip, briefly choking her until his hips desperately stammer and pull away.
“S–Sorry,” he breathes, but her eyes go wide with something dark, and the burn settles back into her belly. She drags off his cock and says, “No, wait, do that again.”
“W–What, this?”
Percy hesitantly brings his hips up to her mouth, where his cock sinks into the heat until it presses hot at the back of her throat. He shivers and slips it back down, and her mouth loosely lets it sit on her dribbled bottom lip. She peers up at him and gives a slow, hazy bat of her eyes as approval. From this angle, she can see right up his updone mess of a chemise to his flushed, sweating face; he’s holding his hand to his mouth, looking positively scandalized and gives her a worried nod, before shutting his eyes and lifting his hips once more.
Her jaw works to stay loose as she lets him rise into her mouth and back down again, lips spread glossy and wide over the brim. It’s an effort to make sure he doesn’t come into contact with any teeth, but she does a good enough job that he’s back to making that strained growl above her. The shredded glass in his voice when he gets to this point is, she decides, one of the best things she’s ever heard.
With a strong hand on the back of her head, he slowly fucks into her mouth, hips straining, abdominal muscles jumping with the effort of it. His chest is a beautiful warm flush, and when she reaches up to scratch at it, she leaves behind little white rows of pressure from her fingernails. The roll of his hips when he thrusts into her is always, always furiously attractive, but from this close, it’s downright criminal.
She has little to do but run her hands gently over his chest, scratching at the fine hairs. He does the rest of the work: holding her head still, thrusting up into her mouth and down and back again, over and over in the darkness until the rush of blood in her head returns. The spike of heat in her gut does as well. Percy moans primly, beautifully, neck arching nearly all the way back as his hips stutter and stumble and work to keep pace with his own feverish want, and Vex finds she wishes she could reach up and press at that pretty little neck, press a hard thumb into his pulse point, feel the frantic throb of his heartbeat—hold him back by the throat, press it down, kiss it better. Next time, she thinks, as his cock slides deliciously to the back of her throat.
He’s begun to lose control, is near the closing point, she thinks; his breathing is nearly frenetic, chest rising and falling like a series of gushing waves, and she reaches up to glide a hand over a beaded nipple. He startles and gasps, crying out, lashing into her mouth, hand holding her head suspended, and she chokes and sucks him back, all the light in her body pinpointed right between the eyes, buzzing and fluttering with a sick sort of arousal.
He thrusts wildly and doesn’t hesitate, thankfully, on the experience that she can take it; and she can, she thinks. She would smile if she could move her mouth.
“Vex, I—” he begins, and cuts himself off with a strangled sort of whine. With effort, he angles his head down to meet her eye, and in the darkness she sees the shine, the beautiful gloss to his mouth, his brow, the lines of his neck where he sweats and shimmers, pupils blown out so wide it makes his eyes look dark as coal. Moonlight shafting through the window paints his white hair in a haloed glow, lights his body up like a spell, and he’s still thrusting weakly into her, not wanting to lose pace. “Are you— are you okay if I—?”
Eyes half-lidded, one hand working the base of his cock, she uses the other to give him a weak ‘OK’ sign.
He laughs, sharp and high, and throws his head back with a full cry, working her mouth again at full pace. She drinks him down, breathes him in, groans with the weight of his hand on her head, and that buzzing light behind her eyes is beginning to manifest, swimming down her spine to sit low between her thighs. She shudders and moves one hand to finger herself, helplessly, frantically, as he fucks back into her mouth with fervor, like he’s dying, like he can’t even control it, and just chases the burn mercilessly, gripping at her hair and arching up off the bed, kicking and crying out and—
“Hh—!” she startles, Percy spitting and swearing as he comes in her mouth, rasping air into his lungs as his cock pulses hot against her tongue, her teeth. She’s choking and can hardly take a breath before she’s honing in on the heat in her cunt, burning and sensitive from his go at it only moments before, and the sparking electricity in her belly crystallizes and spasms as she comes again, groans, whining into his cock, scrabbling at his stomach with her nails as if to plead for help—until it dies down, throbbing, legs shaking, and she pulls out of herself meekly. She’s collapsed against Percy’s hip, cock still somehow rooted in her mouth.
“O-Oh, dear,” Percy breathes, shuddering, as he gently pulls Vex'ahlia’s hair away from her face and pats the side of her hollowed cheek. She stirs, pulls off of him with a wet cough, and he holds her head up with both hands to look at her, tender as anything. One thumb brushes against a series of tears she wasn’t aware she’d produced, and she burbles a laugh through her nose.
“Are you alright?” he asks, and she’s about to answer before realizing she still has. His cum in her mouth. Ah. He realizes this, too, with horror, and doesn’t know what to say until she stares up at him and, with a long bat to her wet lashes, swallows decisively. He chokes.
“I–uh,” he’s started saying as she licks the remaining moisture from her lips and kisses at his rapidly softening cock. “I’m sorry for going—that fast, truly, I should have—”
“No, no, it’s alright,” she smiles, and cringes at the destroyed sound of her voice. She sounds almost as if she’d been choking on a cock for half an hour. How foul. “I wanted to do it. You were… perfect. You’re perfect.”
He sighs with an edge of relief, and she’s anything if grateful at his concern for her. He reaches down, hooks both hands beneath her shoulders, and pulls her up to his eye-level, wrapping the hard line of his arms around her chest lovingly. Her brassiere is still pulled half-off her body, so she giggles at the heat to one breast, before tossing the whole thing off completely.
“I’m surprised the stockings didn’t get ruined,” he muses, peering down at her feet.
She lifts one thigh to show a dribble of something run down the inside, wetting the lace, and smirks. “Spoke too soon.”
“Oh,” he says flatly. “Was that me?”
“No, no,” she says, one hand reaching up to scratch under his chin. “That was all in my mouth. If you had come on my face, however—”
“Oh, god,” he sneers, turned away from her.
“—We would have an entirely different story.” She reaches up to the nightstand, takes a long sip of water from a conveniently placed glass, and turns back down to him. Tweaks a nipple, laughs at his jolt, bats away his hands. “Thank you,” she starts, genuinely, interrupting his struggle. He slows, faces her, eyes wide with tender admiration. “Thank you for taking this seriously. The … lingerie, I mean. I was afraid you wouldn’t like it.”
“Wouldn’t like it?” he snorts, brushing one strand back from her hair. “What kind of monster wouldn’t like a beautiful, beautiful woman—” her feigned swoon, a roll of the eyes, “—wearing that?”
“You’ve been making an awful lot of ‘monster’ allusions tonight, mister,” she says, eyes glittering in sharpened interest. “Don’t make me make you talk about the psychology of that.”
“Oh, no,” he sighs, but the heat of it is gone, and he closes in on her face to give her cheek a soft kiss. “We wouldn’t want that.”
“No, no,” she smiles, and nuzzles into his touch. He’s impossibly warm, and she has many, many reasons to be tired.
“Still want to talk?” he smiles, eyes fluttering shut.
“Ugh,” she laughs, and bats at his pretty face. “Go to sleep, you little monster.”