vecna | ☣️ midwestern mayhem inbox.

Henry.

Hm. Flattering, but not quite.

[Much as he hates to do it, then, he doesn't oblige her. He doesn't even press his cock against her backside again, instead letting his hand drift back down to take his length in his palm. His other drifts under the band of her panties and squeezes one of her cheeks, fondling all too gently.]

I know you're aching for it. Stop torturing us both.

I refuse to plead with you.

[ a tremor in her voice even so. she wanted this, and she asked for this, and now she wishes she hadn't, because her pride chafes so keenly against the thought of begging. begging is the position she's put herself in. ]

No one tortures you but you. Get on with it! Let me hear.

And what happened to me being stern?

[Her panties are pushed down with his powers, but he does nothing more with them, instead just grinding once against her back again and stroking himself off. Long, indulgent touches.

He trails kisses along her back.

This is a killing with kindness sort of stern, truly.]

I am not sure you ever began.

[ "beg-ah!-n", because the sudden shucking of her underwear elicits a thrill and gasp. but he's still being cruel, if not particularly stern, and she steadies her breathing and closes her eyes, straining for the sound of skin stroking along skin. ]

[If she strains, she'll hear it. Maybe, anyway, if she can make it out over the wet kisses along back. But Henry very much meant it when he said he could be quiet when he wanted to — moreover, it's the dim rustling of his clothing that gives away the degree in which he pleasures himself. Only a slightly quickening tempo.]

Then what did you have in mind when you said it? That I'd disparage you? Use your body however I liked?

[She doesn't seem keen on actual humiliation, and Henry's idea of being stern is the Vecna-flavored kind, which is not always delicate to one's pride. Hers is already smarting from just being told to say please.]

I—don't know.

[ underneath all of it, this is probably exactly what she had in mind. it isn't so dangerous that she feels vulnerable, not so demanding that she feels taken advantage of, and not humiliating so much as the tiniest bit of welcome helplessness. if she thinks about it, her immobility is merely one more way Henry shows his affection. his every thought focused on her. every mote of concentration.

wants to lean back into him, massage him with her tail, so many things. instead, only the coolness of the room now drifting over her bared folds, and Henry's growing heat behind her. he's being so quiet. ]

Are you having fun? Henry?

[Is he having fun? That’s a strange question, he thinks. Is she asking because she’s suddenly uncertain if he’s enjoying himself?]

Fun? It’s more than just fun.

[Ah, it’s so hard to be… stern with her, to keep teasing her when he feels this way. Like he would turn himself inside out right now just to make her feel happy and contented and connected him.

He tilts his forehead against her back — after that, the sensation of a palm sliding up her spine, reverent.]

Nothing else matters right now besides being here with you.

[ what a relief. she shivers contentedly and gives his thigh a squeeze in wordless thanks. that word is always wordless when it comes to Sprezzatura, after all. ]

So beautiful, this day.

[ with the sunlight spilling in and moving slowly across her bed as the minute spend. with Henry close behind her. his desires clear and his voice soft near her ear. ]

I love your voice.

[Nooo, he’s weak. He’s weak he’s weak he’s weak. How can she say such things and not expect him to immediately bend over backwards for her? Whether purposefully or not, it’s so, so hard to deny this impulse.]

You are a wicked woman. Using sentiment against me.

[It doesn’t matter if that was her intent or not. He will frame it like she’s being devious about it as he… scoots back down again, grabbing both sides of her now-bare cheeks, spreading them and hitching his hips forward to seat the line of his cock right against that valley again. It's so much more prominent, the heat of her, when it's skin-on-skin. His cock throbs against her.]

And I love yours. All the little noises you make. Or the sound of your laugh. Or even that low timbre of yours when you’re displeased with me.

Do you?

[ couldn't be further away from displeased now. arches softly, in her mind, had she the control of her body for it. her mind strays, too, towards the hair oil she'd pilfered and brought back with her, lost somewhere in the sheets with all the other lipstick tubes. ]

Should I use it now? For going back on your word so many times?

The point is, my beautiful tiefling…

[He arches into her to make up for it. That long, hard line of heat brushing against her hole, nestled between her soft skin.]

…that I like anything that comes out of your mouth.

[ … ]

Especially your tongue.

Do you?

[ LAUGHS AGAIN, that sable purr of hers. he would, wouldn't he? and the possessive heats her and pulls downward to her groin, where it throbs in an urgency she cannot answer to. trying to remember what he looks like, undressed, but so much of that had been with her facedown and turned away, or else he was buried in her and she still couldn't see.

how pink is he? how flushed? are his eyes febrile with desire, or has he retained the clarity there, too, that allows him to continue teasing her so levelly? with effort, Sprezzatura closes her eyes and narrows her focus to the wet slide, up and down. and up... as though her heart doesn't leap in her chest to feel it nudge past her hole. if she had a cock, it would be twitching. ]

I mean to use it to do things to you that will leave you reeling.

[He loves that laugh so much. Every time he hears it, he’s sure he falls for her all the harder. He doesn’t know how it’s possible, to feel so increasingly strongly about someone that it aches deeply, right at his core.

He can focus on that later.

Right now, the physical arousal is too powerful to ignore. His cock is already well-stimulated, even if it’s gone from his hand to rutting against her to her tail and then back again, and he feels only molten, roiling heat pressurizing inside of him, all of it converged at his cock as he practically humps her; rubbing back and forth so obscenely against her hole. For the effort, Henry tries to imagine the length of her tongue, the way it could wrap around him, the way it felt squirming under him when he fucked her mouth. Yes, that was very good — permanently emblazoned in his mind.]

Imagine it, Sprezzatura, wrapped so snugly around my cock. Or maybe… you’d like tasting me in other ways.

Which ways?

[ a far cry now from "you are talking too much". but she wants to know the floodplain through which his mind trawls now, as he humps so deeply between her cheeks that her thighs tremble. if it had felt juvenile before, now is so much more so—in that harried, erotic way of shedding only what needs must in order to find pleasure. her panties around her knees. her blouse rucked up beneath her shoulders.

fuck. fuck. tightens her tail around his thigh, as much as he'll allow her. ]

Tell me.

[He’ll allow as much as she wants to tighten it; he loves that squeeze. All for him.

Chases that continual friction, warm but only as slick as much as his precome smears across her skin. It isn’t quite enough. Selfishly, Henry brings a hand down to cup at her now-exposed folds, dragging his fingers through them. Collecting her wetness to transfer it to the length of his cock, before he seats himself against her again.

Ruts… more. That’s better. Lewd. Feels so, so good. She earns a soft little moan for it.]

I mean… you returning the favor. For what I did to you last time. My tongue against your hole, tasting you. But with a length like yours—

[Is this too obscene. How kinky is Sprezzatura. He just— This doesn’t register. His mouth speaks on its own.]

You could delve in deep.

[ that brief, soaked slide of his fingers through her may as well be torture. absence of touch is easier to endure than the briefness of it.

so when it leaves her, she makes a low sound of protest, one she chokes on. he's wetter now, coated in her. moaning. oh, Mammon, he's moaning. ]

You want I should fuck you like that? [ he could suggest nearly anything right now and she would obey like a dog. ] Suck on your hole until it has turned swollen and pink? Fill you with inches... Let me up. I will do so eagerly.

[ because it's him. ]

[Inside Henry Creel, there are two wolves: one that still wants to prove that he'll not give in so easily, not with a few lurid promises, and the second that wants to let her do absolutely whatever she wants to him, who knows his pride only stands in the way of very specific things — sex with Sprezzatura, apparently, is not one of them.

Ahh, fuck. Fuck, fuck.

Just blurts out:] I still want to finger you first.

[ just like that, the upper hand is hers once more. ]

Oh, now you wish to?

[Did she ever really not have it, though.]

Of course. But you're just being so stubborn, Sprezzatura.

[Hand dipping down low to slide a finger through her folds again. His cock practically throbs against her with the effort.]

I want to deny you, and make you beg for it. But the problem is that I want you just as badly. So where does that leave us?

[ leaves them right here, aching and neither fully satisfied. she all but growls at that teasing touch, wishing for it to curve, slip inside, fill her. ]

I will never beg.

[It doesn't; not yet, anyway.]

Not even for me?

It is not my nature.

I know. That's the point.

[That she'd do it, just for him. For no one else. But maybe that's not what she's hearing; or maybe it doesn't matter.

But ultimately, he releases her, all the same. The telekinetic grip loosens, because he wants to make a request of his own.]

Turn over. I want to watch your face.

[ ...how loose?

because if she's given enough lead, she'll take all of it, flinging herself over with verve and pushing him down ]

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