vecna | ☣️ midwestern mayhem inbox.

(( cont. from here ))

[Once they arrive, he opens the door for her.]

In you go.

[ even aching, she steps inside... very, very, very primly. ]

[He follows, and the door shuts behind her.

Behold Henry Creel’s room (she’s seen it before): all neatness and organization. A made bed. A stack of books on his desk, a closed sketchbook. A spa gift basket that has little use, now that they have an upgraded bathroom. A closet with a closed door — but have no doubt all of his clothes are hanging neatly within. On the other end of the room, a small project: a vivarium in the making.]

No need to stand on ceremony here. The bed’s all yours.

[ instead, she sweeps toward the vivarium. to tease, yes, but also of a curiosity. ]

What have you here?

[It’s not terribly large, just fashioned together from what spare parts he could gather from the greenhouse. Four see-through, plexiglass walls and a simple, perforated lid for the top. Loam and pebbles carpet the bottom, along with a gnarled branch and a few wayward plants he’s upended and transferred from both the greenhouse and the forest.

Nothing else inside just yet, though.]

That?

[He draws closer, certainly not minding either her curiosity or her teasing. It’s his favorite subject, after all—]

I’m making a home for a spider, just for fun. So I don’t have to wander outside to find one all the time.

You have put so much care into it...

[ somehow that stirs in her ]

We should look for spider for you soon.

...Really? ["We."] You'd do that with me?

Is it difficult?

No. Not if you know where to look.

[But would she enjoy it? With him?]

I can show you the best places.

[ a spider would make him happy. allow her to bide her time before she has to surrender anything more personal. ]

Cool, dark places?

[Bold of her to think that a spider will make him stop trying to connect with her.]

You’d be surprised. Warm, sunny spots, too. Spiders aren’t always creatures that just lurk in the shadows.

[ this has slipped a little beyond the bounds of "teasing". she puts her brows up in a mockery of innocence, all pursed lips and rosy cheeks, and turns to him and says, ] Should be run outside right now and begin looking?

[He actually thinks about it for a half-second.

But ultimately, he just steps closer to her, and leans in even closer-]

No. It can wait. I have other things I’d rather be doing.

But think of all those spiders, Henry!

[The gentle touch of two fingers beneath her chin.]

Oh, suddenly you care about the spiders, Sprezzatura?

[ her heart somersaults. she drops the act very quickly now. ]

No.

Ha. One day I’ll get you to appreciate them more.

[Indeed, one would think after being in a drider body, she would appreciate them greatly :) ]

But for now… [He tilts his head in the direction of the bed.] Didn’t we have something else in mind?

Don't play coy, Mister Creel. I like man who knows what he wants and says it.

[ and yet... she suppresses a shiver all the same and brushes past him, deliberately brushes past him, to move towards it. her abdomen clenches and unclenches, the sensation of a knife dully throbbing inside. it will be nice to lay down for a while. ]

[It’s his turn for his heart to do a little anticipatory flip in his chest, even when she does something as simple as brush past him. Her casual manner, somehow, is all the more alluring.

He follows, halting beside her wherever she reaches the bedside. He says, all too innocent for the words spoken—]

In that case, I can’t wait for you to spread your legs for me, so I can taste you — warm and slow.

[ sidelong glance, a smile. there he is. goosebumps rising unseen and unbidden along her nape and the backs of her thighs. she does love that he can so easily say these things, even if she has to nudge him for it here and again. when they come, he doesn't have shame. it is a foreign thing to him after all these years.

or so Sprezzatura believes. ]

Why don't you do it?

[ spread her ]

[Shame is an old and shriveled thing lying dormant inside of him these days. It’s still reamed with thorns that puncture and cut, but so, so rarely is it ever given that privilege — and certainly never with anything like this. Why would he be ashamed of being intimate with her, in any conceivable way? That is tantamount to being ashamed of exulting her, an impossibility now that she’s reached a certain threshold of critical importance to Henry Creel.

So, naturally, his smile doesn’t leave him.]

I’m being patient. But if you won’t lie down on my bed, I’ll pin you down myself.

[And spread her. How does that sound?]

[ nor does the smile leave her. in fact, she finds herself slowly walking two fingers up his chest, en pointe. ]

I am suggesting, Henry.

[ she loves the feeling of being held and moved and opened how her partner wants—if she has given permission for them to do so. to feel the surprise when her heels are pushed above her head. or the tickling touch of a hand up the inside of her thigh. or ...

she steps out of her shoes. ]

[That flush she was missing earlier, it’s coming back, spreading faintly.]

Mm-hm.

[He ensnares her wrist once it’s high enough, just so he can slip his touch under her palm and lift her hand up to kiss softly along her knuckles.]

And I’m telling you to hurry up.

[Gently. Playfully. Two things happen with his powers next: the lock of his door clicking softly, and the feeling of invisible palms pushing her just enough to tilt her into his bed once she’s out of her shoes.]

[ her breath catches as he nudges her. the kiss, the door locking as if to punctuate what they have committed to do—new heat between her legs. ]

I keep thinking about you stuffed inside me.

[ when she flexes her fingers, as she does now, it's a blatant attempt at garnering more kisses ]

[And kisses she will receive. Plush and lingering, and the tickle of his lips against her fingers as he speaks afterwards.]

I’d like to be. Again. But we were spoiled by the circumstances last time, weren’t we?

[She didn’t have to worry so much about, ah, protection.]

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