[She's still a tiny tief. In every scenario, he imagines her having to raise up high to take him from behind, unless she wants to push him truly face-first and flat against the floor or mattress, and then-
Oh, it makes the imagination go wild.]
Then you'll have to show me how you manage it. Hm?
[Such thoughts make him feel more impatient, and he continues in his heavily accented Russian, to mirror her "lapochka" endearment he's earned more often lately.]
[ she throws herself back with glee. almost doesn't mind the painful throb in her belly and lower, given all else to be joyous about. Pride won and she isn't marked up and Trilla did well. and now... Henry. her prize. ]
[He intends to move to where he can situate between her legs and work open her trousers, but even that small caress makes him linger a moment longer where he is.]
[He has the distinct feeling that it isn’t “vocabulary”, no. Though given what he knows about Sprezzatura, she could be telling him something fond, a deeper form of “darling”, or he’s repeating something utterly obscene because it amuses her.]
[ a low laugh, absorbed into the kiss: hhhaaah. both arms wrap about his nape, then her legs come up around his hips and she play-kicks her feet up and down on either side of him. ]
[The crescent of his smile becomes more prominent against that kiss. Pulled in, her legs around his hips, he could honestly be happy doing this for the rest of the day.
Though he wants to keep saying it, too. He’s learned a new, very important word in Russian, after all. When the kiss breaks, he reiterates.]
Lyubimiy. My beloved, beautiful Sprezzatura. You’ll have to teach me more.
He obliges, kissing deeper this time. Like she’s his source of oxygen. Well, if his mouth is otherwise occupied, she gets a cheeky little telepathic endearment in her mind.]
[ a warm snort against his cheek. an automatic smile. the curl of her tongue into his mouth is cheeky in turn; a little flick against his, rather than a stroke. ]
[The tip of his tongue dances against hers in reply, and Henry hums contentedly. Without breaking the kiss—or trying to, anyway—he pivots so that he’s braced atop her, one hand moving down to play with the band of her trousers.]
[ ahh. she could tongue-kiss for hours. she loves the tingly, wet brush and the sound of the kisses once they've deepened, and his breathing steady against her, and his lips so warm, so unbelievably soft. all of it. she hums back, angling higher to suck at his top lip and press it firm between hers. hands sliding into his hair, fingers splayed wide, nails tickling over his scalp. ]
Still so eager for blood?
[ her tail tries to guide his hand back up her body, a suggestion at most ]
[Pleasantly tickling, those nails. Enough to make him shiver, and he sucks at her lower lip in “retaliation” before he replies.]
Yes. That game might’ve been chaos, but it’s piqued my interest when it comes to how you taste right now.
[Will she be as delectable as when he was splattered with red paint? Well, probably not, and Henry knows that. But the appeal is still there — and that’s all he needs, the allure of it, to know it’ll be enjoyable all the same.
Her tail ghosts up his hand, and he slides his touch up to just above her waistband, not an inch more.]
[ a look on her face like she can't believe she has the fastidious Henry Creel aching for a taste. her entire body prickles with desire almost to excess, and she has to shiver to be rid of it, only for it to begin to build again. she pictures, for an instant, the pressured slide of his tongue through her folds, his breath warming her, his gaze intense and darkened by the pleasure of it, the taboo of it.
his eyes are keen enough to cut, sometimes. she's thought this before. and how blue...
yes, she wants him to look at her that way. to—... ]
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Oh, it makes the imagination go wild.]
Then you'll have to show me how you manage it. Hm?
[Such thoughts make him feel more impatient, and he continues in his heavily accented Russian, to mirror her "lapochka" endearment he's earned more often lately.]
Lie down now, darling.
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[ she throws herself back with glee. almost doesn't mind the painful throb in her belly and lower, given all else to be joyous about. Pride won and she isn't marked up and Trilla did well. and now... Henry. her prize. ]
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You are more than just 'darling'. But my...
[He trails off, pausing. Then back in English-]
Vocabulary never was as extensive as I'd like for it to be.
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smooths her hand up one arm. caressing through fabric. ]
Lyubimiy.
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Lyubimiy. “Vocabulary?”
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[He leans over, dips in dangerously close — but no kiss yet.]
Either it is or it isn’t. Which is it?
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[ can he not tell from the manner of speaking alone? come on. ]
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Lyubimiy. You…?
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I see. You’re definitely that.
[Beloved.]
Lyubimiy.
[And, finally, a kiss to seal that notion.]
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Though he wants to keep saying it, too. He’s learned a new, very important word in Russian, after all. When the kiss breaks, he reiterates.]
Lyubimiy. My beloved, beautiful Sprezzatura. You’ll have to teach me more.
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[ one kiss is not nearly enough. trying to guide him back in, her hands gripping his chin on either side. ]
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He obliges, kissing deeper this time. Like she’s his source of oxygen. Well, if his mouth is otherwise occupied, she gets a cheeky little telepathic endearment in her mind.]
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Mmhmmh.
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Still so eager for blood?
[ her tail tries to guide his hand back up her body, a suggestion at most ]
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Yes. That game might’ve been chaos, but it’s piqued my interest when it comes to how you taste right now.
[Will she be as delectable as when he was splattered with red paint? Well, probably not, and Henry knows that. But the appeal is still there — and that’s all he needs, the allure of it, to know it’ll be enjoyable all the same.
Her tail ghosts up his hand, and he slides his touch up to just above her waistband, not an inch more.]
Why? Change your mind?
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his eyes are keen enough to cut, sometimes. she's thought this before. and how blue...
yes, she wants him to look at her that way. to—... ]
...
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Nibbles at her lower lip again, and that one hand is going to fuss idly with the button of her trousers as if trying to grab her attention again.
A little lilting, a little teasingly sing-song-]
Earth to Sprezzatuuura… Are you listening to me?
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—Da.
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No you weren’t. What’s going on in that head of yours?
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