vecna | ☣️ midwestern mayhem inbox.

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she drags him and turns them both so that she's on top. her lips slowly curve, reveal teeth. ]

Do it again.

[As always, her physical strength outstrips his, and he’s easily turned to where she bears on top of him.

That smile… Is that a dare? A warning? A request? His hands snake up to rest upon her back.]

…Show me the other side of your neck, lyubimiy.

[ her stomach somersaults. oh, she's in it now... she is.

exhales sharply, reaching up to draw her hair over her shoulder, and in so doing, she bares her throat... a languid head-tilt to the opposite side. in a subtle motion, she tests where her throat throbs—no bite marks this time. ]

[No bite marks. Just a hickey :)

The long line of her neck, when she pulls her hair back, is just as sensual as ever. He wastes no time in testing how much she actually desires yet one more mark, placing his lips near perfectly opposite of where the other one rests; a long, particularly sucking kiss follows. Henry hikes up a knee, too, to nudge against her hip.]

[ there's the drum of her pulse. she gasps again, turning into a low purring laugh, and wriggles a little to get her leg over his. topless and breathless, she hugs her cunt against the hard edge of his knee. good, firm pressure that seems in some way to alleviate the ache, and to make her entire upper body erupt in goosebumps, too.

it is beyond her how he can arouse her this much. when there is so much about him that should disarm her, yet doesn't. ]

Aytch... [ voice a mere whisper, breathy and rising as her skin begins to bloom in his mouth ]

[He’s kind enough to lower and raise his knee slowly again, so that she can feel the full length of his thigh if she wants to ride it as he kisses, and kisses, and kisses…

Heat rising beneath his collar. He should have taken his own shirt off, first.

Finally, the kiss ends with a swirl of his tongue, and his head rests against the pillow again, admiring the twin mark he’s made on her neck.]

There. One to match.

[ she feels on fire ]

Ffffuck, I want to wrestle with you—

[She… wants to— What? He laughs, low and amused, understanding the sentiment to mean he’s gotten her all keyed up.]

Grapple me and pin me down? You might be strong but I wouldn’t make it easy for you.

[ won't he? he's pliant as he's ever been, he's soft for her, he's so easy to make bend. she cups his throat on either side in her hands and gives a little squeeze, like a hug. ]

I—hha. Would you have your way with me, Henry? I'm not certain your will could persist.

[And he just looks up at her with that seeking gaze of his, his throat bobbing with a swallow as her hands encircle it.]

No, Sprezzatura, I think it could.

[She’s right: he is pliant and soft for her. Would do anything for her, to please her and make her happy. And that’s exactly why—]

Because deep inside, in some secret part of yourself, I know you’d enjoy it.

[ this is a new moment between them. she goes very still for an instant, assessing her own heartbeat and what that swoop in her belly means. not once has she ever liked someone else telling her what she thinks, or believes, or wants—it was always used against her at Teaferth. even at home.

but here Henry is, looking at her with those eyes that could cut glass.

she pushes down lightly on his Adam's apple. ]

You "know".

[His own heart feels like thunder in his chest, ushering blood to his neck and face when she pushes down gently, as well as achingly between his legs.

Where his hands splay against her back, he curls his fingers in lightly, pricking with his nails. He speaks despite the added pressure, every syllable reverberating against her palms.]

Why would you even flirt with the idea? With someone like me? Your physical strength means nothing when I could just pin you down with a thought. Have my way with you until you’re mewling and exhausted. You know that.

[And yet still with the most critical piece of power: the ability to make him stop if she truly wanted to, with little more than a breathed request. Surely she knows that, too. It doesn’t even need to be said.]

Hm? No, the idea’s tumbling around in your head because it appeals. Just like the idea of me marking you a second time excited you.

[ little is as arousing—nor comforting—as believing in the safety of a single word. her face is very warm now. without answering, she climbs on top and presses their clothed groins together, all heat and wet and hardness beneath their clothes.

mewling... ]

Being desired appeals.

Then it should please you to know…

[His nails slide down the length of her back. Henry feels as though he’s made of molten iron, so much of it coalescing where his groin meets hers.]

…that I want you more than anything else the entire universe could give me.

[There’s a deep, unyielding truth to that statement. Henry means it in ways that far transcend just sex.]

[ deeper than Sprezzatura herself can look just yet. she hears the hint of how far it goes and has to back away from the edge. but she knows it's there.

swoops down to kiss him again, and breathe into his mouth, and hump him. ]

Do things to me. Don't stop.

[He allows himself to be ensnared in that kiss (because why would he deny himself?) for a long, long moment. Luxuriating in both the feeling of her rocking against him and the blanket permission she's granted, letting the the anticipation heat until it's a boil. He angles down to nibble on her lower lip again, this time with a press of teeth. Too gentle to be a bite, too hard to not hint at his eagerness.]

Yes, Ms Vaux.

[And then, just like that, his powers flip them over, and he's on top of her again, untangling his arms from her torso to push himself down and actually work on the fastenings of her trousers. They'll be pulled down her hips without ceremony in the next moment.]

Be a good girl and don't squirm too much.

[ good girl ]

[ a faint writhing as if to lift her hips, give him the space. her heart has swollen up in her throat, all dizzying anticipation. this man, who is normally so prim, yet who becomes so eager and straightforward when they're in bed together. he knows what he wants, she realizes. he wants her, exactly as he says he does.

with her trousers down, he'll find himself faced with a pair of dark panties gleaming with pins to, presumably, hold the menstrual cloth in place. a metallic and dark, but not necessarily unpleasant, scent.

this is the point where he'll be tested, she figures. here and every moment after. ]

Well.

[Her trousers go all the way down until his powers finish the work and remove them completely, sliding off her legs and discarding them somewhere at the foot of the bed. This leaves Henry in hereby uncharted territory, his eyes fixated on her panties and the glinting pins that must keep some manner of cloth in place. And, most pointedly, he scents the musky aroma of her period.

No, it isn't unpleasant at all. Metallic and heavy, though, perhaps a hint of what her cunt might taste like on his tongue. Henry's hardly put off by it.]

Well.

[Reaching back up to hook his fingers at the band of her panties on either side, pulling them down.]

Let's look at you.

[Allll the way down.]

[ the cool air of the room touches her. she shivers.

what lays beneath is nothing he hasn't seen before; there's only only blood this time. spreads her legs, pulls her knees up until she's completely and utterly nude. becoming aware of the bedspread. ]

Oh, there should be towel.

[But it’s the addition of blood that makes it all the more taboo, and the promise of a mess that underlines that notion. For as fastidious as Henry Creel likes to be, this is not an instance where he cares enough to find a towel.

His hands wander up to her knees and spread her more, giving him room to draw closer, to really see the glistening between her legs.]

What for?

[Bedsheets can be washed.

He doesn’t give her time to reply. One hand swoops down, warm and sudden, to cup her cunt, massaging in to feel her folds move against his fingers.]

For—hhhhmmm.

[ nevermind. he feels so warm against her and protects her from the unkind coolness of the room. already, she's wet. of course she is. even without arousal she would be; but arousal is there, too. he will find her as perfectly soft as ever, and her gaze on his face keen and sharp. he is under her assessment now. ]

[Though it's difficult to not simply peer down at where he touches her, her expression as he does so is more compelling. He meets her gaze, senses an assessment there. Does she expect for him to eventually balk at the idea of what he's doing? That the blood will be too bothersome, that the mess will put him off?

Surely not, though as to prove to her this unspoken point, he nudges at her opening with the pad of a finger, and gives no real warning before he slips a long digit in. It’s easy, when she’s like this.]

I like the idea of having proof of you in my bed for a little bit, anyway.

[ it's so easy. she touches his wrist, slides her fingers up it, up his sleeve. ]

Oh, but... You are going to stain your pretty clothes.

That doesn't matter. My clothes, the bed sheets... That can all be washed.

[Not the first time he's had blood on him, after all.

...Though, ideally, he removes his shirt at some point, but he wants to finger her first. Wants to feel her softness on the inside, how slick she feels, how much of her blood comes away on his fingers when he finally retracts them.

But not yet. One more finger... slips in, and he pushes in deeper.]

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