vecna | ☣️ midwestern mayhem inbox.

[ 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.]

[ she's flooded with a sudden deep desire for him. his curiosity, Mammon, she wants to encourage that. squirms little as he sinks a second finger inside, stretching her, despite his request that she not. it does feel good. ]

I want to kneel and feel you behind me.

[His fingers slide out, then drive themselves right back in. Again, unceremoniously. It isn't so much punishment for her squirming, but it isn't not a reaction to it.]

Is that what you want?

[He grins, faux innocence.]

What you want will have to wait, Sprezzatura. I want to make a mess of you first. I want to taste you.

[ here, she inhales tightly and touches his wrist again. ]

Not too harsh. I am aching already.

Poor Sprezzatura.

[He coos her name, crooking his fingers inside of her just because he can, but the gesture isn’t harsh.

And then… slowly, very slowly, he slides his digits back out, eyes finally flicking down to watch. Predictably, they gleam streaks of red.]

[ mmh. well, if he's going to take his time... she sinks back onto the mattress, stretches her arms up above her head and lets them lay there crooked on the pillow above her. a part of her mind still on the sheets, the sheets... but not for long. and not very much.

already pulling out. is he really...? ]

[Is he really what?

Is he really bringing his fingers to his mouth, sliding them past his lips, sucking them off for a preemptive taste of her, not breaking her gaze?

Yes.]

[ ffffuck.

almost a subconscious mirror, she's brought her own fingers to her own mouth. but she bites down on the thumbnail while Henry sucks himself. heat flashes through. her heart seizes almost painfully. the brief and vivid fantasy plays of his fingers in her ass and his tongue in her cunt—sheer devotional overwhelm. and, Mammon, to think of all the things a respectable woman oughtn't do.

well. respectable women don't have Henry Creel, do they?

she starts rubbing her tail between her cheeks. and... laughs! ]

Oh, you are strange.

[Her laughter is contagious, as always, sparking delight in him that has nothing to do with the physical, pressurized heat coiling in his groin. He sucks the last remaining coppery tinge from his two fingers, pulling them away from his lips slowly. They glisten with his saliva once they're free from his mouth.]

Am I? Just because I appreciate every part of you?

[He hasn't the keen taste for blood like he did when he was affected by the paintball game, unable to tell the difference between the blood he sampled from her neck versus the kind that bleeds from between her legs, but it's not unpleasant. It's warm, slick blood. It's her, and that's all that matters.

His clean hand finally works at the buttons of his shirt. And the other slips in towards her cunt to repeat fingering her a second time. In deep, fingers crooked slightly, feeling and stretching dimly.]

I was just getting a taste of what was to come, anyway.

[ shouldn't she tell him that usually there isn't much blood-drinking involved in eating out a woman on her period?

... no. no, why would she think that? why discourage him from appreciating every part of her? Mammon, has anyone else ever done as much?

he sinks back into her with a squelch, he's undressing now, but she's fixed on his face, his mouth, his eyes. ]

You are sure you are not still half-vampire after all?

[He's going to learn it first-hand today. Sprezzatura's done an awful lot to expand his horizons these days.

His smile tilts into a little smirk, amused, and his hand works his button-up open. Of course, with his other hand and its fingers seated inside of her, he can't quite remove it yet.]

If I am, no one's told me.

[nah he's a different kind of undead, girl]

[ but she can admire the pale expanse of skin now exposed, note the way her mouth seems to water, and how she throbs around his working fingers. he's a very beautiful man.

the want rolls off her in waves. ]

Touch yourself for me.

[His fingers slide out to the middle knuckles, only to enter her again. Just to feel it, the slick friction, collecting more crimson on his skin.]

Are you making requests? I thought you wanted me to do whatever I wanted.

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