vecna | ☣️ midwestern mayhem inbox.

[Hm. He likes the notion, of course he does. Why would he not want to be touched and pleasured by her while he returns the favor?]

I like the idea. But I'm fine with making this all about you for now, too.

[To make up for before.

But because he is pleasured, happy, and content as long as she is all the above. A mental and emotional condition so twined and dependent on hers that he thrives when she thrives, too.

Anyway.

He slips that ring finger of his into her. Slowly. But no more warning than that.]

Which do you want more? Sprezzatura.

[ head drops back. now it is tight, and she pulls her own bloody fingers free to grab at the sheets. her knees bow inward towards her chin. ]

Oh, more oil.

[ :)) There's his answer.

He watches as her fingers, bloodied, slip out of her cunt and stain his sheets as she grips them. Henry breathes out another laugh, fainter this time, fond and loving her reaction.

Out comes his ring finger—it was never even that far in—and he has to realign his focus to drift the bottle of oil nearer with his powers. It tips and practically drizzles more along his fingers, messy and slick.]

You're still tight. Am I going too fast?

[ she hates how hot his laugh makes her feel, that hushy sound. here the blush flares again, not from embarrassment, but desire. ]

Still—? [ a breathless exhale. she feels herself twitching around him, a numbing ache ] Lapochka, you must be fucking your fingers in and out for little while first. Loosen me up... Feel how tight it is right there, [ she clenches, that hard squeeze ] but deeper it is only soft and warm?

[The twitching, the squeeze. If he's patient, his cock will get to feel that just as prominently as his fingers do now, and he breathes in, then out, to keep the building anticipation at bay. Henry feels so, so hard again, absolutely throbbing between his legs.]

I do.

[Well, the second finger, now wholly covered in oil, presses in again. Slides in slowly, once more up past the first knuckle... and then farther. What a nice, warm stretch.]

So different from the last time. [He says, with a quirk of a smile. Different from the drider.]

[ lucky for them both that Henry Creel is very, very patient.

this low, aching groan falls out of her mouth. it feels perverse and yet so pleasurable to take her fill of him in this way, to let someone inside of her in this way. the trust there is... incalculably high. her eyes are still affixed to his face, even half-lidded, even as she tosses her cheek to one side to press into the cooler pillow. ]

That was not normal... It is better like this.

[ the drider... had been obscene. bottomless, she'd felt. the idea of doing that now seems insane. all of it a fever dream. ]

[As he speaks, he wiggles his finger in, sliding it up parallel with the one already seated inside of her. Feeling the stretch, the tight hug of her rim, and the slight give he can sense after he pushes past that threshold.]

There was nothing normal about that, no.

[Said in a way that betrays his incredible fondness for the memory.]

But you were just as incredible then as you are now. Just as beautiful, because it’s you.

[ oh, that's deep. deeper than she can reach on her own, more sensual than a touch she can predict, and the warmth in Henry's tone. oh, yes, she's sure he was utterly enamored of that body. whatever he says, the body was important, too.

covers her mouth with a hand so that she muffles the sounds. ]

You bound me.

[ that had been so hot. ]

[Don't cover your pretty little sounds, Sprezzatura. Henry loves to hear them. His finger moves all the way up until it's hilted at the knuckle properly, and he indulges in the feeling of both of his fingers inside for a moment.]

I did.

[Leans in conspiratorially — which, in their current positions, means that his touch pushes incrementally in deeper.]

And you were beautiful then, too, all bound up, unable to move. A bit at my mercy. I think you must have liked that, too.

[Because otherwise she would have just... broken free.]

[ any shift now prompts another husky sound of pleasure, held close beneath her palm. she's tight but not painfully so; it is just reacclimation.

when she wriggles, as she has already been doing, it bounces her legs cutely on either side of him. she plays it up. look how cute she is. be nice to her. ]

It was different. I did not... dislike it.

[ reaches for him! kiss. kiss! ]

[She is cute; she doesn't even have to be performative for him. But the little bounces draw his attention, as predictable as he is, always loving how she wriggles and jostles and shifts beneath him, as though her one anchor point are his fingers seated in her ass. What an obscene but delightful thought.

And just as predictably, Henry Creel will never deny Sprezzatura a kiss.]

We can do it again. Tie you up and nice and secure to the bed while I fuck you.

[He dips down low when she reaches for him, a hungry, wet, clumsy kiss just for her. Then his fingers slide out by a few centimeters at most, experimentally, and then push back in.]

[ a kiss of tongue and then teeth when his fingers move. he looks so pleased with himself, sounds so pleased with himself, she kisses him hard and hooks her ankles over his hips.

raggedly between kisses, ] I want to tie you down.

[ she gets her hands in his hair—the bloody one too—and pulls. ]

[He returns each and every kiss, his own reply coarse and interrupted. And then there's a sharp but not unpleasant thrill of a sting as she tugs his hair by the root; there exist very, very few instances where Henry will accept his hair being utterly ruined, but this is one of them. Blood in his hair? Who cares.]

And what will you do, then? Hm? [His fingers sliding out again, and then back in, a slow but steady tempo to accompany their ideas for the future. Ideas that are quickly piling up, and he has the look of a man playing them in his imagination.]

[ an extra tug and an extra push at the knuckles every time, a pop that makes her gasp into his mouth. yes, she does like this. he was right. ]

Make you cry.

[Draws his tongue along the bottom of her lip, chuckling at her certainty.]

You'd have to try very hard for that.

I am very good at what I do.

[ she lifts her chin suddenly and closes her teeth around his tongue, not hard, but the hint of sharp fangs there. her own tongue rubs against what's caught in her mouth. ]

I'm sure. But I'd still love to see- [And then her teeth close around his tongue, his words less than clearly spoken.] -yehw twy.

[-you try.

Pushes his fingers up until they are hilted fully inside of her, giving them more of a retaliatory wiggle.]

[ makes a pitchy, cracking sound of utter pleasure. the kind that could almost be mistaken for pain if not for that delirious upward squeak at the end, how she bears down on him and sucks his tongue.

she will try, thank you! ]

[And he laughs, muffled, into her mouth, then simply resigns himself to having his tongue trapped. His lips seal over hers, the end of his tongue seeking to feel the inside of her mouth as she sucks on it.

His fingers return to slowly fucking her, though, making certain to crook a little when they're seated in deep just so she can be more aware of him within, and loosen her up through repetition and (probably also) pleasure — just like she said. Otherwise, his body presses in close; wiggle against his cock, that feels nice.]

[ she slides one hand down and cups his cock to slide against the underside of her thigh. wet and warm and hard, she loves its heat especially. meanwhile their kiss is obscene suckling sounds, which Sprezzatura moans gently into. just little sounds to tell him she approves of the agonizing crawl that is his fingers fucking her.

the slower the better, really. every inch an inch she is getting dragged through. in, out, in, out, her body always hugging. she wills him to cup her with his palm. her poor ignored clit. ]

[And a low, long moan in return to let her know—quite obviously—that he approves of her tending to his cock. Snug between her hand and her thigh, feeling her body move in even small increments, enough to keep him achingly hard throughout the lengthy, wet kiss. Smearing against her leg.

He’ll return the favor, of course, as she guides him to cup her. His palm presses and rubs against her swollen clit each time his fingers push back in, and Henry makes sure it lingers each time, too. Rubs a little again and again, make her enjoy every moment of having his hand delved between her legs. The blood is a bonus.]

[ the room is nothing but wet sounds and their low moaning. it's so heady that she feels almost dizzy with it, humping into his hand the best she can when folded so completely. she lets go of his tongue with a pop. ]

This is so nice... so nice...

[ the hug of her around his fingers is just that now: a hug. little pulses as he palms her clit, but no longer clutching him so tightly. ]

[A part of him believes he could do this forever; remain lost in each other's bodies, all warmth and wet sounds and the musky scent of their sex between them. The rest of Henry is a needle piercing through that contentedness, a poignant impatience that constantly reminds him how he's still aching, unsated, and very much just wants to rut into her like an animal. The pressure around his fingers, more a hug than a clench, underlines this notion.

Breathes in a haggard breath when their lips part, and his fingers twist incrementally and wiggle inside of her.]

You know what would make it nicer?

[ she almost giggles. giggling doesn't suit her, she's always thought. ]

Wine...

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