vecna | ☣️ midwestern mayhem inbox.

[ 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...

[He’d disagree. Any form of laughter from her makes his heart race.

Exhales a laugh.]

No. My cock buried deep inside of you. You feel… [wiggle] …like you might agree.

No, it is most certainly wine.

Really? [Teasing.] I have my fingers inside of you and you're thinking about drinking?

Mhhh. Deep, dark glass... Red wine. Rivulets down my throat and staining your sheets. So much red.

[If only Shadowpeaks had halfway decent wine.] Sprezzatura, you've already stained my sheets red. We don't need wine for that.

It is not my fault you have no taste for aesthetics.

[the way i thought that could've been a gagtag]

It is your fault that the last thing I care about right now is wine.

Ohh?

[ she's gonna be like that is she ]

[apparently so

So let him be more straightforward:] That's right. I just want to fuck you.

[ she will NEVER get tired of that word in his softspoken little mouth. ]

Hhah! Then fuck me. Fuck me!

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