crossmyheartandhope | Overflow post

[He flushes deeper still, decidedly interested and painfully self-conscious, both at once]

I mean... s'kinda hard to say no to that.

Think I'm gonna need a few minutes, though.

[His left hand trails up again, over her back; the right sweeps lower, brushing past her navel, as his fingers find the waistband of her pants]

And in the meantime... any other requests?

What's the cooldown on tha-a-at...

[She trails off, immediately distracted by the dueling trails of his hands--does a poor job of not obviously squirming into the touches. Instead she takes a beat to bite at her lower lip, color rising further in her cheeks]

Mm...

Dunno... five minutes, maybe? Ten?

[The hand at her waist finds the button there; his other hand drifts around to the front to join it, feathers brushing soft over her skin along the way. Together they ease the button open, and he slides the zipper down]

[He leans in to kiss her again, gentle - swings his leg back around, so that he can rise back up to standing]

[It takes away the pressure of his knee pressed against her, but it lets him sink to his knees between her legs again, face flushed, expression almost shy]

Pretty sure we can figure out something to do till then.

I bet...

[Her eyes are on him the whole time as he stands and kneels, She goes even darker, shifting more in her seat with self-conscious anticipation. Nevertheless, she reaches down to touch his hair before he gets too far; skims the back of her knuckles down over his cheek]

...You know you don't gotta if you don't want. There's plenty other stuff we can do, too.

I'm down for anything.

[He licks his lips a little, unconsciously; his hand comes up to rest on her thigh, stroking soft lines there]

You got something you want more, you can say.

I just... I wanna make you feel good.

[Her fingers stutter as they crest his cheekbone a second time; her smile goes crooked]

...You always do.

[A beat--then she slumps with a groan]

Ughhh, that sounds so much worse as a horny ghost. Now you owe me for being too good at lap dance.

I dunno about being good at the lap dance thing, but... for real, dude.

[His fingers are still trailing along her thigh, back and forth, gentle]

Anything you want.

Uh, I do know. You were all--graceful, and intense, and it was...

[She takes in the curve of his smile and the gentle earnestness of his voice, and she has to look away, flushed dark. Her legs press into his touch nevertheless]

A-anyways, you can keep going then, uh. If you want.

Yeah.

[He glances up at her, from under his lashes - decidedly flushed, decidedly shy, but still watching her closely, eyes intent with desire]

I want.

[His hands trail up, and up, to the waistband of her pants]

You wanna lift up some...?

Yeah--ah.

[Her face is glowing with flush--literally, since apparently that's how ghost blood works I'm deciding right now. Self-conscious or no, she is quite eager to press up and help him get her pants down her hips]

[Ghost blushing is cute, oh no,]

[He helps her work her pants down - hooks a finger under the waist band of her underwear, and glances up, as if for permission]

[She shifts so that he can take the pinstriped boy shorts as well. If he hasn't noticed by now how much the crotch is soaked through he will in a moment, and her flush at the thought of it spreads from her neckline up to her ears. Nevertheless, she peeps down at him to make sure that he knows that all permissions are absolutely granted (and also because she can't stand not to look for too long anyway)]

[He flushes deeper, as he realizes exactly how damp the panties are - deeper still, as he eases them down her thighs, then slips off her shoes so that he can take off her pants and underwear entirely]

[He shifts in closer between her spread legs - runs the back of his hand over her thigh, countless tiny feathers brushing over the skin]

...scoot up some? All the way to the edge.

Mm--m-m-m.

[She scoots 'til her knees bump against his shoulders and she's barely hanging on by her tailbone, too eager to tone it down any. Each light touch of his hands is too teasingly gentle, the down painfully soft, and she scrambles closer for more of it]

[He keeps stroking the downy feathers back and forth against her thigh, slow and steady - runs his hand up to the crease of her hip. On the other side, the too-sharp curve of his nails rest lightly against the skin, small pinpricks of pressure from the tips of the talons]

...how's it feel?

The feathers.

Mm-- Fine.

[A little more than fine, actually.

It is difficult for her to put into words precisely how the intensely each soft brush teases at the already sensitive skin--how much the counterpoint of the sharp press of his talons enhances the feeling even more, salt bringing out the true sweetness.

He can probably tell the tension in her frame as she restlessly shifts; possibly how her breath shallows in response to his attentions, arousal curling deep below her belly. At length, she comes up with an expanded response:]

Could use 'em more, if you want.

[It's hard not to notice the tension or the change in her breathing - not when he's paying such close attention to her face, to her body language]

Yeah?

[He reaches up between her legs - curls the talons in, careful, toward his own palm, so that there's no chance of her getting hurt. Then he lifts the outer edge of his wrist to the crux between her legs and traces along the place where her lips meet, not enough for any pressure, just enough so that she gets the tips of the feathers]

Like that?

Yes...

[The word comes out as a light sigh, breathless enough that it's difficult to tell if it is meant as a specific answer to his question or just a response to the feeling in general. Regardless of whether or not he does it again, her hips chase after the touch, automatic]

[He does it again - or rather, he doesn't ever quite stop, a slow back and forth, length-wise, so that the ridges of the feathers just trace the sensitive folds]

[The other hand reaches out, careful of the talons, to rest against her thigh, those little pinprint points of sharpness]

Feel good?

Mmm...

[She breaks off with another shallow breath, trying unsuccessfully not to rush his leisurely rhythm.]

It's--nice.

[Shakily she places her hand over his, light]

[He turns his palm face-up, pressing their hands together - threads their fingers together]

[His other hand keeps up the exploratory pace for a long couple of seconds, gauging the motion of her hips and the expression on her face]

[At last, though, the soft brush of the feathers slows to a stop, and he eases his hand to stillness - reaches over to his opposite wing, to select one of the longer feathers there, and pluck it free]

Nnn?

[Her eyes flutter back open as his hand slows, and she watches dumbly as he plucks one of his feathers--restlessly curious as to what he's up to]

These ones're less bendy, right?

[He traces the tip of the feather over her thigh, making soft loops and swirls and figure eights across her skin]

Figure it might feel different.

[The feather continues to move - traces idle trails, working it slow way up and inward]

Oh!

[It does.]

[She shivers into the almost weightless brush of the feather over her skin, goosebumps prickling in its wake. Her hand squeezes at his as she swallows thickly]

[He lets the feather complete its meandering trail, to the spot between her legs - traces the same path that the downy feathers took before

[This time, though, it's not a half a hundred whispered touches, it's a single tapered point, following a line directly between her lips]

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