crossmyheartandhope | Overflow post

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]

[It's a different sort of tease now--more focused, purpose added to the soft scratch over the crease of her thighs and the part of her lips adding an intensity that was not there before. And even so, there's less to press up against--less of him in general, since the feather does physically very little to substitute for the weight or the warmth of his hand. So it's for a number of reasons that she whines at the touch; shifts in her chair, cheeks and lips flushed bright]

[His eyes flicker up to her face, taking in the expression there - back down to her hips, to the way she's squirming]

[He traces the same path again, in reverse, then drags it up again - ends with the tip of the feather brushing soft over the little nub that got such a good reaction, last time]

...what's it feel like?

[A heavy exhale; her hips chase after that wisp of sensation]

'S a feather. Not much to it.

[Her voice is not especially steady, however, and the grip on his hand squeezes a bit--whether to ground herself or encourage him is tough to tell--possibly both]

...What're you going for?

...I dunno. Just, like - trying stuff out while we got it, I guess.

[The feather traces over her clit again, short shallow motions side to side]

There something you want me to do instead?

I--

[Her teeth sink distractedly into her lower lip, and she shifts again into that faster brush of pressure. She looks down to him and traces his gaze, and her flush goes brighter still]

...You can do what you want.

[He doesn't let up on that steady back and forth, that slight brush of barely-there pressure]

I want you to feel good.

So, if there's something you want... like, specific, I mean. You can say.

[His cheeks are dark; he glances up at her face, then away again]

Otherwise, I could try like last time...?

[She flutters after the whispered touch, attempting and failing not to flicker closer like tinder that's finally caught. Glancing up, he'll see her expression is about equal parts self-conscious and aroused. As she peeks back to him again, her blush rises enough for both reasons that her ears are luminous through the cover of her hair.]

I mean. Both are good? Feather is--growing on me. But you could do--more? I-if you want...

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