crossmyheartandhope | Overflow post

...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...

Okay.

[He licks at his lips, unconsciously - catches himself, and flushes]

Can't do too much with my hands, with the claws this way, but - think I can figure it out.

[He leans in, careful, to kiss the place where the feather traced its path - laps at her, almost delicate, following the seam between her lips]

You don't gotta be caref...

[She trails off even before he's touched her, just the heat of his breath against her skin enough to take hers away. Then of course, when it does-- The squashy-solid feel of his tongue is extra intense after the tease of the feather; that wet warmth shock enough for her voice and hips to shudder forward, whole body arching toward him]

Cross...!

[He makes a soft sound, a small hum of approval; the back of his hand, with its thousand tiny feathers, traces over her thigh]

[He laps at her in earnest now, long slow licks, lengthwise, tongue dipping between her labia]

[Her breaths come as shaky, voiced "ah"s, and her hands grip at his back to keep from drifting away completely. It's a near thing nevertheless--between the downy softness of his hand and the firm press of his tongue, how could she be expected to keep still? How could she possibly do anything but press greedily closer to the heat of him--curl her fingers in to keep him close?]

[He obliges, when she presses nearer - shifts his attentions upward, to that sensitive nub he paid so much attention to with the feather]

[He laps at that, as well - soft little flicks of his tongue, peering up at her from beneath his lashes to gauge the reaction]

[Her eyes stay squeezed shut as her hips fall into helpless little circles, rushing his rhythm already. But she'd been close to begin with, from the feel of his wrist and the arch of his back and the warble he gave when he came. And now with the feel of his lips against her--the feel of his lips against her, impossibly hot compared to her chill--it's no wonder she grips at him tightly enough to sink in a little, semi-solid. The next time she calls his name it's breathless and shaky and just a touch desperate.]

[The back of his hand brushes against her thigh again, steadying - all soft feathers, solid and reassuring]

[Sinking in against her is definitely different - the chill against his face, and that odd tingling - but it's more of a side note, lost in the wonder of the way her voice sounds, the way she moves]

[He remembers that first time: the warmth of the sun, and the clutch of her hands, and the the instructions she'd given. His tongue gives one final lick, and then he repositions himself, taking that little nub between his lips and applying gentle suction]

[With a helpless groan, she judders up into the heat of his mouth, whole body tensing--hands scrabbling at the feathers over his back as her legs squeeze tingly-tight around him for an endless, weightless moment.]

[He makes a soft sound against her, as her fingers bury in the feathers at his back - works her through it, gentle, as the back of his hand rubs soothing circles against her thigh]

[She continues to shift restlessly into those hands and that mouth, craving more of the too-good contact even through her release. Her hands are shaky down his back but do move, as she wants to feel him--feel more of him]

[He shudders at the hands down his back - makes another soft sound, pressed up against her]

[If she's still shifting into the contact, he doesn't want to end it too soon; he mouth continues to work, careful and attentive, those soft feathers rubbing at her thigh]

Ah--

[The problem is that it's all too easy to go from riding out one orgasm to cresting towards another, especially given the steady heat of his mouth and the soft, irregular brush of his hands and the muffled grunt into where her legs meet. So instead of breaking away, she edges even closer--hooking her knees over his shoulders so her (still not quite visible) heels can fidget into the feathers further down his back, as her hands clutch a little more desperately at the base of his wings]

[He whines again softly, at the feel of her hands clutching tight - at the pressure of her heels digging into the muscles of his back. He shifts a little, not quite squirming but close, the cooldown definitely reached by now]

[The sound of her and the feel of her and the way she moves - all of it is intoxicating, and he wants suddenly very badly to feel her shake herself apart again. He redoubles his efforts, lips and tongue moving against her, the actions attentive and eager]

[Her answering whine is a lot less soft and (almost) shamelessly needy, and she rocks closer best she can. His little reactions when she digs more into his back are not even the main reason she does them, but are certainly not an unwelcome side-effect of hanging on for dear life.

His enthusiasm only adds to her already unsteady rhythm, though she tries her best to last a little longer since it feels so intensely good. Good enough in fact that she can't find the words to begin to express it, but hopefully her tone as she whimpers out his name will at least give an idea]

[That answering whine is very good indeed, and does his best to encourage another, and another after that]

[He can't use his fingers right now - not with these nails - but he does have a lot of feathers, and the thought strikes him, suddenly, that maybe those can be put to better use. He folds the talons in against his palm, so that they can't do any damage - drifts his hand down, between her legs, to rub the back of it up against her, a thousand tiny points of softness, while his mouth stays busy]

[She makes a short little "oh" of surprise, as that option had not occurred to her, either. It soon closes to a throaty groan as her hips begin to shudder again, helplessly grinding into the wet heat of his mouth and the silky-smooth firmness of his hand--into his warmth and his breath and his desire-- With a helpless cry of his name, she's tugged over the edge again, clutching tight at his back for dear life]

[He makes a small sound against her, encouraging - continues to work her through it, soft and coaxing]

[The other hand drifts upward, just as gentle, to stroke against her thigh]

[She shivers hard, still twitching against him]

Nn...C-Cross...

[When the twitching has mostly settled, he eases back, careful - presses a kiss to her thigh, and then another, no more than a soft brush of his lips]

Edited 2020-11-01 06:15 (UTC)

[She is slow to uncurl from around him, still shuddering with aftershocks with each kiss. But eventually enough tension leaches from her body that she can finally come down, breaths heavy and voiced. Limbs too leaden to tug him up to her, she does the next best thing and sinks down into his lap to meld against his chest. What else is being a ghost for if not phasing through objects for good causes?]

[The hidden perks of being a ghost]

[He shivers as she settles against him - gets his arms up around her, to draw her close]

...you okay?

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