[Somewhere between one and eight, he's gone back to a hand at her waist as well. There is something rational in that touch; were it not for the hand between her clenched thighs doing the work, it might otherwise be the point of anchor by which she is kept in his lap. As it is, a sailor of all people should know the benefit of a fail safe.]
I've heard a new dog does best when kept to heel, [Which might be perfectly conversational, even so near skin, and is clearly meant as the precursor to some further throwaway remark. But what occurs to him is—] And the Enchanter's? How long is his line?
( by the time they had climbed into the carriage, this had been a nigh on foretold conclusion; the time for conversations in the gallery. in the division office, not their second meeting but their ninth, and then had been a conversation that his question drags her mind back to.
parrying, light on her feet even off them with her dancing slippers braced between his boots, )
[His laugh is abrupt and short. Later (in an hour, or two), he might find his mind wandering down the length of that suggestion. But in this one, it's just something clever being said in the close quarters of the carriage. Funny, he doesn't say, but the sentiment is there in the prickle of his beard and the lopsided line of his mouth at her cheek.]
No, [warm against her, hands all sure and sturdy.] I'm preoccupied.
[Her gloves aren't fetched until after they've quit the carriage - yanked out from under the seat and secreted away into some pocket on his person with no fanfare whatsoever.]
( her gaze follows her gloves, amused, but she makes neither protest nor comment as she steps carefully down into the ferry, her hand light in flint's as is proper and as if she has put right out of her mind where his was not minutes before the carriage door had opened.
she hasn't. she is acutely conscious of the line of his thigh beside her and the ferryman behind them, even as she makes pleasant, passing conversation on the party they had been unexpectedly (she is almost certain) both attending. how like her, to think of work still, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes on the tower rising ahead of them.
and then fists in her skirts, holding them out of her way up the stairs, carrying herself with the confidence of one who has come and gone from here at all hours for months and years, even. she knows the way. occasionally, she allows herself to know that it might have been coupe behind her coming up these stairs, once. but not tonight: she is preoccupied. )
--Maker preserve us from any young lord who thinks he knows anything about the world, [he is saying, a dry middle point of the long conversation which has carried them across the water and winding up through the Gallows. ] But the good news is that Cumberland's waterway remains open, so there may yet be some work to be done through there regardless with respect to Val Chevin.
[It is almost as if they might pass through this door (which he holds open for her), and continue this conversation. Not that he has forgotten the tension of her thighs around his knuckles, but that the conversation is a good one and in carrying it along this whole time they've wandered close enough to genuinely compelling territory just here as they've reached the office that maybe there is a question as to whether they will instead have drinks and continue it.
Then the door closes, the bolt is thrown, and he is very efficient about catching hold of her again.]
( there will be time to talk about the waterways of cumberland and the lords who would be distraught to know it's perfectly plain their knowledge would not fill her thimble; she rises onto her toes out of the carriage and out of his lap and out of numerous easy ways to right the difference between their heights, some warm thing that might have been a laugh pressed into his mouth instead. her skirts bouncing around his feet when she lets them go to catch herself against him, a tangle of fabric (temporarily) impeding want.
reconnaissance, was it. she finds the buttons of his (one) waistcoat, nimble fingers that have set to diplomatic reports and darning alike neatly and methodically jerking them undone, and give her half a chance, him, too.
perhaps they'll still have drinks. she had had a little wine, to show willing and to give the appearance of a social call that wasn't at all, but she had kept her wits about her in hightown's high society and there is some appeal in the thought of drinking his wine and dissecting his opinions from just above him, in his bed. )
Maker preserve me from men I require a box to reach, ( grumbled insincerely from her tippy toes, and probably a novel complaint for flint personally. )
Does it still count as a struggle if you're well acquainted with the effort? [This said against her warm cheek, satisfied by the angle of it all. Surely her calves are practiced.
As familiar as his hands are with finding the lacings and buttons of a fine woman's clothes, evidently. The benefit of reach helps, but there is a prerequisite of knowing where to go looking for them even for the cleverest fingers.]
( numerous layers are involved in creating the effect and appearance of madame de cedoux, out on the town; she is shedding them, now, on the floor of his locked office, impatiently pulling her arm loose a bodice so she can push his coat and his waistcoat from his shoulders— )
I am rarely in favour of the Enchanter's robes, but I am presently feeling very warm towards them,
( as flint presents somewhat more of a challenge. to undress, at least. )
[He laughs, a low pleased sound, and for a moment - he's loosening another tie, a deft turn to slip the lace free -, considers offering her no assistance whatsoever. She will sort it. He's confident.
But he is avid, and it is easier to just take the moment of not touching her to wrestle free of the layers she's done half the work of already. But after, his hands go to her half bared shoulders rather than returning to what fastening he can identify from before her. He steers her around by them, driving her before him toward the adjacent door. Besides, there is a series of buttons back here that he can open as they go.]
I'll see what can be done to simplify for the next time.
( the last layer above her chemise—blousy and sheer and meant for married women and mistresses of which she is arguably both—gapes, loosened, and she catches it against herself with one hand, the other finding the door to his private quarters as she studiously does not allow herself to consider the desk they pass by in the process.
he has said next time, and she doesn't dislike the presumption.
in the doorway of his bedroom she sheds her petticoats, the corset binding her small waist smaller, and her chemise hangs loose and long over her gartered stockings; the light cutting through the gallows' narrow windows from the moon and the dim glow of the city remaining awake silhouettes her prettily, and it was probably not expressly for his particular benefit that these things are all she's left wearing so much as a holdover of home, where smallclothes fashionable in thedas were not commonplace. she stitches her pretty novelties, but she wears them only when it strikes her as practical to do so.
[The room is not plain - it would be difficult for such a place to be bearable in the winter if it were -, but even now it isn't terribly particular. They are the quarters of a man who is accustomed to a swung cot and a series of stern windows being the extent to which he is expected to make a home, and the specifics of the office (with its carefully arranged desk, and kept hearth, and its miniature war table stacked with maps and chart books and every finer instrument required to wage remote wars) are left at the door.
But there is something about her in it which makes the room more appealing. Standing just inside, shy of the waves of her discarded petticoats, he studies the lines of her visible through the thin fabric with the benefit of more than a hand's span of distance between them.
(He is also undoing his belt, picking the knife out of it, and dumping the whole affair thoughtlessly into some convenient chair. His rings come next, a series of them stripped from either hand as he looks at her. He is wearing more ornamentation than she is.)]
( at the side of his bed, she removes not garters, not stockings and not chemise but the jet locket hanging beneath her clavicle that had stitched them together visually so as to ensure that it is very likely young lately-of-cumberland will be thinking of this very scene later tonight, alone in his own bed. she curls her fingers around it, a brief press of some sentiment, before setting it down on his side-table.
she listens to the clatter and muted thuds of the assortment of things that put together the striking image he cuts as she loosens and frees pins so carefully placed by a likely maid earlier, setting them beside her locket, methodical. blonde hair falls in curls and kinked tresses toward her waist, improbably riotous in attempting to hold the shapes its been pressed into for hours, softening her stern lines in a way that seems almost more intimate than the pert curve of backside implied beneath breathy fabric.
she sets a knee on the edge of his bed, leaning there, half-turning to observe him. sits, upon consideration, and she was never that kind of queen but there is an element of it to the way she seems perfectly content to watch him shed his pirate-skin for her obvious gratification.
it is not the expression of a woman who might say something like, I never thought—. it is very much the expression of a woman who did, and at length. )
[She watches at him, and he studies her - dropping rings into his pocket, then working one boot off after another. Her hair is all silver in the moonlight, she and her chemise are pale in the shadow of the room, and he is a dark shape in the doorway against the warmer glow of the office with its banked embers still living at the edge of the broad hearth.
A lit reed is fetched from the dying fire here in this room's smaller fireplace, a series of candles meticulously from it. It is easier to see her by - more gold than shade; maybe next time will be by daylight. Tonight he brings the light with him to set on the bedside table.
He is still in the process of undressing when he slides in between her knees, freeing the laces of his trousers with one hand and working his shirt free of the waistband with the other.]
You should show me how it works after this. --How you learned Tevene.
I might warn you to have a care, ( she says, lightly, her fingertips skidding up the outside of his thighs and then snagging more firmly in that waistband, drawing him nearer to her as she parts her knees to make space for him, sits up straighter, the hem of her chemise riding higher— ) did I think that Riftwatch would require a forgery of your signature be very convincing to make mischief.
( she will absolutely be able to convincingly forge his signature afterwards, but likewise she is probably right that someone only giving it the old college try might make almost as much trouble.
conversationally, as she bats one of his hands out of her way to take over the undoing of his trousers, ) My husband taught me the theory of the spell; rather incidentally in dictating it to me that it might be recorded. In Lamorre, it once was treason of the highest order. That has passed, but, ( she presses a kiss, almost incongruously chaste, to the strip of bare skin she finds between loosened shirt and undone trousers. ) This, now, would be punishable by death.
( they were undressing, but she bites his hip as she slides her hand beneath the undone laces. )
( the faint exhalation of air—against his skin, her free hand sliding lazily up his abdomen, exploratory—might have been a laugh, if it had been allowed. she says, )
I don't miss it. ( and then, tilting her head, ) Shall I? ( which is very polite and has the sense of being a continuation of a most satisfying thought she does not mean to immediately share. )
[Yes, says the faint press of his hip into her. But the real reply is his hand all bangled from where the sun has beaten the shadow of his jewelry into it setting at briefly at her cheek, then sliding up into the pin-irregular twists of her pale, fine hair.]
( james flint is not a boy of eighteen to swing due north at a sly glance from beneath lashes or even, necessarily, the testing press of teeth around the stud in his ear. there are any number of purely practical reasons why she might have posed to him a question that has, in truth, no wrong answers—
but from the particular way that she smiles up at him in the gold light of just enough candles, he has given a good answer for more reasons than the obvious. permission secured, she does not rush herself; rather she takes a moment, hitching herself further up onto the bed and then rising onto her knees, taking a moment to appreciate the picture of him before her. the better part of his clothes and his boots littering the room with her own, the marks of his adornments, the casual debauchery of his open trousers. she looks a little as if she is committing it to memory, before she tucks her hair behind her ear and drags her teeth down his side,
her husband had not cared for this, much. had not cared for anything, in fact, in which petrana might have held the upper hand in a way he could see; increasingly, as they grew alongside and apart from one another, preferred not to be at his too-analytical wife's mercy. there is pleasure in giving—generously—but so too is there pleasure in the sense that pleasure is hers to give.
that they are, in a sense, still negotiating. that they do so as equals. she had once thought it—gentlemanly, his restraint. treating her as his wife and not a whore. and then avys had said, what's demeaning about having your teeth to his cock? and she had rather rethought the whole of it.
mostly, when she slides tongue along the underside of flint's, she is thinking that this is a promising development in their partnership. )
[There is certainly a suggestion of give in the lines of how he responds to the scrape of her teeth, and the sudden wet heat of her tongue; his fingers not fully easy in her hair and the twitch of muscle under her hand at his middle are like the sound supple wood makes as it's eagerly bent to form. No, he isn't a boy, but he has been considering how warm her is and the shape of her under (and tight around) his hands for the better part of the evening now, nipping interlude on the dance floor included, and he isn't a stone either.
It's a promising development for the rest of the night, in any case. There is something candid in this - which one might be willing to mistake for standard when it comes to a woman's mouth at a man's cock, but isn't -, how she is as intent on this as after any other thing while they'd sat across one another at his desk.
(It's going to be difficult to sit there again without thinking of Madame de Cedoux on her knees in her chemise and silk stockings, but he's never known that to be a barrier to good work.)]
( with one hand splayed at his hip and the other beneath her mouth, there is a confidence to her approach that presumably speaks to enchanter julius's present quality of life; if she was once out of practise, she is not any longer and she watches him not from beneath her lashes but almost uncomfortably frankly for someone presently hollowing out her cheeks and relaxing the back of her throat to swallow around him.
observing and responding to the minutest shift of him. paying heed to the way that he breathes and moves his weight and his fingers in her loose, soft hair; the muscles in his abdomen where her fingertips splay out from his hip. there is nothing that she does that she doesn't approach so methodically, and so determined to excel—
it is one thing to merely get one's end away. it is another entirely to ensure that it is difficult to look at her mouth and not remember. )
[Captain Flint is a sharp man; this is probably the kinder thing said in Forces, and in his ship, and by any person who has been beaten down by the effort of conversing. He is difficult to manage. He is difficult to not be trampled by. He is difficult to negotiate any point with. He is, simply, difficult.
But he is evidently not difficult to parse like this. If she is looking for something to observe, there is plenty to examine. The unrepentant shift of his fingers, how he presses up under her hand at his hip are matters of course, but there is something in the shape of him that goes lower and more heated under the point of her study - not just willing to be looked at, but aroused by the fixture of her attention. Twitching in anticipation of being done with this, following her into the bed and pressing his mouth between her thighs to watch in what direction she moves from it.]
( the thought of simply continuing is a tempting one. more than that: of bringing him off and eluding his grasp, leaving her teethmarks behind in his hip for him to think about—that is very, very tempting. there is a part of her that likes the idea almost enough, and it is that part that files it away for later. another time, since for now they're both letting presumption stand that there will be other times.
the part of her that has pressed her thighs tighter and tighter together as she swirls her tongue around the tip of his cock isn't prepared to be that patient, tonight. there's a wet pop when she drags her mouth off of him, rising up on her knees with one hand still lazily working him, lips reddened before she draws him down to her mouth.
there is a different tenor to this kiss than the laughing newness of them pressed together in the carriage. )
[It is the hungry precursor to gathering up the thin fabric of her chemise, drawing it up in folds, his fingertips callous rough at her bared sides. When he pulls back from her mouth, it's for the sole purpose of stripping it from her.
It's treated with all the care his shirt didn't warrant - folded with a patience belied by every other part of him including how he sounds when he says,]
Lie back.
[He'd like to see what she looks like there while he removes her garters and stockings.]
( the process of undressing her necessitates letting go of him, which she does only reluctantly and with a head-tilted pause following his instruction that she obeys a beat later, her fingertips sliding down his skin and lifting away as she eases back onto his bed, sweeping her hair out from beneath her shoulders and drawing her knees up, together, a lazy sway. in the glow of candlelight, thin silver lines score into her hips, her abdomen, her breasts; smaller than they look as if they'll be, the way corsetry hoists them beneath her chin, but softer than the smoothness of her elsewhere would have suggested, too. a petite hour-glass, whippet-thin shadowed to suggest she might not always have been.
her toes curl in her stockings against the bedding beneath her, and she watches him less inscrutably than she has over his desk. curiosity, affection, and frank want mingled with the same coolly, calmly analytical air she seems unable to not apply to everything.
he is her sole focus. the halo of her pale hair around her is angelic; the teeth in her lip and the look in her eye, less so. )
[It's the look that's of the most immediate interest to him. The rest is-- a novelty. She is so pale and thin, delicate in a way that is unfamiliar (that should be incongruous to her flush mouth, but isn't). He could put her where he liked if he wanted to, and the impulse is unfamiliar enough that he doesn't know what to do with it but study the lines of her.
(And if there is a spot of his examination which briefly takes the shape of what she must look like with her Enchanter, then it's a blank space he purposefully doesn't consider long enough to bring the details into focus.)
Instead the chemise, folded and neat, is set aside. He sets a knee on the edge of the bed and works free her last ribbons. Slides his fingers under one stocking and peels it from her.]
I might scratch you, [his whiskered cheek rough against some bared strip of skin before he moves to her second stocking.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I've heard a new dog does best when kept to heel, [Which might be perfectly conversational, even so near skin, and is clearly meant as the precursor to some further throwaway remark. But what occurs to him is—] And the Enchanter's? How long is his line?
no subject
parrying, light on her feet even off them with her dancing slippers braced between his boots, )
Do you wish to see for yourself?
( because he might. )
no subject
No, [warm against her, hands all sure and sturdy.] I'm preoccupied.
[Her gloves aren't fetched until after they've quit the carriage - yanked out from under the seat and secreted away into some pocket on his person with no fanfare whatsoever.]
no subject
she hasn't. she is acutely conscious of the line of his thigh beside her and the ferryman behind them, even as she makes pleasant, passing conversation on the party they had been unexpectedly (she is almost certain) both attending. how like her, to think of work still, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes on the tower rising ahead of them.
and then fists in her skirts, holding them out of her way up the stairs, carrying herself with the confidence of one who has come and gone from here at all hours for months and years, even. she knows the way. occasionally, she allows herself to know that it might have been coupe behind her coming up these stairs, once. but not tonight: she is preoccupied. )
no subject
[It is almost as if they might pass through this door (which he holds open for her), and continue this conversation. Not that he has forgotten the tension of her thighs around his knuckles, but that the conversation is a good one and in carrying it along this whole time they've wandered close enough to genuinely compelling territory just here as they've reached the office that maybe there is a question as to whether they will instead have drinks and continue it.
Then the door closes, the bolt is thrown, and he is very efficient about catching hold of her again.]
no subject
reconnaissance, was it. she finds the buttons of his (one) waistcoat, nimble fingers that have set to diplomatic reports and darning alike neatly and methodically jerking them undone, and give her half a chance, him, too.
perhaps they'll still have drinks. she had had a little wine, to show willing and to give the appearance of a social call that wasn't at all, but she had kept her wits about her in hightown's high society and there is some appeal in the thought of drinking his wine and dissecting his opinions from just above him, in his bed. )
Maker preserve me from men I require a box to reach, ( grumbled insincerely from her tippy toes, and probably a novel complaint for flint personally. )
no subject
As familiar as his hands are with finding the lacings and buttons of a fine woman's clothes, evidently. The benefit of reach helps, but there is a prerequisite of knowing where to go looking for them even for the cleverest fingers.]
no subject
I am rarely in favour of the Enchanter's robes, but I am presently feeling very warm towards them,
( as flint presents somewhat more of a challenge. to undress, at least. )
no subject
But he is avid, and it is easier to just take the moment of not touching her to wrestle free of the layers she's done half the work of already. But after, his hands go to her half bared shoulders rather than returning to what fastening he can identify from before her. He steers her around by them, driving her before him toward the adjacent door. Besides, there is a series of buttons back here that he can open as they go.]
I'll see what can be done to simplify for the next time.
no subject
he has said next time, and she doesn't dislike the presumption.
in the doorway of his bedroom she sheds her petticoats, the corset binding her small waist smaller, and her chemise hangs loose and long over her gartered stockings; the light cutting through the gallows' narrow windows from the moon and the dim glow of the city remaining awake silhouettes her prettily, and it was probably not expressly for his particular benefit that these things are all she's left wearing so much as a holdover of home, where smallclothes fashionable in thedas were not commonplace. she stitches her pretty novelties, but she wears them only when it strikes her as practical to do so.
it had seemed unnecessary. even moreso, now. )
no subject
But there is something about her in it which makes the room more appealing. Standing just inside, shy of the waves of her discarded petticoats, he studies the lines of her visible through the thin fabric with the benefit of more than a hand's span of distance between them.
(He is also undoing his belt, picking the knife out of it, and dumping the whole affair thoughtlessly into some convenient chair. His rings come next, a series of them stripped from either hand as he looks at her. He is wearing more ornamentation than she is.)]
no subject
she listens to the clatter and muted thuds of the assortment of things that put together the striking image he cuts as she loosens and frees pins so carefully placed by a likely maid earlier, setting them beside her locket, methodical. blonde hair falls in curls and kinked tresses toward her waist, improbably riotous in attempting to hold the shapes its been pressed into for hours, softening her stern lines in a way that seems almost more intimate than the pert curve of backside implied beneath breathy fabric.
she sets a knee on the edge of his bed, leaning there, half-turning to observe him. sits, upon consideration, and she was never that kind of queen but there is an element of it to the way she seems perfectly content to watch him shed his pirate-skin for her obvious gratification.
it is not the expression of a woman who might say something like, I never thought—. it is very much the expression of a woman who did, and at length. )
no subject
A lit reed is fetched from the dying fire here in this room's smaller fireplace, a series of candles meticulously from it. It is easier to see her by - more gold than shade; maybe next time will be by daylight. Tonight he brings the light with him to set on the bedside table.
He is still in the process of undressing when he slides in between her knees, freeing the laces of his trousers with one hand and working his shirt free of the waistband with the other.]
You should show me how it works after this. --How you learned Tevene.
no subject
( she will absolutely be able to convincingly forge his signature afterwards, but likewise she is probably right that someone only giving it the old college try might make almost as much trouble.
conversationally, as she bats one of his hands out of her way to take over the undoing of his trousers, ) My husband taught me the theory of the spell; rather incidentally in dictating it to me that it might be recorded. In Lamorre, it once was treason of the highest order. That has passed, but, ( she presses a kiss, almost incongruously chaste, to the strip of bare skin she finds between loosened shirt and undone trousers. ) This, now, would be punishable by death.
( they were undressing, but she bites his hip as she slides her hand beneath the undone laces. )
no subject
The place you came from sounds-- [her hand is very warm] unreasonably dreary.
[This before he sheds his shirt, dumping it unceremoniously anywhere else.]
no subject
I don't miss it. ( and then, tilting her head, ) Shall I? ( which is very polite and has the sense of being a continuation of a most satisfying thought she does not mean to immediately share. )
no subject
All right.
no subject
but from the particular way that she smiles up at him in the gold light of just enough candles, he has given a good answer for more reasons than the obvious. permission secured, she does not rush herself; rather she takes a moment, hitching herself further up onto the bed and then rising onto her knees, taking a moment to appreciate the picture of him before her. the better part of his clothes and his boots littering the room with her own, the marks of his adornments, the casual debauchery of his open trousers. she looks a little as if she is committing it to memory, before she tucks her hair behind her ear and drags her teeth down his side,
her husband had not cared for this, much. had not cared for anything, in fact, in which petrana might have held the upper hand in a way he could see; increasingly, as they grew alongside and apart from one another, preferred not to be at his too-analytical wife's mercy. there is pleasure in giving—generously—but so too is there pleasure in the sense that pleasure is hers to give.
that they are, in a sense, still negotiating. that they do so as equals. she had once thought it—gentlemanly, his restraint. treating her as his wife and not a whore. and then avys had said, what's demeaning about having your teeth to his cock? and she had rather rethought the whole of it.
mostly, when she slides tongue along the underside of flint's, she is thinking that this is a promising development in their partnership. )
no subject
It's a promising development for the rest of the night, in any case. There is something candid in this - which one might be willing to mistake for standard when it comes to a woman's mouth at a man's cock, but isn't -, how she is as intent on this as after any other thing while they'd sat across one another at his desk.
(It's going to be difficult to sit there again without thinking of Madame de Cedoux on her knees in her chemise and silk stockings, but he's never known that to be a barrier to good work.)]
no subject
observing and responding to the minutest shift of him. paying heed to the way that he breathes and moves his weight and his fingers in her loose, soft hair; the muscles in his abdomen where her fingertips splay out from his hip. there is nothing that she does that she doesn't approach so methodically, and so determined to excel—
it is one thing to merely get one's end away. it is another entirely to ensure that it is difficult to look at her mouth and not remember. )
no subject
But he is evidently not difficult to parse like this. If she is looking for something to observe, there is plenty to examine. The unrepentant shift of his fingers, how he presses up under her hand at his hip are matters of course, but there is something in the shape of him that goes lower and more heated under the point of her study - not just willing to be looked at, but aroused by the fixture of her attention. Twitching in anticipation of being done with this, following her into the bed and pressing his mouth between her thighs to watch in what direction she moves from it.]
no subject
the part of her that has pressed her thighs tighter and tighter together as she swirls her tongue around the tip of his cock isn't prepared to be that patient, tonight. there's a wet pop when she drags her mouth off of him, rising up on her knees with one hand still lazily working him, lips reddened before she draws him down to her mouth.
there is a different tenor to this kiss than the laughing newness of them pressed together in the carriage. )
no subject
It's treated with all the care his shirt didn't warrant - folded with a patience belied by every other part of him including how he sounds when he says,]
Lie back.
[He'd like to see what she looks like there while he removes her garters and stockings.]
no subject
her toes curl in her stockings against the bedding beneath her, and she watches him less inscrutably than she has over his desk. curiosity, affection, and frank want mingled with the same coolly, calmly analytical air she seems unable to not apply to everything.
he is her sole focus. the halo of her pale hair around her is angelic; the teeth in her lip and the look in her eye, less so. )
no subject
(And if there is a spot of his examination which briefly takes the shape of what she must look like with her Enchanter, then it's a blank space he purposefully doesn't consider long enough to bring the details into focus.)
Instead the chemise, folded and neat, is set aside. He sets a knee on the edge of the bed and works free her last ribbons. Slides his fingers under one stocking and peels it from her.]
I might scratch you, [his whiskered cheek rough against some bared strip of skin before he moves to her second stocking.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)