[He shivers again, hard, at the feel of her teeth on his lip; it's a full-body shudder that she can feel where her hands are on his back. All at once, the rest of his willpower seems to give. He presses forward, almost desperate, and closes that last little bit of space.]
[The kiss is still clumsy, but he makes up for it in earnestness; he kisses her like he's been drowning for a long, long time, and he didn't realize how much he needed her to breathe until just now, when he's gotten a little taste.]
[She doesn't expect the sudden almost overwhelming intensity of it, and she chirps out a surprised little sound that's swallowed into his mouth.
But it's honest and it's him, and the noise she makes a few moments later is a pleased hum. Her pulse beats quick as she wraps her arms tighter around him, kisses back with relish]
[His other arm loops around her and draws her in, settling around her waist; the one in her hair curls in a little, fingers threading through the shorter hair at the nape of her neck.]
[And he's a quick study, at least; the kiss is clumsy, but he's taking his cues from her, mirroring her actions - trying to do it better, to get it right.]
[This earns a deeper hum, and she licks his lips, licks his tongue. Presses into him just a little more insistently. Honestly she should have expected him to pick this up quick, but somehow it continues to be a heady surprise, and every time she considers pulling away she decides to wait just one more.
One of her hands drifts up to cup his chin and comb through his hair, tugging ever so gently as she goes for just one more kiss]
[He makes a soft sound when she presses against him and tugs at his hair; it's mostly swallowed by the kiss, but it's definitely appreciative. It's the kind of sound that would be breathless, if he could bring himself to stop kissing her long enough to breathe, but he can't; he's too busy half-drowning in sensation.]
[One hand trails idly across the small of her back and then outward - settles against her waist, thumb skirting the bare skin showed off by the shorter top.]
[The gentle haze of kisses blending into each other sharpens into focus at the swipe of his thumb at the small of her back, and she wonders--
Well. She wonders a lot of things.
She releases the kiss, pulls back a little, though not far enough to have to stop fingercombing against his scalp. Puts on an expression she hopes looks like anything but dazed]
That...works as an incentive.
[She's far too breathless for this to even kind of sound offhand, and she licks kiss-bruised lips, considering what she should do, and what she wants to do.]
[He does a significantly worse job of not looking dazed; there's no disguising the flush in his cheeks or the way his pupils are dilated.]
Still what I...?
[It takes a beat for his brain to catch up and get him back on board with the plot, and when it does, he goes an even darker red. He can think of a whole lot of things that he wants, but the thought of her hands on him is, frankly, dizzyingly appealing.]
['Disaffected' is still pretty far from anything she can manage, but she makes a go at it anyway, tries not to feel so accomplished--but he does look best with color in his cheeks, she decides.
So she leans in again, presses a light kiss to the corner of his mouth...then takes a full step back, hands clasped behind her back]
[He hesitates - lifts the hem of his dress, revealing more of the sleek fabric of the slip underneath.]
[It takes him longer than it ought to, to get it off. He's self-conscious, and flushed, and trying hard not to be too eager. He's also never taken off this kind of dress before. He gets it stuck, coming up over his shoulders; the slip rides up high on his thigh, while he's struggling with it.]
[But evenually he squirms out of it - gives the dress, now inside-out, a sloppy half-fold and sets it aside.]
[When he's done, he glances at her face and then away again.]
So, uh. You're the massage expert. You want more than that off, or...?
[She watches as he struggles, notes how the muscles of his shoulders and chest work and just how high his hem rises and...because she is watching so closely she has time to school her face before he's free of the fabric but...doesn't, lets him see her staring back with curious interest. Takes a moment at his question to consider before responding]
...Up to you. If that's how you feel comfortable, it'll work fine.
[And she gestures over at the bench--an oversized velvet Chesterfield sofa that, while oddly large for a changing room, should suit this purpose without issue]
[His cheeks go dark at the blatant interest, and he ducks his head a little - glances over at the sofa.]
Uh. Sure. Lemme - lemme get ready.
[He makes his way over, self-conscious - settles himself on the sofa. When he's lying flat, he shifts a little, and then shifts again, the gentle press from lying face down on the padded cushions certainly a whole lot more intense, given how wound up he is.]
[When he speaks again, his voice is a little strained:]
[Follows him to the couch--hesitates for a breath before perching beside him at the edge of the seat, the cushion moving a bit towards her weight. She keeps her knees angled towards each other to make up for the scandalously short skirt, despite him being face down, and splays her right hand at the small of his back, just keeps it there a few beats. Eventually she adds the other as well, smooths up from the middle of his back to his shoulders and back, light and quick over the satin]
[He shivers, at the touch - draws a sharp breath in, when she sets the first hand on him. He does his best not to squirm, though he isn't entirely successful.]
[The feel of her fingers, warm through the smooth, thin fabric, make him glad he angled his face in toward the back of the couch when he lay down, because he's sure he's bright red. The burn across his cheeks is unbearable, and the feel of her hands on him is unbearable in an entirely different way.]
[He shifts again, a little, despite himself - bites down on his lower lip, and tries to keep still.]
[This is how it goes, right? Warm hands up from the curve of his sacrum, over his shoulder blades and past the neckline of the fabric to cool skin instead, her hands smoothing over his shoulders, and back; venturing down his arms, then up where his head meets his neck--gentle against any tension.
At first she just kind of slides around aimlessly, just enjoying the feel of the fabric and the gentle warmth below, how solid he is under her. After a while, she feels around for any muscles that seem like they could use the release of tension, and attempts to concentrate there instead]
[If it's supposed to go any way but like this, he certainly doesn't know any better - just closes his eyes, and enjoys the gentle touches tracing along his back, and his arms, and his neck.]
[When she finally starts to go deeper, she discovers that there are in fact areas that could use some work, and they're all along the same side: the tension from overcompensating for the weight of the fake leg.]
[She doesn't much know what she's doing but gives it a go nevertheless, adding more pressure but not too much, in case the muscles are tender to the touch. Sweeps up and down with long strokes, as if the knots could be whittled down and pushed out of place, somehow, if she had enough time or just tried hard enough. Peeks up towards what of his face she can see to make sure it's not too much]
[His eyes are closed, the lashes a soft, pale swoop against his skin, and his cheeks still have a flush of color to them. It's spread all across the cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, intermingled with the freckles spattered there. His lips are kiss-bruised, slightly parted; his hair is rumpled from having had her hands in it.]
[If the look on his face is any indication, she's doing something right.]
She takes a long, shaky breath to just look, something warm swelling tight in her chest. Her expression goes unfocused, drifts somewhere towards self-consciously, furiously accomplished. Perhaps he can feel how her breath goes that much more shallow, or the speed of her pulse.
But--maybe not, maybe hopefully not. She catches herself, redfaced, and starts her hands moving again, swirling knuckles to dig into the line of tense muscle. The biggest effort goes into not watching his face now, even if it's an image she's sure she's committed to memory]
[If the change in his own breathing is any indication, he noticed; it shifts when hers goes shallower, and she can almost certainly feel the way it's picked up. His back rises and falls under her hands in the new rhythm, and the flush across his cheeks grows wider, out to tinge his ears.]
[He shifts again against the sofa - bites down on his lip, and risks cracking open an eye to peer up at her face.]
[Her cheeks are ruddy, her gaze carefully trained on the incredibly interesting nailheads in the sofa cushions. Her brows are furrowed, as if concentrating on her work very hard.
As if feeling his eye on her, her face heats a little more. She digs a little harder into the tight muscle, definitely not a distraction]
[Maybe it's because he's not expecting it; maybe because it's because he's so busy watching her face that he forgets he's supposed to not be making an idiot of himself. But whatever the reason, when she digs in a little harder, this time, he can't quite stop the soft sound he makes, part surprise and part appreciation, at the back of his throat.]
[He's expecting it a little more, this time - manages to muffle himself into a sound that's softer, barely there at all. It's more of a stutter of breath. But the tells are there, if she's looking for them; his fingers twitch in toward the palm, and he's biting down on his lip.]
[One more time, because she's never been great at leaving well-enough alone, and because she kind of is looking for tells, just because. But after that her smoothing touch drifts elsewhere over his back, seeking out other places that seem like they might appreciate some attention]
[There are plenty of tense muscles for her to work through, if she has a mind to do it - but he seems to enjoy the petting on it own, even without the deeper touch. If she's looking for tells, she might be able to pick up on how purposefully still he gets, when she reaches certain places: the base of his neck, and the side, along his ribs, and the lower back, down near the hip.]
[She can probably hear the changes in his breathing, if she's paying close enough attention: little pauses in the too-fast rhythm, before he smooths them over and tries to cover them up.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[The kiss is still clumsy, but he makes up for it in earnestness; he kisses her like he's been drowning for a long, long time, and he didn't realize how much he needed her to breathe until just now, when he's gotten a little taste.]
no subject
But it's honest and it's him, and the noise she makes a few moments later is a pleased hum. Her pulse beats quick as she wraps her arms tighter around him, kisses back with relish]
no subject
[And he's a quick study, at least; the kiss is clumsy, but he's taking his cues from her, mirroring her actions - trying to do it better, to get it right.]
no subject
One of her hands drifts up to cup his chin and comb through his hair, tugging ever so gently as she goes for just one more kiss]
no subject
[One more kiss is great.]
[He makes a soft sound when she presses against him and tugs at his hair; it's mostly swallowed by the kiss, but it's definitely appreciative. It's the kind of sound that would be breathless, if he could bring himself to stop kissing her long enough to breathe, but he can't; he's too busy half-drowning in sensation.]
[One hand trails idly across the small of her back and then outward - settles against her waist, thumb skirting the bare skin showed off by the shorter top.]
no subject
Well. She wonders a lot of things.
She releases the kiss, pulls back a little, though not far enough to have to stop fingercombing against his scalp. Puts on an expression she hopes looks like anything but dazed]
That...works as an incentive.
[She's far too breathless for this to even kind of sound offhand, and she licks kiss-bruised lips, considering what she should do, and what she wants to do.]
A-anyways. That...still what you want? ...Master.
no subject
Still what I...?
[It takes a beat for his brain to catch up and get him back on board with the plot, and when it does, he goes an even darker red. He can think of a whole lot of things that he wants, but the thought of her hands on him is, frankly, dizzyingly appealing.]
Uh. Yeah.
Y-yeah, I mean. If that's cool...?
no subject
['Disaffected' is still pretty far from anything she can manage, but she makes a go at it anyway, tries not to feel so accomplished--but he does look best with color in his cheeks, she decides.
So she leans in again, presses a light kiss to the corner of his mouth...then takes a full step back, hands clasped behind her back]
...You wanna get undressed and lie face down?
no subject
[He hesitates - lifts the hem of his dress, revealing more of the sleek fabric of the slip underneath.]
[It takes him longer than it ought to, to get it off. He's self-conscious, and flushed, and trying hard not to be too eager. He's also never taken off this kind of dress before. He gets it stuck, coming up over his shoulders; the slip rides up high on his thigh, while he's struggling with it.]
[But evenually he squirms out of it - gives the dress, now inside-out, a sloppy half-fold and sets it aside.]
[When he's done, he glances at her face and then away again.]
So, uh. You're the massage expert. You want more than that off, or...?
no subject
...Up to you. If that's how you feel comfortable, it'll work fine.
[And she gestures over at the bench--an oversized velvet Chesterfield sofa that, while oddly large for a changing room, should suit this purpose without issue]
no subject
Uh. Sure. Lemme - lemme get ready.
[He makes his way over, self-conscious - settles himself on the sofa. When he's lying flat, he shifts a little, and then shifts again, the gentle press from lying face down on the padded cushions certainly a whole lot more intense, given how wound up he is.]
[When he speaks again, his voice is a little strained:]
...kay. I'm good.
no subject
no subject
[The feel of her fingers, warm through the smooth, thin fabric, make him glad he angled his face in toward the back of the couch when he lay down, because he's sure he's bright red. The burn across his cheeks is unbearable, and the feel of her hands on him is unbearable in an entirely different way.]
[He shifts again, a little, despite himself - bites down on his lower lip, and tries to keep still.]
no subject
At first she just kind of slides around aimlessly, just enjoying the feel of the fabric and the gentle warmth below, how solid he is under her. After a while, she feels around for any muscles that seem like they could use the release of tension, and attempts to concentrate there instead]
no subject
[When she finally starts to go deeper, she discovers that there are in fact areas that could use some work, and they're all along the same side: the tension from overcompensating for the weight of the fake leg.]
no subject
no subject
[If the look on his face is any indication, she's doing something right.]
no subject
She takes a long, shaky breath to just look, something warm swelling tight in her chest. Her expression goes unfocused, drifts somewhere towards self-consciously, furiously accomplished. Perhaps he can feel how her breath goes that much more shallow, or the speed of her pulse.
But--maybe not, maybe hopefully not. She catches herself, redfaced, and starts her hands moving again, swirling knuckles to dig into the line of tense muscle. The biggest effort goes into not watching his face now, even if it's an image she's sure she's committed to memory]
no subject
[He shifts again against the sofa - bites down on his lip, and risks cracking open an eye to peer up at her face.]
no subject
As if feeling his eye on her, her face heats a little more. She digs a little harder into the tight muscle, definitely not a distraction]
no subject
no subject
[Her hands shudder to a stop for a long beat. Of course the next one she does the same thing, but just a touch longer--more decisively, just to see]
no subject
no subject
no subject
[She can probably hear the changes in his breathing, if she's paying close enough attention: little pauses in the too-fast rhythm, before he smooths them over and tries to cover them up.]
(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)
(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)