[lotrips] trigonometry
i. arc
Galadriel was intimidating but Cate is not.
Also, you are not Frodo.
Also, she is whispering those filthy slick things into her cellphone, all the time trailing tricky fingers along your collarbone where she's yanked your shirt aside. She bares her small white teeth at you when you hook your little fingers in the loops of her jeans and tug.
Cate is not intimidating when she sways forward and stumbles on your toes.
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But then: It's your turn to trip on her toes.
She steadies you gently upright, guiding, pushing you against the door with flat palms.
There's a satisfying click when the door closes and an audible clack when her teeth bump yours, blunt and warm and concentrated as her tongue seeks and prods at the gap that you hate. You feel her exhale in your mouth.
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"Look," she says, lips light on your neck, fingers quickinsistent at your shirt buttons.
You drag your eyes open, lids wet and cold from her swiping tongue, and you gasp like a girl.
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You are not sure if the intake of breath comes from Cate's hand stroking rough updown maddeningly on your jeans - unbutton please unbutton you think - or the altogether unexpected sight of Miranda, stretching naked and gold by the window.
She is all arches. Her back is curved, supine with shoulders back and hands entangled above her. Her eyebrows are arched but the look is not for you, you see it as Cate turns around, the look is for Cate and says bring it on, baby.
Miranda's feet are pointed and she has clean arches there too, where her ankles are bound to the chair legs with criss-crossed lethal black ribbons.
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ii. cos
Cate tangles one hand in Miranda's hair, thumb tracing hard circles against her warm scalp. Miranda always leans back into it, can't help it, like a cat straining for scritching under the ears.
Cate likes Miranda's reflexes.
She likes to watch her struggle with them, too. Like how she's struggling not to reach forward and touch when Elijah steps in and invades her space, flush up against the chair front, his knees between hers.
Like how she's been struggling to not touch anywhere, and probably failing.
Cate loves it how Miranda's skin flushes deep when she comes.
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Elijah holds his tongue between his teeth - concentrating, Cate thinks. He seems careful and unhurried, and that's not what she was expecting. She wonders where he's learnt that.
She watches as his fingers skate around Miranda's jawline and along her open lips. He pushes his thumb inside her mouth. If it were Cate's fingers, Miranda would suck greedily, but Elijah is moving his thumb back and forth along her teeth, too quick to catch. He takes his thumb away - Cate catches his wrist, takes it to her mouth and tastes her girl there.
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"Cate tells me," Elijah says softly to Miranda, unbuttoning his jeans with audible snaps, "that you have a perfect, glorious mouth."
Miranda smiles, licking her teeth and shifting in the chair. Her hands clench the arms arhythmically and her eyes flicker and blink as Elijah lets out a breathy sigh, stroking himself so close to her. His cock is hard in his hand, like an offering and Cate tightens her grasp on Miranda's hair, feeling her unconsciously rocking forward.
She moves between them, sinking to her knees.
"It's too bad she won't get to use it," Elijah says as Cate takes him in her mouth.
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iii. sin(e)
"Aren't you a little tease then," Miranda hisses up at Elijah, gratified to see the startled flicker of caution cross his face before she smiles wide at him. He gives her a half-grin then and relaxes, rocking forward slightly, leaning into Cate's hands which are firmly placed on his bare hips.
Miranda watches his eyes become unfocussed and he blinks slowly, his lids settling to close halfway. Her gaze drifts down, and she watches his mouth part wetly and dark with a spitshiny gleam from the sun through the window. She watches Cate - Cate, kneeling! - her shoulders moving slightly, arhythmically as she strokes Elijah hard (once) and gentle (twice) and bows her head down.
"Yessss," slips out of Elijah's open mouth and Miranda hears the echo from her own throat, unable to stop her hands creeping and sliding, one burying into Cate's softfine hair and the other between her own legs because the look on Elijah's face when Cate dips forward and wraps her mouth around him, his wantyeswant look shimmers into the air, a feverish flush of infectious need. and Miranda presses the fleshy pad of her thumb down, circling hard on her hot skin, the tidal pull of Elijah's loud gaspy noises crashing and retreating with her insistent strokes on her own wet flesh -
- "E-liiiii-jah," Cate murmurs, not stopping but slowing, circling the vowels in Elijah's name through a variety of accents. "Miranda is distracting me." -
- and Elijah, some kind of fast learner, leans over to loom on the chair, disentangling Miranda's hand from Cate's hair and pinning her wrist down to the wide wooden arm. He shifts his weight again and balances, hips still moving with Cate's strokes, to pluck Miranda's urgent fingers away from damp curls and bring them to his own mouth, sucking and smiling when she moans with utter frustration, licking each fingerwith a raspy tongue.
"Keep your hands - on the arms - of the chair, Miranda," Elijah sing-songs light and breathy and balances on the back of the chair, his hands above and around her head. His face is so very close to hers now and she sees his sharp little teeth, imagines them sinking into her flesh with a wet bite, and her hands, obediently grasping the chair, clench and scratch at the thought. She bites down hard on her bottom lip, a small consolation sensation, and darts out her tongue to swipe at his mouth.
Miranda twitches again when Elijah moans suddenly and loud, noises like words saying holyfuckyesyesYES and it's almost enough just to watch him, head bowed forward and eyelashes fluttering, rocking movements still held steady by Cate but faster now, and Miranda can see the almost-pained crease in Elijah's brow as he jerks up, eyes wide open.
Cate fades from Miranda's consciousness as she drinks in his flickering pleasure, opening her mouth to his and murmuring encouragement to his whimpers, hissing yessss, do it, now, I want to see you come, do it, Elijah and jerking her own hips up for contact as he comes with broken gasps, his forearms frozen tense and straining while his knees knock against the chair, and Miranda just wants, and she whines against Elijah's tipped forehead-
"Please, Cate, please."
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iv. tan/gent
Cate has become intimidating.
Not because of her clear direct bluegaze that has turned dark and sly, not because she shifts you firmly back, murmuring on the bed, Elijah, not because her thin fingers are swift and nimble on the black ribbons that slice across Miranda's calves, but because of the series of pornographic sounds:
Miranda's hitched pleading half-gasp, summery stickypeel of her bare skin off the leather chair as Cate hoists her up, squeak of Miranda's bare feet stumbling on the polished wood floor, disapproving click of Cate's tongue, shocking thud as Cate pushes, shoves Miranda down onto her knees at the foot of the bed, in front of you like she's praying;
Then the look, pure and utter gracious shuddering relief as Cate bends behind Miranda and bites. In that spot, the delectable spot where everyone bites and everyone arches and whimpers and clenches, but watching these two it's something new; Cate's eyes close as if she's drifting into perfect sated sleep while Miranda's are wide, wide open, watery and saccading back and forth frantically.
You trap Miranda's wrists and pin them between you.
Grounding, you think.
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You have watched before. Watched from a distance and oh yeah, that's some kind of fun, and stroking yourself off seems so fucking dirty doing that. Watched while the two others (or once, three, fuck yes) did things to you, or you did them, and everything was hands and mouths and tangled straining for your turn.
But you haven't watched like this, at once included and excluded, (un)necessary, tangental.
You rub your thumbs over the veins in Miranda's wrists, quick enough to create friction and heat. You can feel her pulse against the pad of your thumb.
Her gaze drifts to yours, catches and holds, and she licks her lips.
You wish you had nails. You would dig them in.
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Cate pauses, shifts, and admires the bruised teeth marks she's scattered over Miranda's shoulders.
"Pretty," she says, glancing at you in invitation, and you reposition forward and reach out your fingers to touch, stroke, feather over the wet skin, skitter from mark to tender mark with little jabs, smiling at Cate who smiles when Miranda shudders.
"Pretty," you echo, wanting to be gentle and brutal like Cate.
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She makes Miranda wait.
You are singularly grateful that you've come already, because you're hard and wanting and waiting from Cate's breathy flutters across Miranda's skin, from Miranda's low and constant hitch-cry-beg and her tugging hard beneath your grasp. Cate's fingers and mouth have a hypnotic glide, and there's almost a rhythm to her teasing, trailing across Miranda's back and ass and spread thighs and between but not in.
Miranda waits, and you watch her face, her expressions cycling through slack and tense, anticipation and disappointment, open-mouthed pleasure and wincing, but mostly there's hazy desperation until Cate whispers, "Open, Miranda," just like open sesame, just like magic, and you can see on Miranda's face that she is open, wants to be, wants to be laid bare. You lean down to whisper to her, close to her damp neck with Cate resting her head on the other shoulder, whisper what you saw on her face while you watch the smooth slide of Cate's fingers appearing and disappearing from view, coaxing Miranda's arching back, her inarticulate noises halfway between please and yes.
"Greedy," you whisper, "greedy and eager and I bet you want more, Miranda, bet you could take more too," and how gratifying is that when you hear her hitch and shudder and moan something like ohgodyes, and Cate just chuckles low, not giving anything away but twisting her wrist hard, you can see it, and Miranda is hum-moaning continuously so you move closer to put your mouth on her throat, feel the vibrations of her voice.
"I think you'd take everything, wouldn't you," you say, spurred on to tease by the taste of her sweat and Cate's lingering bite-kisses, "especially from Cate, with her beautiful-"
- and you kiss Miranda's open mouth once, before it's too late -
"Beautiful small hands," and you don't know and don't care if it's you or Cate that did it but Miranda yowls, gasping, eyes screwed shut and she's tense, taut, her throat tight and singing against your lips as she comes, relief spilling across her face as she dissolves into whimpers, and there's really nothing for you to do but drink her in, lap and lick and inhale.
You feel Cate stroking Miranda's hair, hear her murmuring too low for you to make anything out. You shift back, feeling detached again, feeling third.
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Miranda tightens her grasp, tugs you back, and Cate's hand slips into your hair.
Third is fine.
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