Vialie
Nothing like drinking and girls, one of his shipmates had once claimed. A woman in one hand and a bottle in the other would solve all of life’s problems. A few of the others had claimed it that was the case, he’d have a baby bottle and a daughter to hold. It was the truth, too. They’d not a clue that the quiet, sober man with the placid smile and wise eyes had the parts they so desired aboard the months long voyages.
Now he wanted more than ever to be one of the boys, not because he was fearful of receiving, but because he finally wanted to give. Aurelie was shifting uncomfortably in the poor lighting, as though it tickled the edge of her mind why it was bad to follow a man into dark corners. Well, even if he wasn’t fully capable in some areas, it was still bad, very bad.
Without anything further being said, he pulled the redheaded passive to him, the softness of a life at Brunnhold yielding to the muscles of a decade at sea. She gasped, the cobweb thin sound like something from a dream that he’d forgotten. Her chest was pressed to his, calloused hands on pale arms, denying all escape. If she had wanted to, anyway. She didn’t seem eager to shift from him, his tight grasp, burning eyes. His lips found the crown of her head, and as he released her shoulders to explore her form through the scant dress, he hungrily moved downwards, lips coming to forehead, eyelids, nose tip and finally her own petal mouth.
Another sound, light as a moth’s dying sigh, and she sank into him, not yet releasing herself to the harshness of his kiss. It only mattered a moment; what she was not giving, he took. Stepping forward, pressing her against the shadowed wall, Viator captured her mouth as she moaned, fingertips now grazing the bared flesh above her stockings, tongue overpowering hers and he deepened it, other hand at her back, pulling her as close as could be managed. She writhed like a virgin, unsure, unknowing but instinctively right, sending heat where her body would shift against his. He growled into her softness, fire stoking itself deep within, uncontrollable as it was unspendable.
His hand now slid beneath the hem, rising like a heat wave up her naked skin, rough fingers leaving sparks in their wake. Over the thigh, the curve of the hip, soft flesh of the belly, ribcage, to her heaving chest. It was soft, softer than memory ever said the other had been, and nails caressed the lowest curve of her breasts. Such sounds she made! Whimpers for wounds he had yet to inflict were damp against the fabric across his chest, making it through the bandages to touch skin, her small hands confused. She might have known the catch-and-lay but Viator was no jon, and she would be no ones whore but his. Not anymore. Punctuating his decision with action, he pressed against her harder, both hands now under her dress, passionate one moment, practically clawing at her, maddeningly thorough and slow the next. He was silent, save for labored breaths, but Aura, his gold, she was all sighs and gasps. She didn’t fight his hands, instead arching into them, and Viator felt like a predator as she shook. His feral grin did nothing to dissuade him of the thought.
Her pale skin flushed, and she shook like a leaf. He hated the fate that made him unable to complete what he’d started in the way of nature, cursed the mold he and Aurelie shared. But he wasn’t going to leave her panting and sweating in a dark corner, no. Hands sliding from her soft chest, one drifted behind her, caressing back, sliding over her neck, to bury itself in red waves. The other began it’s descent, feathering her ribcage, skirting her navel. She trembled like something caged, and he loved it, loved that she needed him to finish this. If only he could shove her against the wall and fill her, make her cry his name as she sobbed from the beautiful pain of it--! The softness of barely-there drawers were no obstacle for him; they slid down soft thighs like a whisper.
Chuckling into her hair, fighting his own feeling of ravenous hunger, he began to explore her warmth with calloused fingers. Aurelie’s form jumped as the unexpected invaders flicked over her most sensitive skin, and whimpers turned to mewls, her hands coming to claw themselves into the fabric of his shirt, nails leaving their mark on skin anyway. She was so ready, so willing… anger made his touch harsh, and she cried out once, twice, not in release yet but in delicate anguish. Viator took control of himself again and with a growl slid an appendage inside her.
She was so innocent. He had pulled away from her hair just to see her face. It was shocked, enraptured. She rocked against his hand totally out of instinct; he met it, and she gasped, moaned as he slid out-but another finger made her light sounds develop and edge. Groaning, nonstop into his shoulder, she met him again and again. Two became three, and soon she was shaking and shivering and crying out, muffling herself as best se could. He just used her flames to span his fire, stoking it without any hope of release. Instead, he rocked into her, and she began to reach that height, mewling spiraling and catching.
Flicking through the skin, he found her most sensitive corner, and with a shudder of his own, brought her over the edge. She closed her eyes, buried her face in his neck, lips kissing and gasping, body shaking to be still, and he held her through the storm until she was done. Viator felt his own heat still high, oh too high.
He leaned in and straightened her dress, sweetly pulling her silky panties up, and laid a delicate (if over energetic) kiss on her blushing cheek. She wavered a little in the aftermath, and in his heart of heart he knew he couldn’t leave her to care for his own… needs, not like this. With tenderness he hadn’t shown before, he picked her up, cradling her to him, and stalked his way out the back of Sarinah’s place.
Now he wanted more than ever to be one of the boys, not because he was fearful of receiving, but because he finally wanted to give. Aurelie was shifting uncomfortably in the poor lighting, as though it tickled the edge of her mind why it was bad to follow a man into dark corners. Well, even if he wasn’t fully capable in some areas, it was still bad, very bad.
Without anything further being said, he pulled the redheaded passive to him, the softness of a life at Brunnhold yielding to the muscles of a decade at sea. She gasped, the cobweb thin sound like something from a dream that he’d forgotten. Her chest was pressed to his, calloused hands on pale arms, denying all escape. If she had wanted to, anyway. She didn’t seem eager to shift from him, his tight grasp, burning eyes. His lips found the crown of her head, and as he released her shoulders to explore her form through the scant dress, he hungrily moved downwards, lips coming to forehead, eyelids, nose tip and finally her own petal mouth.
Another sound, light as a moth’s dying sigh, and she sank into him, not yet releasing herself to the harshness of his kiss. It only mattered a moment; what she was not giving, he took. Stepping forward, pressing her against the shadowed wall, Viator captured her mouth as she moaned, fingertips now grazing the bared flesh above her stockings, tongue overpowering hers and he deepened it, other hand at her back, pulling her as close as could be managed. She writhed like a virgin, unsure, unknowing but instinctively right, sending heat where her body would shift against his. He growled into her softness, fire stoking itself deep within, uncontrollable as it was unspendable.
His hand now slid beneath the hem, rising like a heat wave up her naked skin, rough fingers leaving sparks in their wake. Over the thigh, the curve of the hip, soft flesh of the belly, ribcage, to her heaving chest. It was soft, softer than memory ever said the other had been, and nails caressed the lowest curve of her breasts. Such sounds she made! Whimpers for wounds he had yet to inflict were damp against the fabric across his chest, making it through the bandages to touch skin, her small hands confused. She might have known the catch-and-lay but Viator was no jon, and she would be no ones whore but his. Not anymore. Punctuating his decision with action, he pressed against her harder, both hands now under her dress, passionate one moment, practically clawing at her, maddeningly thorough and slow the next. He was silent, save for labored breaths, but Aura, his gold, she was all sighs and gasps. She didn’t fight his hands, instead arching into them, and Viator felt like a predator as she shook. His feral grin did nothing to dissuade him of the thought.
Her pale skin flushed, and she shook like a leaf. He hated the fate that made him unable to complete what he’d started in the way of nature, cursed the mold he and Aurelie shared. But he wasn’t going to leave her panting and sweating in a dark corner, no. Hands sliding from her soft chest, one drifted behind her, caressing back, sliding over her neck, to bury itself in red waves. The other began it’s descent, feathering her ribcage, skirting her navel. She trembled like something caged, and he loved it, loved that she needed him to finish this. If only he could shove her against the wall and fill her, make her cry his name as she sobbed from the beautiful pain of it--! The softness of barely-there drawers were no obstacle for him; they slid down soft thighs like a whisper.
Chuckling into her hair, fighting his own feeling of ravenous hunger, he began to explore her warmth with calloused fingers. Aurelie’s form jumped as the unexpected invaders flicked over her most sensitive skin, and whimpers turned to mewls, her hands coming to claw themselves into the fabric of his shirt, nails leaving their mark on skin anyway. She was so ready, so willing… anger made his touch harsh, and she cried out once, twice, not in release yet but in delicate anguish. Viator took control of himself again and with a growl slid an appendage inside her.
She was so innocent. He had pulled away from her hair just to see her face. It was shocked, enraptured. She rocked against his hand totally out of instinct; he met it, and she gasped, moaned as he slid out-but another finger made her light sounds develop and edge. Groaning, nonstop into his shoulder, she met him again and again. Two became three, and soon she was shaking and shivering and crying out, muffling herself as best se could. He just used her flames to span his fire, stoking it without any hope of release. Instead, he rocked into her, and she began to reach that height, mewling spiraling and catching.
Flicking through the skin, he found her most sensitive corner, and with a shudder of his own, brought her over the edge. She closed her eyes, buried her face in his neck, lips kissing and gasping, body shaking to be still, and he held her through the storm until she was done. Viator felt his own heat still high, oh too high.
He leaned in and straightened her dress, sweetly pulling her silky panties up, and laid a delicate (if over energetic) kiss on her blushing cheek. She wavered a little in the aftermath, and in his heart of heart he knew he couldn’t leave her to care for his own… needs, not like this. With tenderness he hadn’t shown before, he picked her up, cradling her to him, and stalked his way out the back of Sarinah’s place.