☈ e n v y .
Title: Seven Sins; Envy
Pairing: Irene // Teresa
Summary: Somehow, without a word, she knows exactly what you need. Whether she gives it to you is another matter entirely.
Rating: R
"Teresa, please." Your voice is deep, it vibrates in your chest like a purr, catches in your throat on a broken breath. You gasp, raggedly, and she leans down, whispers in your ear.
"Tell me."
She already knows, she just wants to make you say it. But you have your dignity, though the flush that crawls up from your breast to settle high on your cheeks has already begun to betray it. It is a delicious shame, this inability to hide your want from her. You close your eyes so she cannot see the hunger that lives there. Your fingers curl into the sheets pooled around your hips, and you grind your teeth together to keep the words locked in.
A long, slow lick up the column of your neck is the key.
Your eyes fly open and the sigh that escapes your lips is something like a sob, something like a prayer. You envy her this control she has over you, the way her mouth makes your body bend against your will to hers. The way you bend only for her, the way you break only for her, under her hands and her fierce eyes. She has always known exactly how to move you, exactly how to draw out the deepest desires you possess, to lay you bare before her.
Somehow, as her fingers drift across your collarbones, as her hands glide over your heated flesh to tease and torture, you don't mind.
She drops her head to your shoulder, moves to brush her lips against the smooth hollow of your throat, and you can feel that smile there, faintly, before she tests the sweat-salted skin with the tip of her tongue, swirls and slides it along the curves and dips of you in maddening patterns that possess you; you are branded, always hers.
You envy her this, too. The way her every word is panted out like fire on her tongue, and she smolders, dragon-breathed and smiling, how she glows golden even in the moonlight. The sun lives in her in a way that it has never lived in you, and it's that sun that holds you captive to her every whim. Teresa... you say, and her name sounds to you in that moment more sacred than all the statues in all the churches, as if the human goddess has descended to your bed, as if what she does to you is something holy.
Tell me, she says again, and slinks, catlike, back up to press her lips to yours, and though it is surprisingly soft, the warmth of it sets your heart to burning. You raise your hands to thread your fingers through her hair, pull her roughly against your mouth to kiss that smile away.
I love you, you say, finally, breath hitching with a sudden rush of feeling.
She smiles, not the tiny, mocking smile that named her, but one that's gentle like the dawn. She dips her head to your throat once more, and her mouth moves lower, agonizingly slow.
When you press your palms against her hair, gently guiding, she knows that she's won. But then, you think as she begins, so have you.
Pairing: Irene // Teresa
Summary: Somehow, without a word, she knows exactly what you need. Whether she gives it to you is another matter entirely.
Rating: R
"Teresa, please." Your voice is deep, it vibrates in your chest like a purr, catches in your throat on a broken breath. You gasp, raggedly, and she leans down, whispers in your ear.
"Tell me."
She already knows, she just wants to make you say it. But you have your dignity, though the flush that crawls up from your breast to settle high on your cheeks has already begun to betray it. It is a delicious shame, this inability to hide your want from her. You close your eyes so she cannot see the hunger that lives there. Your fingers curl into the sheets pooled around your hips, and you grind your teeth together to keep the words locked in.
A long, slow lick up the column of your neck is the key.
Your eyes fly open and the sigh that escapes your lips is something like a sob, something like a prayer. You envy her this control she has over you, the way her mouth makes your body bend against your will to hers. The way you bend only for her, the way you break only for her, under her hands and her fierce eyes. She has always known exactly how to move you, exactly how to draw out the deepest desires you possess, to lay you bare before her.
Somehow, as her fingers drift across your collarbones, as her hands glide over your heated flesh to tease and torture, you don't mind.
She drops her head to your shoulder, moves to brush her lips against the smooth hollow of your throat, and you can feel that smile there, faintly, before she tests the sweat-salted skin with the tip of her tongue, swirls and slides it along the curves and dips of you in maddening patterns that possess you; you are branded, always hers.
You envy her this, too. The way her every word is panted out like fire on her tongue, and she smolders, dragon-breathed and smiling, how she glows golden even in the moonlight. The sun lives in her in a way that it has never lived in you, and it's that sun that holds you captive to her every whim. Teresa... you say, and her name sounds to you in that moment more sacred than all the statues in all the churches, as if the human goddess has descended to your bed, as if what she does to you is something holy.
Tell me, she says again, and slinks, catlike, back up to press her lips to yours, and though it is surprisingly soft, the warmth of it sets your heart to burning. You raise your hands to thread your fingers through her hair, pull her roughly against your mouth to kiss that smile away.
I love you, you say, finally, breath hitching with a sudden rush of feeling.
She smiles, not the tiny, mocking smile that named her, but one that's gentle like the dawn. She dips her head to your throat once more, and her mouth moves lower, agonizingly slow.
When you press your palms against her hair, gently guiding, she knows that she's won. But then, you think as she begins, so have you.