(no subject)
My cats were always much less ... pushy.
Well, and smaller. They weighed less.
Wakefulness comes slowly, in a stir of consciousness behind closed lids. The mind catalogues physical variables, immediately aware of the points of contact where bare skin meets bare skin even before the heat bodily warmth makes itself unignorable in Ellen's awareness. Her eyes flutter open, her body otherwise held quite still, her expression blank -- and then closed again. Her lips twitch in a smile; feline smug and ephemeral, quickly gone again. She uncoils from her body's half-curl on its side, stretching herself out to her full nude length. As her muscles sing sweet pleasure-pain, tensing and then relaxing, she yawns.
Broad and scar-crossed, Erik's back remains tense even in sleep - the ridge of his spine stiff amidst knotted muscles even when Ellen begins to shift in the bed beside him, and he is stirred into some semblance of awareness himself. Grey eyes roll open to focus dimly upon the polished steel of his bedside table, and one by one, the read of his senses files observations neatly into place. The room is warm. A fair portion of him is wrapped into the sheets he is currently hogging (also warm). And he has company. His stretch is slow in coming, and then slowly, with brows knit for the effort, he rolls over onto his back.
Ellen shifts, edging over bedspace to draw closer, curling back in towards him. Very little of her is beneath the sheets; if he is inclined to be ungenerous in his sleep, she is not inclined to be demanding in hers. She props her head up on one palm, braced on the crook of her elbow, and studies his face with quiet contentment to inform the slow sweep of her lashes. Ever-so-slightly, she smiles.
Right hand lifted to rub groggily over the side of his face, he knuckles sleep out of the corner of one eye and has to squint to focus upon Ellen once he's resettled, the light scruff across his chin and jaw having gone a bit softer with another day's growth. And finally, he allows himself a slight smile - lazy amusement pulling sidelong at the line of his mouth when he angles his head further in her direction. "Morning."
"Good morning," Ellen answers. For some reason, at this moment in time she elects to leave off the sir. She runs fingers through her unruly hair, tousled with sleep and sex, and then lets that free hand fall to a light touch to stroke down his shoulder and upper arm, though it falls off swift enough. "Did you sleep?"
"I did," confirms Erik, eyes flicking briefly down after that touch before they return to her face, and his brows lift - expressions still dulled somewhat by the lingering effects of much needed sleep refusing to release him. "I hope my snoring wasn't too bothersome for you."
Ellen eyes him from beneath the fall of thick lashes, blue a slivered gleam as her lips twitch back towards a suspiciously smirkish curve. "I have no complaints."
Talking, voices, mattress sinking and shifting - out of nowhere, Achilles leaps up into the thick of things, large paws unsteady in the memory foam of Erik's mattress as he clambers for the head of the bed, where he can stick the wrinkled blunt of his face into Ellen's to sniff for morning breath - a stiff grunt from Magneto issued forth at the plant of a paw into his gut.
Ellen's breath does not smell especially morning-breathy. This is probably because she cheats. She grimaces a greeting to the dog. "Mmmph." She scoots back, attempting to leverage herself upright. The next sound she makes sounds a bit like, "Gack." And then, resigned: "Hello, Achilles."
A big pink tongue flops out for Ellen's face. Hello, Ellen! And then the wrinkled face is replaced by a butt and the pendulum swing of a thick tail once he's turned around to push his snout into Erik's, who reaches immediately to push it away. "Grmph.../no/."
Ellen ducks at an odd twisted angle to avoid getting thwacked repeatedly in the face by Achilles's tail. "Ggnn--" She attempts to wipe dog spit off her face by scraping the crook of her elbow over her features. This sort of works, although it leaves her arm damp. She makes another noise, half-growled under her breath. "You are large and intrusive," she tells the dog's bottom gravely.
Achilles' bottom has very little to say for itself, though the increased fervor with which his tail wags upon discovering his master causes his butt to wriggle right along with it despite the hand Erik has splayed firmly across the dog's droopy mug to save himself from a similarly salivated fate. "Nrgh...Achilles, /down/." The order is repeated shortly in German, and with an 'oof' of his own, the canine obeys.
Ellen looks down at the dog with a sudden wry twist to her expression, amusement a waking light in her pale eyes. "That is better," she tells him in German. "Such enthusiasm, such affection." She leans back against the pillow, propping herself up on both elbows as she lounges on her back, and cants her glance towards Erik again. Still in German, she says, "It is good to be adored, yes?"
"Always," comes the dry answer, in English rather than in German, and Erik manages a smile for her before working the sheets around his waist enough for him to roll up and aside, out of bed.
Ellen stays perched on the bed for just a moment longer, loathe to leave it and the memory of warmth. She sits there, drawing bare legs in towards her chest with her fingers looped lightly over her shins. She does not speak; she merely sits there, watching him.
Boxers are plucked up out of a chair and tugged back on, followed by the undershirt he stoops to collect off of the floor - shoulders rolled back before he tugs a drawer open and flicks out the black length of a long, fluffy robe, which is then pulled on and belted over everything else. Achilles, meanwhile, has retreated to the closed door, where he stands with his tail wagging and his large head lolled back to keep track of Erik's progress. "I must take Achilles for a walk. You are welcome to remain in here for as long as you like."
"Thank you, sir." Ellen watches his progress with her head tilted slightly to one side. "I will go -- soon." There is only so long one can linger indulgently alone in a bed -- and there is work to be done, eventually.
Left hand already on the door, Erik glances back to her, naked in his bed, and forces one last thin smile before turning to tug the door open. Achilles worms out the instant there's space enough for him to do so - Magneto following somewhat less enthusiastically.
Ellen tarries there awhile, wholly silent and mostly still, frowning contemplatively up at his ceiling. Eventually she yields to reason and slips out of his bed to find her clothes and shoes. Before she leaves, she makes the bed.
Well, and smaller. They weighed less.
Wakefulness comes slowly, in a stir of consciousness behind closed lids. The mind catalogues physical variables, immediately aware of the points of contact where bare skin meets bare skin even before the heat bodily warmth makes itself unignorable in Ellen's awareness. Her eyes flutter open, her body otherwise held quite still, her expression blank -- and then closed again. Her lips twitch in a smile; feline smug and ephemeral, quickly gone again. She uncoils from her body's half-curl on its side, stretching herself out to her full nude length. As her muscles sing sweet pleasure-pain, tensing and then relaxing, she yawns.
Broad and scar-crossed, Erik's back remains tense even in sleep - the ridge of his spine stiff amidst knotted muscles even when Ellen begins to shift in the bed beside him, and he is stirred into some semblance of awareness himself. Grey eyes roll open to focus dimly upon the polished steel of his bedside table, and one by one, the read of his senses files observations neatly into place. The room is warm. A fair portion of him is wrapped into the sheets he is currently hogging (also warm). And he has company. His stretch is slow in coming, and then slowly, with brows knit for the effort, he rolls over onto his back.
Ellen shifts, edging over bedspace to draw closer, curling back in towards him. Very little of her is beneath the sheets; if he is inclined to be ungenerous in his sleep, she is not inclined to be demanding in hers. She props her head up on one palm, braced on the crook of her elbow, and studies his face with quiet contentment to inform the slow sweep of her lashes. Ever-so-slightly, she smiles.
Right hand lifted to rub groggily over the side of his face, he knuckles sleep out of the corner of one eye and has to squint to focus upon Ellen once he's resettled, the light scruff across his chin and jaw having gone a bit softer with another day's growth. And finally, he allows himself a slight smile - lazy amusement pulling sidelong at the line of his mouth when he angles his head further in her direction. "Morning."
"Good morning," Ellen answers. For some reason, at this moment in time she elects to leave off the sir. She runs fingers through her unruly hair, tousled with sleep and sex, and then lets that free hand fall to a light touch to stroke down his shoulder and upper arm, though it falls off swift enough. "Did you sleep?"
"I did," confirms Erik, eyes flicking briefly down after that touch before they return to her face, and his brows lift - expressions still dulled somewhat by the lingering effects of much needed sleep refusing to release him. "I hope my snoring wasn't too bothersome for you."
Ellen eyes him from beneath the fall of thick lashes, blue a slivered gleam as her lips twitch back towards a suspiciously smirkish curve. "I have no complaints."
Talking, voices, mattress sinking and shifting - out of nowhere, Achilles leaps up into the thick of things, large paws unsteady in the memory foam of Erik's mattress as he clambers for the head of the bed, where he can stick the wrinkled blunt of his face into Ellen's to sniff for morning breath - a stiff grunt from Magneto issued forth at the plant of a paw into his gut.
Ellen's breath does not smell especially morning-breathy. This is probably because she cheats. She grimaces a greeting to the dog. "Mmmph." She scoots back, attempting to leverage herself upright. The next sound she makes sounds a bit like, "Gack." And then, resigned: "Hello, Achilles."
A big pink tongue flops out for Ellen's face. Hello, Ellen! And then the wrinkled face is replaced by a butt and the pendulum swing of a thick tail once he's turned around to push his snout into Erik's, who reaches immediately to push it away. "Grmph.../no/."
Ellen ducks at an odd twisted angle to avoid getting thwacked repeatedly in the face by Achilles's tail. "Ggnn--" She attempts to wipe dog spit off her face by scraping the crook of her elbow over her features. This sort of works, although it leaves her arm damp. She makes another noise, half-growled under her breath. "You are large and intrusive," she tells the dog's bottom gravely.
Achilles' bottom has very little to say for itself, though the increased fervor with which his tail wags upon discovering his master causes his butt to wriggle right along with it despite the hand Erik has splayed firmly across the dog's droopy mug to save himself from a similarly salivated fate. "Nrgh...Achilles, /down/." The order is repeated shortly in German, and with an 'oof' of his own, the canine obeys.
Ellen looks down at the dog with a sudden wry twist to her expression, amusement a waking light in her pale eyes. "That is better," she tells him in German. "Such enthusiasm, such affection." She leans back against the pillow, propping herself up on both elbows as she lounges on her back, and cants her glance towards Erik again. Still in German, she says, "It is good to be adored, yes?"
"Always," comes the dry answer, in English rather than in German, and Erik manages a smile for her before working the sheets around his waist enough for him to roll up and aside, out of bed.
Ellen stays perched on the bed for just a moment longer, loathe to leave it and the memory of warmth. She sits there, drawing bare legs in towards her chest with her fingers looped lightly over her shins. She does not speak; she merely sits there, watching him.
Boxers are plucked up out of a chair and tugged back on, followed by the undershirt he stoops to collect off of the floor - shoulders rolled back before he tugs a drawer open and flicks out the black length of a long, fluffy robe, which is then pulled on and belted over everything else. Achilles, meanwhile, has retreated to the closed door, where he stands with his tail wagging and his large head lolled back to keep track of Erik's progress. "I must take Achilles for a walk. You are welcome to remain in here for as long as you like."
"Thank you, sir." Ellen watches his progress with her head tilted slightly to one side. "I will go -- soon." There is only so long one can linger indulgently alone in a bed -- and there is work to be done, eventually.
Left hand already on the door, Erik glances back to her, naked in his bed, and forces one last thin smile before turning to tug the door open. Achilles worms out the instant there's space enough for him to do so - Magneto following somewhat less enthusiastically.
Ellen tarries there awhile, wholly silent and mostly still, frowning contemplatively up at his ceiling. Eventually she yields to reason and slips out of his bed to find her clothes and shoes. Before she leaves, she makes the bed.