theleadingman | avalon: inbox

[The feel of her fingers against his own makes his heart threaten to leap into his throat; by some standards, it seems such a small thing, but even the smallest show of affection does much to heighten intimacy, sends sparks through him, and he lets out a soft moan against her as she speaks his name in that soft, sweet way of hers. He will never tire of that, nor will he tire of the tangle of her fingers in his hair, the close, warm press of her skin and the intoxicating scent of her.

Without raising his head to look, he turns his hand beneath hers, lifting it so that their fingers can entwine. He breaks again for breath, just long enough to drop another kiss against the inside of her thigh before he seeks out that bead where he knows she’ll feel the most pleasure and circles it with his tongue, his brow knit with the intensity of his focus. That feeling of desire coiling within him burns hotter, and even from where she lies, she’ll be able to see the way he subtly rolls his hips against the mattress to earn himself some small relief, still confined within his trousers.]

I’ve missed you.

[The words are hot and breathless against her, murmured between his concentrated efforts, and though he’s said them before, they take on something of a different meaning now as he attends to her with adoring lips and tongue. He knows full well he could finish her like this, and intends to if she’ll allow it, but it will hardly be the end of their evening together. While apart, he’s had plenty of time to entertain all sorts of thoughts he’d like to make reality, now that they have the chance.]

[A moan is such a simple, trivial little sound. Except in the throes of passion. Balthier hardly has to expend effort to encourage her breath to hitch in the slender column of her throat. She regains it when he gives her the opportunity to thread her fingers between his. It's such a romantic gesture. Another thing she's not expected in any such lingering of him behind closed doors. Not that the first time he took her to his bed wasn't romantic. It was. Frighteningly so. In fact it was so romantic that many of her concerns had been birthed there.

She still feels that uncertainty tugging along her insides. That every moment they grow closer is a more dangerous moment. A heavily-weighted one that will, at some point, all come crashing down. It will be worse for one of them, she suspects, unless they should, for one reason or another, be plucked from this world at the same time. There is a tint of guilt in there as well, for a multitude of reasons that Aerith can't possibly be comfortable diving into. Balthier silences a great deal of all of this, but bits and pieces continue to settle, as if they might never simply disappear.

"I've missed you."

His words come in between the soft doting he presses upon her most sensitive places. Ripples of pleasure scale up along her, leaving fingertips and toes tingling. The coil of pleasure that houses in the small of her back, tightly wound, plucked by his devotion and his affections. It rises, pushed to the same precipice that she can't see with eyes, but that she can feel perfectly with her every trembling inch.

And she has her own effect on him, though she would argue that she does so very little. If anything, it's that she doesn't want him staring at her overmuch. Doesn't want him to take her in. Doesn't want him to witness an Aerith at her most vulnerable. Already she feel weak in his presence. Already he knows that he is her greatest weakness the way things stand.

In an attempt to alleviate the growing pleasure that pulls its way up along the turns of her body, leave her breathless with teeth scraping over her bottom lip, she adjusts the way her thigh lingers over his shoulder. Her toes pinch and curl. Eyebrows knit together, betraying the splinters in her composure.]

You mean—

[She knows what he means. Well, she thinks she knows what he means, even if she can't quite put words to it.]

—That's... You shouldn't say that when you're...

[He can hear her fumble for words even as his focus narrows, and a throaty laugh escapes him— he considers offering her a moment of reprieve, and eases his attentions ever so slightly, letting his tongue lightly trace along her cleft before pressing another careful kiss against the apex.]

When I'm what?

[Even if she can't see it, she'll certainly be able to hear that self-satisfied smile of his. He knows better than to expect a real answer out of her; of course, he knows precisely what she means, and he lowers his chin to allow himself to nose gently against her clit, allowing her a few moments to regain herself should she so wish it before he returns in earnest.]

I mean exactly what I say.

[His gaze casts upwards; he cannot quite see her expression from his angle, but he can see the way she's turned and twisted, her sprawl against the mattress, the way her skirt is now fitfully bunched around her waist. He fully intends to get rid of that entirely before long, but there's something especially thrilling about not having been able to wait to fully undress.]

Too much, my dear?

[She won't answer him.
She can't.

Well. She very well could, but Aerith struggles with being able to express herself so openly. In situations like the present one, anyway. If they were talking about plants, she'd speak until she turned blue. In intimacy... Aerith still isn't entirely sure how... to have a graceful conversation regarding it. Of course, that's harder to do when Balthier so easily knocks the wind out of her.

As he's once said, however, if she can articulate herself, then he's probably not doing things the way he ought to. It's likely complimentary that he can make her thoughts spin the way he does to the point where she can't properly converse.

There's that pressure again. The subtle press his nose against her thrumming pulse. Aerith draws in a breath, not at all in a position where she can protest or argue with him maybe the way she'd like to. The hand she's left atop his tightens just a touch, and eventually she shakes her head.]

N-no. [She begins with some care, feeling the involuntary twitch of the muscles that line her abdomen. And she gets why. The thing about pleasure is that is it begins to pool up and accumulate, it doesn't just fade. The more he taunts her, teases her, plays upon her, acquaints himself with scent and feel, the more it draws her toward that desire.] ...Please don't stop.

[It's as close as she can get to asking him for more. Because that's what she genuinely wants. More.]

[It is more of an answer than he genuinely could have expected, and one that brings another smile to his lips— he'll never tire of hearing such things from her, of hearing her soft sighs and moans, and any difficulty she has in articulating herself, he'll absolutely take as a compliment of the highest order.

He acquiesces to her request without hesitation; attending to her with lips and tongue and sheer adoration, their fingers still tightly entwined. The scent of her is as maddening as the sound of her voice, the soft fall of her breath; he wants as much of her as she is willing to give him, but he forces himself to exercise patience, to narrow his focus as his own need attempts to nag at him.

He keeps his attention fixed on her, tongue lightly teasing against her pulse before he curls it into her once more, determined to bring her to the edge with this alone. She is breathtaking even when at her most vulnerable; there is something about the raw honesty of their situation that has his own abdomen tight with wanting, eager for more, and he moans against her as he continues to work her over with his lips, ever alert for any shift in her body, hitch in her breath that might signal he should change course— or offer a reprise.]

[The subtle vibration of his voice against her most sensitive parts is only fuel to the growing proverbial fire. He hardly needs to offer it to have her shifting as inconspicuously as she can manage. Her hand in his is treacherous. Treasonous, even. Betraying her as she nears the shudder that tugs at the small of her back. Her fingertips unweave for moments to press and explore against his palm and up along the length of each finger before she flattens her palm to his.]

Balthier—

[Whatever she means to say, which likely isn't much more than the praise she means to shower over him, locks right within her throat. Her fingers slip right between his and the hand buried in his short, normally well-kept hair, tightens hold. Relent, she reminds herself, which is a blessing that she can even think that far ahead. It'd be only too easy to hold him right where he's at as he fulfils her, and it's tempting to do precisely that. Honestly, the hold is more for her peace of mind. Just a means of stabilising herself.

She draws in a sharp breath, the shift of her thigh telling. If he wasn't nestled so sweetly between her legs, she'd simply fold in on herself. Despite the reminder, however, as desire and pleasure embrace and he brings her to climax, there's both tension and an immediate loosening as she loses herself in moments. In the self-same, she's not thinking about what he ought not to say. About the weight in what he does. None of that matters. Just the shuddering that passes through her, leaves her heated and cold all at once, a hammering of her heart, and a deep desire to lavish him in all of the affection she can offer.]

[Her touch, her tightening grip, the shifting of her body beneath him and that beautiful shudder— it all comes together to paint a lovely picture of her coming undone, even as he doesn't allow himself to look up, too focused on carrying her through her peak and helping her to come down the other side. He lets out a shuddering breath of his own as he replaces the soothing stroke of his tongue by gently circling her pulse with his thumb, having eased his grip from her thigh, then finally allowing himself to surface, pushing himself to his knees, flushed and breathless and unable to keep from grinning as he looks down at her half-dressed and slightly disheveled.

It had been well worth the wait, he decided, and it had been on his mind for quite some time.

He neatly drags the back of his hand against his lips before he reaches to take her own hand fully once more, his thumb dragging over the curve of her hip.]

I've wanted to do that for weeks.

[It feels as if it lasts far longer than it must in reality. Even as she's regaining herself, her heart still flutters, only eventually coming down. She's perfectly rosy and pink. Just the gentle touch of his thumb threatens to make her breath catch. He's so attentive. Sometimes it seems as if Balthier has never spent any moments in her presence not being attentive. Complimentary and flattering. Flustering.

She can only leave her eyes on him for some moments before she draws them aside. His gaze is prying, but only with that undeniable affection he holds for her. It's hard for to let him do such a thing.]

I... guess that isn't the kind of thing you could ask to do.

[She dusts her thumb over the back of his hand and she draws in a deep breath, as if she means to piece herself together. Nervously, she nips into her lower lip.]

[He lets out that low, throaty chuckle of his, one corner of his grin quirking upwards, and his hand comes to rest more fully against her hip as he shifts to let one knee come to rest between her thighs, threatening eventual entanglement as he otherwise stretches out beside her, propping himself up on one elbow.]

Well, I suppose I could have asked, but I think it was rather more fun this way.

[And it was hardly romantic to ask about such a thing and spoil the surprise when he knew it would be a pleasant one.]

That was only the start.

[Her housemates haven't returned yet— and he's confident in his ability to be quiet, if need be.]

[She shifts a hand to settle right over the racing of her heart, green eyes very much intent on staying on the sculpting of his face. Even in the moments where it seems most inappropriate to eye him so openly, she can't help but be caught up in him. By doing so very little, Aerith is convinced that he can turn everything she knows or thinks she knows upside-down.

"That was only the start."

Her eyebrows lift. What ominous words. Or would be in any other situation that didn't involve the nature of their close relationship.]

It's probably better that you didn't ask. [Just the thought is making her flush all the deeper. If she's thought the colour might drain from her, it doesn't seem to be the case. Not in his company, anyway. Maybe that's all intentional on his part.] If you had, I'm not... sure I would've known how to answer you. I probably would've thought you were kidding, honestly.

[Or she would have pretended he was kidding, because somehow that's always easier than facing the truth.]

Worse yet, you might have told me 'no.'

[Which, of course, he would have respected if she had, but given how much she had clearly enjoyed the act itself, it would have been a terrible shame. He leans in as he remains propped up beside her, gently trailing his nose and lips along the soft line of her jaw before leaving a short series of kisses leading to the corner of her mouth.]

There are some things I will never kid about.

[Well. There's a good deal of teasing involved in these intimate moments, of course, but he would never offer her anything and not mean it.]

I believe we still have the house to ourselves.

See, I'd like to think that maybe 'no' would have crossed my mind, but I'm not sure it would... have...

[Her words fade rather easily as he presses kiss upon kiss along the line of her jaw. She still feels like she's gathering herself. She's not sure she'll ever not be gathering herself. For several long moments, she simply enjoys that close proximity. The warmth. The very scent of him.

...What is that, anyway? Earthy, maybe? Could be her with how much she's buried her time in flowers and soil. Whatever it is, it's undeniably Balthier. A spice. Something she can only apply to him. He makes her feel weak so easily. In the best kind of way.

His words, ominous and heavy with promise, leave her scraping teeth over her bottom lip. She bites into it for just a moment, reminding herself to speak up and not drown in him.]

I didn't hear anyone. [She begins quietly, turning just so to press the tip of her nose into his cheek.] If... that's what you mean. [She knows what he means. At least, she's pretty sure she knows what he means.]

[He smiles warmly as she presses her nose against his cheek, his hand at her hip sliding to rest against the small of her back as he lets out a soft, throaty sigh of approval— it's a simple touch, perhaps, but the affection behind it speaks volumes, the intimacy of being able to enjoy these moments pressed closed to one another meaning more than anything overt.]

That is precisely what I mean.

[He's waited a long while to be with her again, and she'd said herself that she hadn't known whether they would ever find their way back here— naturally, he needs prove that there is nothing to worry about in that regard.]

It would be a shame not to make the most of our time together.

[For several moments, Aerith simply takes him in. Most days in Camelot with him, thinking of him, considering what they've been through with one another and how they've come to be where they are, it's all a bit surreal. This very real and present moment is equally surreal.

Maybe more so, given their conversation. The things he's said. Aerith is still turning them over in her head. Does he really love her? Did he mean that? Could it not have just been the moment? She'd pushed him, after all. It would make sense for frustration to break anyone with time.]

I think every moment with you I'm making the most of it. Even if I'm upsetting you. Even if we're arguing. But...

[Her features soften. She understands what he means.]

You did say you were staying the night. We can do whatever you'd like.

[His own sharp features soften in turn; there is a great deal more to their time together than these intimate moments, and he has been grateful for each and every one of them, even those that may have been tense or frustrating— he was always glad to see her regardless, and that she thinks to say so herself touches him in a way he cannot quite articulate.]

You do make an excellent point.

[He exhales, his smile persisting as he dips his chin to catch her lips in a proper kiss, allowing it to linger.]

I did say that, didn't I? And I always keep my word. In fact, I can think of no place I'd rather be than right here.

[His lips touch to hers and for just those moments, Aerith is whisked away somewhere else. To some other place, to some other time. To some other circumstance where time actually means very little. She drowns in him for those breaths, lifting a hand to press the pad of her thumb over the height of his cheekbone. She relents, very begrudging, and for some moments, she draws the tip of her nose over his, easily caught up in something as simple as his presence.

Although, in truth, there's nothing simple about his presence.]

Flatterer. [She scolds him with a clear cut affection, unable to disguise it.] You don't need to butter me up. You're already here, you know.

Is it flattery, I wonder, if I'm simply stating how I feel?

[Well, he supposes it still counts to a point, but he's hardly trying to convince her of anything, to win something from her. He chuckles softly against the curve of her lips, letting his fingers lightly trail along the line of her neck and across her collarbone before they find the way to the lacing on her dress she'd been fiddling with earlier. A careful tug begins to pull them loose; his own clothing will need his attention before long, but right now he's intent on baring more skin to touch, to kiss.

Perhaps, eventually, he'll learn not to get quite so far ahead of himself— but Aerith had been careful not to stare the last time he'd undressed in front of her. Maybe this time, she'll take the opportunity to watch when he gets around to it.]

Perhaps it's only that charm comes to me so effortlessly.

[If she swats or pinches him, he'll absolutely deserve it.]

Flattery is not the absence of truth...

[A soft little flush draws across her and she traces a hand over the back of his, following to where it leads. With dexterous fingertips, he plucks simply-tied laces free and she draws in a breath. His words linger between her ears. She settles on them with thought and consideration, though her focus wavers. It often does when he's so close to her. Balthier is an incredibly distracting presence. Always has been, when she really thinks about it.

What a thing to consider this all began simply because of a silly little contract that they'd jokingly made. Maybe it had never been a joke to begin with.]

...You do wield charm effortlessly.

[She agrees a moment, though she presses a kiss that rests along his lower lip as she turns her head just enough to accomplish that monumental task.]

I... want to undress you. Is that okay?

[He leans into that kiss, his touch lightly brushing against her sternum as her laces fall apart, exhaling slowly at her question.

Oh.

His smile pulls to one side; it's bolder than he would have expected, but far more appealing than undressing himself. He nods steadily, pressing another kiss to her lips before he lets his hand come to rest against her hip.]

Of course. You can do whatever you like— but I'll admit, I especially like the sound of that.

[She's already had some experience with his vest— the rest will be simple after that.]

[Beyond her words, she doesn't press anything further until she hears his response. It's not because she thinks he can't handle it. It's because it seems like a very... forward thing for her to say. But the way she topples over it initially seems to imply anything but forward.

She draws a touch over the hand that he drapes over her hip and she traces up his arm over sleeve, over shoulder, along intricate vest detail. Splaying fingertips along his chest, she presses gently, using her other arm to help push herself up.]

You'll embarrass me if you say it like that.

[A subtle scolding. Not a great deal of it. Just enough to linger with something very close to mirth.]

I promise not to tear anything. I'll be careful.

It is never my intent to embarrass you, my dear.

[Despite the quirk of his lips, his words are nothing short of sincere, his eyelids lowering as her fingers lightly draw their touch over his hand and up his arm, feeling the faint warmth of her through his own sleeve. He'll not rush her, in this or anything else— should she desire to take her time, then all the better. He wants her to enjoy this, as he wants her to enjoy every aspect of their time together.]

I trust you completely.

[His smile reaches his eyes as he opens them once more, his gaze heavy with affection and lust in equal measure.]

I think—

[She begins thoughtfully as she uses her fingertips to reacquaint herself with him. Her touch splays along the details of his vest, eventually curling about his back where she gently tugs on the rivets and the leather that holds his vest in place. Her other hand pinions itself right along the centre of his spine and she leaves her gaze on his, feeling breathless simply by being close to him.]

—I think you're being a little sarcastic.

[But she's willing to let it go. She draws the tip of her nose against his, intent and attentive.]

Are you teasing me? Don't make me use 'Ffamran' again.

[...Although maybe he likes it when it comes out of her so airy and light.]

Sarcasm? Me?

[He can't even say that much without sounding like he's guilty of exactly what she's accused him of, but he smiles as he leans in to press his lips against the curve of their own, exhaling softly as the tip of her nose brushes against his.]

Sometimes, perhaps, but not now.

[Not when they're together like this, when he's been waiting so long to be close to her again.]

You know, I'm almost starting to like hearing that from you.

[Almost. There are a lot of painful memories that he associates with his given name, but to hear someone who cares for him use it so sweetly—

Perhaps it might be redeemed.]

[She still can't tell. He sounds every bit sarcastic, but given the nature of the situation, she's easily caught up in it. Sarcasm, sincerity, Aerith hardly cares. She presses upon him a fleeting kiss, only as long as he permits it before he uses his voice again. Blindly, her fingertips tug and pull, loosen leather and she tucks her touch underneath just enough to further loosen.

Her gaze lingers on him, the same smile curled in her mouth as she admires him and the way he's willing to simply humour her. The features in her face, however, soften a great deal. She was only teasing him and yet, how serious she knows he's being.]

I'll use it sparingly.

[She reassures him gently. Her other hand traces along him with thought and consideration, resting splayed fingertips atop him as she considers how to best do such a thing. Maybe just over the head. Not unlike the first time he disrobed in her presence.]

Everything good, so far?

[His gaze is dark and heated as he watches her, allows her fingers to flex and explore, to tug and gently pull laces free, and though he considers offering her his aid once or twice, he knows better than to do so— if she needs it, she'll ask for it. She's assisted him with this part quite well once before.]

I've no complaints, I assure you.

[A rarity, for him— complaining is often his favorite way to air his thoughts, whether it's genuine or otherwise.]

You're a natural, my love.

[... he might be teasing her a little bit, but affectionately, no doubt.]

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