theleadingman | avalon: inbox

[He can easily capture her with just his look alone. Even if she wasn't in the midst of trying to lift his vest up along the length of his... very pleasing torso, she likely wouldn't be able to look away. Even as he's teasing her, which she can read easily, she's focused. Intent. Attentive. Clinging onto each moment as if simply being so close to him compels her to do precisely that.]

I wouldn't say thaaaat... [She mutters with a shy curve of her mouth.] I think that's your way of saying I need practise. [And she's inclined to agree with that as well. Her attention moves just to carefully draw his vest sleeves up his arms and eventually for the rest to pull over his head without mussing his hair too much. She wants to thoroughly mess that up with her hands.]

I also think... I like you like this.

For what it's worth, I'm more than happy to let you practice as much as you like.

[Circumstances had kept them from doing anything like this immediately after their first intimate encounter, even before their time apart, but he has no interest in allowing such a lapse a second time. He assists her by putting his well-toned arms up, allowing her to pull his vest over his head and leaving him relatively unruffled beneath, her observation drawing another quirked smile from him.]

Do you?

[Yet another thing he'll be glad to show her more of— it's no hardship in the least, shedding clothing in front of her.]

I'll admit, I'm rather fond of finding one another like this.

[He likes her flushed and disheveled.]

[For several moments, she simply holds his vest against her protectively, emerald eyes fastened upon his with fascination and adoration. For all that she feels she knows him, there's a great deal that she feels remains hidden. She's not in a hurry to discover. On the contrary, she values his secrecy and understands he'll share as he chooses to, when he chooses to.

He's never pressured her for her secrets, after all. She owes him nothing less.]

I can't help but feel like you might be a little biased.

[Aerith looses a laugh, carefully putting aside his vest. Her hands lift and she tucks her fingertips beneath his tailored shirt, taking her time in the teasing press of fingers along his skin where she finds it. Her teeth gently scrape over her lower lip as she sucks in a deep breath. It's composure she seeks, something he can so easily strip from her if she allows him to.]

I don't think I've ever looked at anyone else the way I look at you. I guess I never really thought about it. And now when I look at you, sometimes it's the only thing I can see.

[That is, when she looks at him, she can't deny the things that have passed between them. Maybe that's how it is for all people who are so close. Once such a threshold is crossed, there's no going back, after all.]

[Has anyone ever looked at him like that before, he wonders? No, he truly doubts it— he's never given them the opportunity, and if he'd ever suspected that they might, he would have quickly put half a kingdom between himself and the supposed culprit before they ever had the chance.

Not for the first time, he's incredibly grateful that he had not allowed himself to make that mistake here, especially when he'd come so dangerously close to doing exactly that.]

I think I'm allowed to be biased in this regard, don't you?

[His handsome smile tugs to one side, and he watches her with interest and bated breath as her fingertips move beneath his shirt, her touch gently brushing against his skin and the sight of her biting at her lower lip causing his breath to hitch.]

I take that as the highest compliment.

[It's quite the confession, and he cannot pretend he is not vain to a certain degree.]

Would you be offended if you said I often feel the same?

[It's hardly his intention to objectify her, but their intimate moments, few as they've been, have stayed with him, close to his heart.]

[Her flush deepens just a touch. She can feel his scars beneath her fingertips and her touch grows significantly more gentle. She's never forgotten how he reacted the first time. It's permanently in her memory. Like so many other things that have occurred with him in mind. She would daresay that most things involving Balthier are difficult to ignore. Difficult to forget.

She wouldn't really want to forget them anyway, regardless of what she might have said in the more troubling times. At his question, she simply eyes him thoughtfully and then after a moment, Aerith shakes her head.]

N... no. No, I don't think so. I think given everything, maybe that's to be expected.

[Her hands bunch up his shirt and with some care, she begins to draw it up.] Lift, please?

[He feels her touch soften as it crests the ridge of one of the scars on his abdomen; he's lost track of how many there are, but he doesn't feel that tight squeeze in his chest he had the first time he'd taken his shirt off in front of her. That particular bit of vanity still stung, just a bit, but being open about it with someone else has helped him to come to some sort of peace with it— in no small part because voicing his concerns aloud made him realize just how ridiculous he sounded.

He exhales softly, that coeurl smile of his returning.]

Perhaps it is.

[It seems reasonable enough. He wouldn't know, so rarely sharing a bed with anyone more than once, but it is entirely different like this, with undeniable attachment involved. At her request, he lifts his arms once more to help her along, his gaze alight with mischief.]

Yes, miss— as you wish.

Edited 2022-03-29 08:29 (UTC)

Are you teasing me?

[Aerith pauses just a moment to give him a little Look, though it passes rather quickly and paves the way towards a smile. Of course he's teasing her. When is he not? It's become almost a love language between them. How could she knows he genuinely wants her presence otherwise?

She finishes drawing his shirt above his head and with a similar carelessness that she discarded his vest, she does the same with the shirt. Afterwards, eyes and fingertips alike draw across his chest. Her head tips and she takes just those moments to appreciate him. It's not the first time she's looked at him like so. She's certain she'll never tire of it, honestly.

She wouldn't be surprised if he felt the same. It never gets old. It's always new. Always exciting.]

You can just call me by name, you know. If you have to call me anything at all.

Perhaps just a bit.

[At least he admits to it, though he does so with nothing but fondness, and finds it difficult to keep his hands to himself even as he does so. Once she has his shirt over his head, he reaches out to let his hands come to rest against her shoulders, thumbs brushing gently against bare skin, following the natural curve towards her arms.

She is always impossibly lovely, regardless of her current state, whether they are teasing or arguing or exchanging soft words. She leaves him near breathless— and to think, they might have let this opportunity slip away.

His gaze softens at her reminder. He had only been teasing, but he'll not give up the opportunity to say her name, especially when he thinks it may be particularly effective.]

Aerith, then.

[His voice is soft, a few notes lower than usual, and he fixes his gaze on her once more.]

Better, I hope?

[Why does he have to say it like that? Balthier knows how to use his voice is just the right way to provoke reaction, whether he can see it or not. She's almost certain he's had years to practise that, too. He makes it seem absolutely effortless. His hands press fingertips atop her skin and she can feel the impressions that they leave behind.

She draws in a breath and the features in her face soften. He's still teasing her with his question, she's certain, but she's willing to let it go. With how much she's teased him in public and in most other situations, she's probably had this coming for a while. In the end, she simply provides him with a gentle, subtle nod.

Her hands draw a nonsensical trail with her fingertips right up along his chest with little rhyme or reason and it's not until she curls her touch right along the turn of his neck that she speaks again.]

Better than 'maiden,' for sure.

[She utters up a small laugh.]

[That gentle and aimless touch teases him as it wanders upwards, sending a shiver racing down the length of his spine, and he leans in as she lets out that musical laugh of hers, his hand reaching for her hip as she curls her fingers against his neck, letting his lips ghost against the corner of her mouth. Oh, but it is difficult to be patient, even though he'd like to allow her to take her undressing him at her own pace.]

I will absolutely keep that in mind, teasing or otherwise. I rather like the reaction your name gets from you, anyway.

[And he doubts he'll ever tire of saying it.]

What next, Aerith?

[He does it again. Aerith. In that way that leaves her momentarily nipping into her lower lip. He provokes a smile from her. It deepens easily, and she turns her head to brush her lips against his. She could just kiss him. Just drown herself in the smell of him. The warmth of his skin. The feeling of his touch upon her. That intoxicating sensation of being pressed along him where the pulsing of their hearts combine and she can't decipher between the two.

She indulges for just a moment. A touch of her lips to his after a soft breath falls out of her. She uses it as diversion, drawing fingertips back down against him before she tucks her touch right beneath the tight fit of his trousers. She remembers them well. The lack of give. How they fit, ever tailored to his body. The way they felt beneath her hands that afternoon he distracted her so thoroughly.]

Impatient... are you?

[She leaves the words right up against his mouth, heated and soft.]

[His breath hitches sharply as her touch tucks beneath his trousers, the trailing of her fingertips up until that point only serving to build anticipation. His eyelids lower and he steadies himself, eager though he is, and he lets out a near-breathless chuckle in response to her question.]

Oh, extremely.

[There's no point in not being honest, especially when his own body betrays him so readily, straining against the tight fit of his trousers as he is, arousal already stoked and fed by what indulgences he's taken so far.]

You seem as though you may be inclined to tease.

[Playfully, she offers a tug, listening very intently to the catch of his breath. Is that what it's like then? That little rush of desire that flickers up along her, like a flame gently being prodded and stoked? Maybe he feels something very similar every time she does something similar.

Aerith takes her time, using her fingertips to chart over the front of his trousers. Blindly she acquaints herself. Not to free him. Not yet, though it's quickly nearing the top of her to-do list. But first—]

I do like teasing you. You tease me too, though. Isn't that fair?

[She pulls the tip of her nose over his as a hand gently settles over the front, gently cupping him at the apex of his thighs.]

Maybe I just wanted you to ask nicely.

[That tug pulls a soft little moan from him, barely-restrained— she’s only touching him through his trousers and it is still enough to nearly drive him mad with want. For a moment, his lower lip catches between his teeth as he stifles himself, lust flaring in his already heated gaze as she cups her hand against him, careful but deliberate.

She’s not done that before, he notes— until now, he’s taken the lead, driven most of their intimate endeavors, but he rather likes this bold new stroke she’s shown.]

Oh, no doubt I deserve that.

[He’s asked her to do the same, after all. He draws in another sharp breath, his gaze fixed on her now, unflinching.]

Please, Aerith.

You... definitely deserve that.

[She says it quietly, taking in the endearing sight of him clutching gently at his lower lip. She normally does that, doesn't she? It's quite an occasion for him to do the same. He looks... almost boyishly cute when he does such things. She wonders if she can make him do such things more.

She'll just have to try later on, won't she.

His plea, pointed as it is, is like music to her ears. For some moments, she leaves her eyes on his, the careful, firm rub of her touch against his trousers, and eventually her touch scales back up to begin plucking at the front that keeps him bound.]

I love it when you look like that, Balthier.

I will gladly take what I'm owed.

[He's teased her endlessly; of course he deserves for her to do the same in turn, and it would be a lie to say that any part of it was unpleasant. She could tease him until he was but a breath away from being a broken man, and he could not complain, only let himself be at her mercy and gladly so.

For now, she is kind; her touch becomes more firm, her gaze locked with his own, and he lets out a breathless sound that catches at the back of his throat as he feels himself respond to her, the way the firm stroke of her fingers makes him ache for more, for the soft touch of flesh, and he swallows as a shudder runs through him and that sound melts into a wanton groan, his pupils blown wide as he keeps his gaze trained on her.]

Is it satisfying, knowing it's all your doing?

[There's that sound again. A deeper timbre that is very exclusively Balthier's. It's so strange how a sound can feel as if it resonates across her insides. As though sound itself can be as physical as a touch. She's long since decided that this is purely because it comes from him. She isn't sure she'd have the same reaction, the same fondness were it to come from someone else. Balthier makes it, as he does everything that he touches, special.

The little shudder that courses along him is delightful. The whole proverbial portrait of the man. Proud and arrogant, ambitious, confident, unabashed. There's truth in his words that she's hesitant to agree with, to admit to. There is empowerment that she, a girl she's thought very much doesn't necessarily suit him or what he might be looking for in another, can make him react in any such way at all. She still isn't really sure what it is about her either.

She's always felt rather inconsequential and of little note where her history isn't concerned. But he's always treated her as though she's special. His gaze locks on hers and though she's tempted to look aside, somehow she finds the courage to overpower that.]

...Yeah. It is, actually.

[She answers him softly. Honestly. Fingertips unfasten and loosen leather beneath her touch that she carefully begins to tug over hips that are so very different from her own. She's not forgotten that either. Balthier is all stability and security. She, on the other hand, is all soft things and malleable.]

Think you can stand to help me a little, or are you that distracted?

[He'd known the truth even before she'd brought herself to admit it, of course— because he knows precisely how satisfied he feels every time he is able to draw a moan or whimper from her, every time she shivers beneath his touch. It never fails the stoke the fire that already burns bright within him, drives his desire for her forward, and that she can admit as much while keeping her gaze on his does much the same.

He feels leather begin to go slack, the promise of freedom near; he knows he's become achingly hard beneath the tight of his trousers, enough so that it's effort to remain composed in the face of her question when he feels the urge to rush to comply.

Instead, he gives a breathless chuckle, cupping the side of her face and trailing his thumb along her cheekbone before he moves his hand to her shoulder and eases back from the mattress to stand, his arousal becoming more apparent beneath partially-open trousers as he moves.]

Anything for you.

[Especially if it means she's going to follow up with more of her touch. He watches her expectantly, the rise and fall of his chest steady with his breath despite the fact that he feels his heart threatening to beat against his ribcage until it breaks free.]

[For just those moments that his touch draws a line over her cheek, Aerith shuts her eyes and draws in a deep and long inhale. Somehow, even the simplest touches seem to have the heaviest amount of weight. She suspects that is something that comes from his companionship. Maybe it wouldn't matter what he said, what he did. To some degree, it's simply that it's Balthier that keeps her on her toes and entices her.

His words linger between her ears and she hangs onto them, reluctant and begrudging to let him wander off too far. He plays along, however, humours her, and eventually makes way to his feet. As she shifts, carefully, she inches her way across her bed on all fours, taking a moment to admire him from head to toe. The muscle adorning his chest. The lines of scars that are drawn against him. The turn of his hips and the slant of his abdomen where the front of his leathers she's drawn open.

It's a compliment, really, to be so caught up in him.

She pushes herself up onto her knees and as she settles touch right over the curve of his hips, she raises her eyes back onto his. Fingertips clench into his trousers as she draws them over him, relatively inelegantly. A subtle little turn rests in her mouth.]

Everything still good?

[There is something delightfully maddening about watching her move forward on all fours, regardless of the short distance; something catches in his throat and his jaw goes just a bit slack as he decides that initiative is a stunning look on her, as is the admiration evident in her gaze as she looks him over. Truly stunning in her own right; she could do nothing at all and he would be enchanted, he thinks, but he is very pointedly fixed on what she's doing now.

A sharp intake of breath rolls through him as her fingers find him at last; his eyelids lower and his head threatens to drop back, though he stops himself in favor of holding her gaze, a low groan rolling from his lips as her touch moves over his aching length.]

Quite, yes.

[All he can ask is more of it.]

More, please...

[She restrains a little shudder to the small of her back, but just the words leave the thin hairs on the back of her neck rising. With something so simple he can call attention to feelings that she feels are far more convoluted. She's never really thought much of, or really imagined what it might be like to be so close to someone. Not like this. Not putting her hands all over him. When she thinks about what it might be like to wake up at his side, it leaves her warm all over.

But at this moment... this very prominent moment... the feel of her touch over hardened length, the subtle throb and heat that is near feverish. That's far more interesting than any other thoughts she might have going through her head.

Her gaze remains fastened on his, using touch along to navigate her. Thumb dusts along the base, up along the length and carefully along the ridges around the head. It's a very thorough touch. Careful. Considerate. Loving, if one can call it such a thing.]

You did ask so nicely.

[Does he remember saying that to her? Did he, then, feel as she does now? A strange kind of empowerment, knowing that she can get this kind of reaction from him. She shifts just enough to lean forward and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She expects him to be a bit distracted. If he isn't, then she's probably not doing it right.]

[He deserves every bit of this, he knows— every tease, every echo of his own words. Her touch is gentle, curious; he cannot keep himself from rolling his hips forward to press into it as she takes her time exploring him, breath hitching softly, something close to a moan swallowed down only just before it manages to escape. This is a first for them; he'd done a great deal of touching before now and she'd allowed herself to be lead, but now she's shown herself to be deliciously bold, taking matters quite literally into her own hands.

It's wildly attractive.

He does, at last, let a soft groan escape him as she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head to catch her in a proper, heated kiss before she can pull away, arcing further into her affectionate touch as he feels muscles pull tight, the ache of wanting strong and persistent.]

You're enjoying your turn to tease, I see...

[He always makes it apparent when he likes something. It isn't like her at all when she's a little too self-conscious. To a point, she supposes. Balthier has been able to break her past that. Gently, of course. But ultimately, she knows that a fair amount of tension remains. She can't say how long things will be that way, but until they aren't, she'll enjoy every moment that he's shameless. Unabashed. No matter how flustering it might be.

The moan that escapes from between his lips echoes between her ears. He sounds so wonderful like that. Captured in the moment. She's not the sort to think it's difficult for her to want him, but when he's so expressive, she can't help but want him more. She rewards him with a gentle squeeze upon his length encouragingly.

She wouldn't hate to hear him a little more. So much for trying to keep them quiet.

His mouth meets hers slyly and her other hand tenses with the way it curls touch over the curl of his hip to keep herself steady. It's not exactly where she saw any of this going. From their disagreement, to how heavy their conversation had turned and twisted over the course of the night, to Balthier's heavily-weighted confession. She still can't get that out of her head.

...Does he really love her?

When she has the opportunity to regain her breath, she lingers near him, the hear of her breath fanning along his lips.]

Am I not supposed to? I didn't know that was a rule...

[To say the night had taken an unexpected turn was putting it mildly, to say the least. If they were being honest, it had taken several, but in this moment, he cannot be anything but grateful, even if it had taken disagreement and heated words to force the both of them to be a bit more honest with themselves, with one another. The heat of her words glides against his lips, and he lets out a soft chuckle that manages to be half-groan as he steals another kiss, spurred on by both desire and impatience.]

Oh, you're very much supposed to.

[There are, as far as he's concerned, very few rules in these situations— only that all parties enjoy themselves, and he is as glad to see her doing exactly that for her own sake in addition to finding it intoxicating.

Another roll of his hips pushes him against her touch, insistent without being forceful, a bid for more friction, more affection.]

If you weren't, we'd be doing this very wrong, my dear.

[She could kiss him until her head turned light. Truthfully, it's been that way from the very first time they had a real kiss. Not that cute little verbal contract that they put together. But that day in the park, next to the gently rippling pond, the local wildlife, and the blossoming flora. Aerith remembers it all quite perfectly. She remembers sitting on the bench she swore to claim for them and thinking the only thing she had an appetite for was... Well. More kissing.

She feels the same way now. Every time he touches his lips to hers, she only wants more. She feels... insatiable. Maybe that's the real reason that she didn't want him to track her down. Maybe she's known all along that she might never feel fulfilled. Maybe... He feels the same way.

Balthier pushes himself once more against her hand and for just a beat, her breath catches. Her hold against him tightens. Fingers curl about the length of hardened arousal firmly, more confidence in her very hold. The more she's with him in such a way, the more comfortable she becomes. Softly, she groans against his mouth, a sound that easily fades into the air afterwards.]

I think... this is very right

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