theleadingman | avalon: inbox

[He looks up at her, giving a knowing smile against her jaw, and though he is oh so reluctant to change anything at the moment— gods, he would give anything to have her keep touching him like that— he is forced to shift and ease himself from it as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed, leaving a parting kiss against the soft, sweet-smelling curve of her neck before easing back towards the headboard. He'll have to take care of the plants she has shelved there, and he does pause long enough to put a pillow behind his back before he settles in and uses the hand at her hip to guide her to follow.]

Come here.

[Though both still partially dressed, if she'll allow him, he'll guide her to come sit atop him and rest her seat against his thighs, his pants still open beneath her. One hand remains at her waist for guidance, stability, while the other playfully slips beneath her skirt where their positioning has forced it to bunch up, and his dexterous fingers quite deliberately move over the curve of her hip and rear, the warm flush of skin making his heart beat that much faster.

He leans in to press a languid kiss against her neck before steadily working his way down, each kiss slow and deliberate, affectionate and desirous, pausing around her collarbone to offer:]

I like the view from this angle.

Edited 2022-06-06 15:15 (UTC)

[It is just as he begins shifting away that Aerith's fingertips start to curl in against his chest. A breath falls out of her and for several moments, she simply lingers on the feeling, the impression he leaves by way of what should otherwise seem only a simple kiss. As she's coming to learn, however, whatever this part of their relationship is, as is with the rest of it, none is particularly simple. None of it is mere. None of it is trivial. It's all quite important, even if she hasn't figured out just how much or the weight of that importance.

His hold curls over her hip and it takes very little coercion for her to pursue him. She seats herself carefully, understanding that the weight of the situation is something to consider, just as much as the aching arousal she's been familiarising herself with. She must not cause him discomfort and she's well aware she'll stumble and fumble and be horrendously embarrassing, but maybe he'll forget all about that in time. One can't expect her to know everything, or even a sliver of things.

A shudder scales up along her and she spiders long fingertips up across the broad of his chest, the scars that line him. He leaves her shaken, a pleasant amalgamation of steamy thoughts that exhaustively come about when he's in the proverbial picture.]

I don't—

[She begins, though her words die rather quickly the moment he's touching heated mouth back along the turn of her neck. Aerith is distracted for the breaths that it takes him to create invisible trail with his lips, the distant threat of teeth beneath them. She can remember the first time he pulled kisses over her shoulder and how much she desperately wanted more in those moments. Thoughts of anyone coming in quickly, easily leave her. There's no need to be caught up in them. The only thing she wants to think about is Balthier.

How easy that is. Short, well-kept nails press into his skin as she pulls herself together to find words again, which are soft and kept between them, as if they're scandalous little things.]

...I'm not much to look at, I don't think. But you always seem to disagree...

[She wonders what he sees when he's looking at her. When he's touching her and learning about her through the use of eyes and more. Muscle flexes beneath his touch, the pool of desire and affection growing at the small of her back. It's never easy for her to say, but she wants him. She wants him now as much as she wanted him the first time he rested against the finery of his bedding. And she knows she'll want him just as much in the days that follow.]

[She may not be able to say so directly, but he'd learned to read her quickly, the tells of her breath and body alike, the brief halting of her voice as she continues to find herself in situations that are as unfamiliar as they are thrilling, things she has only seen echoes of in the written word. His hand moves to the small of her back, thumb drawing steady circles against her skin as he'd slipped in beneath her skirt, and his wanting gaze remains fixed on her as he gives a faint shake of his head.

She is right— with that, he will always disagree.]

You simply lack my perspective. You are stunning— impossibly lovely.

[How much he wants her only ever serves to make her moreso, her humility and gentle teasing when she tries to cover how flustered she is making her that much more desirable to him.

His lips trail along her collarbone, back towards her sternum and between her breasts where her dress hangs open, each press still slow and gentle, serving to fan the flames between them.]

I want to watch you lose yourself.

[She wants to argue. She most likely always will be faced with that temptation. Any intention to do so in the present, however, dies rather easily. Slain by the same fingertips that he presses along her skin. Incapacitated by the flush that stains her cheeks. Aerith draws in a deep breath, holding it just enough to keep herself focused on the situation. As best as she can.

He pulls soft lips along her skin, taunting the fallen fabric hanging off of her loosely. Her posture shifts, her weight pressed into one palm as she attempts to inconspicuously move atop him. It's difficult to hide how he makes her feel. The growth of arousal that he sends up along her, tendrils of pleasure wrapping and spreading over the small of her back.]

Now, you're just trying to embarrass me.

[She tries to sound like she's scolding him. Tries. She's not certain she's particularly convincing.]

[He's not convinced in the least.]

Hardly.

[Though he's not above teasing her in other moments where a bit of playful embarrassment is the goal, he never wants her to feel embarrassed about this. His lips curve into a knowing smile against her skin, his hand at her back serving to steady her as she shifts atop him.]

Only telling you how I see things. There is nothing to be embarrassed about here.

[Intimate moments like these are many things, but he will never stand for them being something to be ashamed of or shy away from.

He falls back against the pillow and smiles up at her, lightly hooking a finger beneath the strap of her dress and guiding it down over her shoulder properly.]

You're welcome to scold me more, if it helps.

[She cannot imagine any amount of time in which they may do things just like this and she will grow comfortable. She imagines there will always be a part of her that hesitates. Just enough to be aware of the situation and the weight of their actions. These are not simple decisions made for either of them. They have gotten here by the very real desires. Not necessarily expectations of the other, but of themselves. A need to pursue the concept of happiness. A happiness that one finds in their counterpart.

Her teeth nip into her lower lip as he draws himself back down. He's smiling all over again. That handsome quirk of his mouth. Sometimes it is sly and cunning. In the moments with her, it seems so sincere and pure. Untainted by his history. Unaffected by all he's been through. Drawing in a breath, her fingers clench against him, and she utters a soft laugh as she shifts against him, a deliberate press of her body against his, heated arousal against him.

She wants him to know his effect on her.]

If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like it when I scold you. Is there something you need to tell me...?

Well, I certainly don't dislike it. Perhaps that will be worth some self-examination in the future, though at the moment, I fear I do not have the attention to spare.

[It is entirely fixed on her, and he lets out a low, warm chuckle as an additional response to her playful barb. She is doing some teasing of her own, he notes, and it further stokes the heated embers in his belly. They are still partially dressed, each of them, but certainly undressed enough, the heat of her arousal pressing against him and reminding him of just how badly he wants her, as if he'd even had the opportunity to forget.

He pulls her down into another kiss, long and lingering, seeking to taste her in the process, bringing his hands to rest on her hips in the moments that follow, his breath shallow beneath her.]

I need you.

[His hands gently guide her hips forward; she doesn't have far to go, but he shifts beneath her to press his own arousal against her entrance, promising and waiting for any show of permission, of readiness, before he sheathes himself in full— unless she chooses to move ahead on her own.]

[Point well made. This is not exactly the opportune moment to be discussing assessment and getting to the bottom of precisely why Balthier might enjoy having Aerith scold him. The right time? She can't say, but probably not one where they're intertwining with one another.

He draws her down effortlessly, though it's not as if she's making it terribly difficult for him. If anything, she's probably making it too easy, if only because she's testing herself. Testing what she's willing to expose to him. Teasing him with words, with the line of her frame, with the heat that lingers between her thighs. It's all a bunch of stepping stones in their relationship.

Heart is all well and good, but there is just... something miraculous about each moment that he puts his hands on her. His words stir deep within her that burning affection she seems to keep hidden beneath an otherwise innocent exterior. He needs her. He loves her. It's a similar feeling. Trying to understand that and parse it, figure out why and how. She only feels compelled to be near him.

His touch atop her hips is all the encouragement she needs. Fingers press into him, grip, and she uses that in tandem with his own movement to press herself atop him. He sinks against her, the coil of desire, heated adoration and lust in one inspiring the tightening of her hold on his skin. Her lips rest atop his chin as she gathers her breath or whatever may remain of her composure, breath hot and shuddering.]

...I love you, Balthier.

[Has she said that before? She can't recall. She's thought it, certainly. Contemplated saying it. Wondering if it's an okay thing for her to say, or if it's too deep to go into. If it binds them together too tightly. But maybe this is the right moment.]

[All of it at once is enough to leave him breathless for a moment. The soft press of her lips, the tight, exquisite heat of her, the shudder of her breath, that admission of hers— he almost feels as though something in his chest might burst. He'd said those same words not half an hour before, some few feet beyond her bedroom door, and he had meant them, but only now does their weight truly begin to make itself known, the gravity of having such a sentiment returned unknown to him until now.

It makes him want to hold onto her all the more tightly, to insist on fighting should she try to pull away from him again in the interest of shielding him, but he doesn't believe he'll have to. They understand one another better now— and he knows well a treasure worth holding onto when he finds it. He intends to make certain that she does, as well.

He tips his chin to claim her mouth when he finds his breath again, kiss hot and hungry as he shifts his hips upwards, burying himself in her fully, fingers pressing into the back of the soft curve of her hip as he does everything, everything he can to commit this moment to memory.]

I love you, too.

[He'd said it before, but it's different now, breathless and murmured against her lips, lacking the frustration and hard edges of their earlier conversation and filled with an entirely different sort of passion, though it is no less heated.]

[It begins as a flutter. Nothing in their relationship has exactly been simple. It's been layered and complicated for them both. Their feelings regarding where they stand with others. Their feels about who they are as individuals. The recognition of one's counterpart in another person. If she were to play it all back, it would seem very hasty. Perhaps reckless. But the truth is that perhaps given their circumstances, haste means very little in the grand spectrum of things. Their situation is quite the unique one.

His lips take to hers easily. Hungrily, even. As he buries himself against her, the flush in her features deepens. The thrum of her pulse intensifies. The only thing she can think about is him. The only thing she wants to think about is him. Easily, she's captivated. A thrall to his affections. A soft hitch of her breath ensues and his words linger between her ears, sounding so lovely and threatening a shudder at the small of her back.

It's as if it's obstacles they've stumbled over, this ability to love others. The capacity for love.

She leaves a hand against his chest to support herself and her other hand traces down over his shoulder, along his forearm, and across his wrist.]

...Please touch me.

[Her words are murmured and silken, easily falling into the heated silence between them. She realises that she doesn't care where. How. She simply wants them to be connected in a way she refuses to be connected to any other.]

[He offers a soft moan of assent against her lips, the trail left by her touch hot against his skin. As before, she’ll not need to ask him twice; it’s taken effort to contain himself as he has until now, and he has no intention of taking his hands off of her now. He chases another heated kiss, unable to curb the need for more of her, and his ringed fingers trace along the curve of her neck before trailing downwards, ghosting their way down the slope of her breast, his thumb lightly dragging across her nipple as his other hand slides back to her hip, offering her support even as his thumb traces that curve, as well.]

I’ll touch you all you want.

[As far as he’s concerned, they’ve barely started; there’s no longer a single thought in his head regarding what might happen if her housemates return in the near future. All that matters is being here with her.

He begins to kiss his way back towards her jaw, nuzzling against the soft line of it before he kisses his way down the length of her neck, slow and steady, each press of his lips deliberate as his hand moves from her hip to draw its way down her thigh, fingers splayed.]

I want to see you come undone.

[As his touch moves and caresses in the way he has only ever indulged in, her breath hitches. Long enough that she feels as if she loses a sense of herself. It’s always a bit like that. Feeling a part of her person fade and disappear. Perhaps it becomes something else. So much about her changes in his presence. The things she wants. The things she contemplates when it comes to the future. Evolution, in a way.

Aerith scrapes her teeth over her bottom lip and his words echo in her mind. Teasing words sit on the tip of her tongue, though she refrains from sharing them, far too distracted by the travel of his hand and the gentle trail his fingertips leave atop her heated skin. They’ve only just begun and she’s already breathless, the little shudder housed at the small of her back, threatening to claw its way up along her.

His lips press along the line of her jaw and make way for the curve of her neck, drawing a murmured groan from her.]

…You… weren’t paying attention before?

[Her words just barely leave her. More thought to the situation would remind her that he had been sweetly nestled between her thighs. It’s not likely he had a particularly good look at her from there. Certainly, he witnessed it, but it was an entirely different situation. With her so carefully straddling his lap, it won’t be the same.

Maybe she’s just goading him.]

Oh, I most certainly was.

[His words catch, for a moment, deep in his throat, bordering on a breathless growl that speaks to just how much he had appreciated being able to do so, his lips turning upwards into that coeurl smile of his against her neck as he follows her own movements, adjusting to match and glide along with each roll of her hips. The build is slow, steady, almost achingly so after how long he'd denied himself in the interest of taking care of her first, but it is all the better for it, that sweet tension between them pulled tight.]

You say that as though I could ever tire of such a thing.

[He could not. He'll watch her lose herself over and over again, and be hungrily enamored every time.

She has no idea how much power she has over him, but perhaps she'll have an inkling before the night is over.]

[...He'd said something like that before. That it was special because it was her. Not how little or how much he indulged. Simply because it was her. Maybe a little too romantic and well put for her to reply to with any sense of composition.

Thighs hugging his and the way she relishes in the encompassing way she envelops him causes the intensity of her breath to shift. Heated and soft, a shuddered exhale escaping from her in the most natural exchanges between their frames. It's a worrying sentiment that one could get accustomed to this sort of pastime. Not that she expects she ever will. But it comes with an indescribable pleasure, and indescribable want to see him pleased, happy, and undone.]

I love you, Balthier.

[It comes out soft and airy, lovingly strained. She's already said it. He already knows. But she'll blame the moment. She'll blame the way her fingertips anchor her to him through contact alone. She'll blame the way she suspects her gaze to be so transparently a window to her soul. She'll blame everything in the heavily weighted adoration that passes between them. She simply wants to say it again and again.

...Wasn't it like that the first time, too?]

I will never tire of you.

[Hearing that will certainly never grow old, either.

Her impassioned words spur him to surge forward, his fingers tangled in her hair as he draws her into another heated kiss, hot and hungry, his heart beating fast as it threatens to lodge itself in his throat. He would kiss her breathless if he could, eat her from the mouth down, and his tongue is no longer teasing so much as desperate, his breathing labored, the sheen of sweat on his fine brow.]

I love you.

[It's almost a growl as his control continues to fray; he feels the shudder that rolls through her and groans against her swollen lips, his hand at her hip to guide her, keep her steady as she rides him, the grip of her thighs and the light, airy rhythm of her breath making his own heartbeat thunder in his ears.

He won't last long, he knows, but he intends to hold out as best he can, even as the roll of his own hips picks up pace, eager to meet her and bury himself deep, the feeling of being joined together exquisite as it banishes the ache of being without her. He draws his fingers from her hair and lets his hand slide along the curve of her back before taking her by both hips, his brow furrowed in concentration as their rhythm intensifies.]

Don't stop—

[His mouth finds hers not long after he slips fingertips into her hair and she can't stop the soft groan that stifles against his kiss. If she weren't trying so hard to focus, to find her way back toward reason, she might just lose herself to the incredibly dizzy feeling he can plunge her into by way of mere kisses.

Sweet words and touches have carried them to this moment. Expeditious words, grunts, and groans will carry them both over that invisible threshold. She doesn't want to be in haste. She wants to think exhaustively about what he means to her and yet her strength to do so in the moment fails her.

Aerith lets him guide her, the gentle curl of his hand on her hip. The gentle furrow of her brow. The way her mouth hangs parted against his, as if she struggles to hold herself together. It's not something she'll triumph in, she knows. For every press of her hips atop his, for every moment he seeks to be drawn into the heated coil of her womanhood, she's drawn one step closer to a sweet surrender.

She can feel his touch trail down the gentle curve of her back until it finds home atop her other hip. Her hands carefully trace up against his chest and eventually simply hold him with care along the curve of his neck.]

I'm— [Aerith begins, a soft struggle for breath.]] —I'm close. [Because she wants him to know. Needs him to know that only he can make her feel this way.]

As am I—

[That he can manage those words in a single breath is, he thinks, astounding; his voice is strained with the effort, his breath short, the heat between them nearing unbearable as they both race towards their peak, seeking to leap from that precipitous edge together.]

Aerith—

[He is determined to bring her to her peak before he allows his own release, though his ability to hold back long enough is about to be sorely tested. Her touch burns against the bare skin of his chest, his neck, and he swallows back another moan as he keeps them both steady. Their shared pace is frenetic, impassioned, his fingers pressing dimples into the soft flesh of her hips, his heart beating fast enough that he fears it may burst from his very chest.]

Let go, love—

[He sounds so sweet then. So raw and in many ways, different from the man she's thought of when Balthier immediately strikes the mind. Balthier is a composed man. Confident. Sometimes arrogant. Capable of making it seem as though very little moves him. In each moment that he shows her more of his humanity and his vulnerability, she finds in him an unparalleled beauty. These kinds of moments are real. Not to ever imply that the others are not, but these are of a different sort. They too, have their place, and their value.

If only she could see this version of him more. If only she had the endurance to do such a thing. If only love in its most physical manifestation were not, over time, exhilarating to the point of exhaustion.

His words flutter right into her ears and she can't say it's a command, though they're certainly the right ones to coerce her. It is more like comfort and solace. Reassurance. Her fingertips curl, a few just barely touching the line of his jaw. Her breath catches as that pleasure heightens and finds its apex, a shuddering that climbs its way up her spine and encourages her hold on him to tighten. Muscles tighten and flex, squeeze down against him where he's so comfortably nestled, endeavour to share with him the fruits of his labour. To kiss him now would be nothing more than jostled attempts, so she settles for remaining close to him, forehead pressed to his, as she endures and survivals what must be simply a triumph of love.

No words. No protests. No need for encouragement, she thinks, for sometimes feeling transcends all of that.]

[He has no choice in the matter but to follow her; the press of her brow to his keeps him anchored as he feels the threat of drowning in her, in their shared release. It is well worth the wait, every moment that had built to it worth cherishing, all of it serving to ease the ache in his heart that he has felt each and every day of their weeks apart. His breath is short as her fingers curl against his jaw, still holding fast to her hips as he spends himself— there are no words from him, either, only a low growl half-held at the back of his throat before his lips fall open, refusing to let his eyes close, refusing to miss a single moment of her losing herself, committing every bit of it to memory.

For the several heartbeats that follow, there is nothing to be said, only labored breathing, and he at last lets his eyelids slide closed as he feels his heart continue to pound, the heat of passion and exertion still making his skin burn hot, and he at last takes her face between both of his hands and gently pulls her down into a slow, grateful and adoring kiss.]

[Aerith thinks, the biggest shame in moments of such bliss, is that she ends up so wrapped in feeling that she can't focus on him the way she'd like to. She can't commit the sight the memory. She can't treat it like a painting lost in time. She wants to. Oh, how she wants to. Just to remember what he looks like in just such a way. A permanent imprint of crucial and pivotal moments that serve as demonstrations of expressions both have, once upon a time, declined to share with one another.

At least when it comes to three very special words that mean a great deal and carry an undeniable weight to them.

He brings her back from whatever muddled reverie she's been locked in as a result of chill and heat altogether when he reaches up for her. In the back of her mind, she can still hear the low of his groan, that little sound she's so unfamiliar with and so fond of. He could stir her all over again if he's not more careful about that.

Lips press to lips and it's as if she remembers herself. She remembers all of the gentleness and care that she holds about herself. All of the tender and soft ways she wants to treat him with, as if perhaps he's had a stunning lack of it in his life prior to her. Her hold loosens, relaxes, and as she indulges for some moments, her smile up against him is transparent and plain.

How miraculous that he can make her feel so many different things at the same time.]

[These quiet moments as they allow themselves to be enveloped in the soft glow of the aftermath are something to be cherished in their own right; for a short while, he says nothing at all, simply allows himself to disappear into that kiss as she smiles against him, and he does the same in turn.

Finally, when he feels the air beginning to move through his lungs the way it ought once more, he cards his fingers through her hair, pushing it back from her brow and letting his shoulders relax into the pillow beneath him, his fingers lightly tracing down the length of her side before coming to rest against her hip yet again. She is all warmth and softness, and he thinks it must have been some kind of miracle that he had managed to keep himself from her door for any length of time.]

Quite the reunion.

[He chuckles softly, his voice just slightly hoarse from exertion.]

Are you alright?

[Quite the reunion indeed.

Her teeth gently scrape over her bottom lip in immediate, wordless response. Perhaps more telling than anything she might be able to say. What he follows up with, however, is so sweet that, with relative ease, it pushes aside some of that embarrassment threatening to drown her. Things become considerably more nerve-racking once she's more aware of the situation between them.

That seems to be the way of it, though. Seems he can so easily discuss those matters.]

Of course. [A little winded. A little breathless. But wonderful. Her smile grows and she drops her gaze from his eyes, inviting as they are.] You think we were a little too loud? [Not that likely anyone would say something to either of them.]

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