katyafeline | (no subject)

Katya has gradually become used to the idea of calling Milliways a home, of sorts - and now her room reflects that. The anonymously boring bedsheets and blankets have been replaced by ones with riotous colors and textures - silks and velvets and thick wool. Bookshelves have slowly crept their way in, filled with second-hand books in a veritable United Nations-worth of languages, all rubbing elbows together with no sense of general organization, interspersed with various trinkets - a long white feather, two floppy-eared cloth rabbit dolls with shiny black button eyes, a slightly chipped china teacup with a delicate design in blue and gold.

And of course the swords - several swords, of various ages and descriptions, hung up on the walls. Her old collection is now long lost, but no one said she couldn't start again.

Of course, Katya isn't much in the mood for giving a tour and explanation at the moment.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

i_am_your_host

And the Master of Ceremonies isn't much in the mood for clothing.

He leaves the bottle of vodka on the first flat surface available and shrugs off his leather coat, followed by the suspenders and the rumpled tuxedo shirt that was left halfway unbuttoned in a bohemian fashion (quicker to get it off that way, too). As he toes off his boots, he notices the myriad of colors and fabrics on the bed, and decides very much that he would like to be naked with Katya in all of that.

From:

katyafeline

This new anti-clothing movement is one Katya can get behind - her shirt is loose enough to tug up and over her head, ruffling her hair into a riotous mess, and frankly her bra is an annoyance that she's just as happy to have off, no matter what the reason. Her jeans are going to take a minute though - they're newer, the fabric still stiff and stubborn as she tries to shimmy free.

From:

i_am_your_host

He's unbuttoning his fly when Katya starts to shimmy. Grinning, he steps over to her, his trousers sagging low on his narrow hips, and offers to help her out of her jeans. Honestly, he's never seen pants so tight before.

"You must be a wonderful dancer," he murmurs, slipping his fingertips under the waistband and working them down over her ass and hips.

From:

katyafeline

"The best." Modesty? What is this thing? "But I've always done better with a partner." The thick fabric gives up the fight with the added assistance, the tight fit dragging her underwear down as well. Her boots can be toed out of, and she can step free. The silver at her wrists and neck glimmer in the room's lights, a bit incongruous with woolen socks (but at least in some things one ought to be practical, no?). The light picks out the faint trace of old scars as well, long ago faded to mere echos of their former selves.

She catches his hands, settling them over her hips as she sways close enough to feel the heat of him.
"Perhaps you'll teach me a few of your favorite steps?"

From:

i_am_your_host

The socks are adorable.

His body is slender, boyish, a blend of soft planes and wiry angles, feline grace and hidden sinuousness. He blurs and defies the lines between expectations.

"Mmm, I could," he says, his voice an intimate purr as his own hips sway rhythmically against hers, the friction causing his trousers to slip lower and lower. They slide down his thighs and pool at his feet, and he takes the opportunity to step out of them and back her up toward the bed at the same time. Hips still moving, touching, rubbing.

From:

katyafeline

Their steps are accompanied by the soft susurration of the metal at her wrists and her own quickened breathing. She is so used to a life of putting her own wants to one side that to find them echoed is a rare and delicious pleasure. She resisted that gorgeous neck before, but now she indulges, tasting with soft, lingering kisses, with the tease of teeth.

From:

i_am_your_host

He tips his head to the side as she begins to work at his neck, his pulse quickening under her lips, spiking at the feel of her teeth. He buries his fingers in her wild hair, combing through its softness, breathing into it.

He's backed her up enough so that the backs of her knees nudge the edge of the bed. That glorious bed that they can lose themselves in.

From:

katyafeline

Let's face it, she really is just a terribly fancy cat sometimes - she melts against him, her soft sigh of pleasure muffled against his neck. She gives him another nip - a reward, a promise, before letting go to fall back against the bed, sprawled in open invitation.

From:

i_am_your_host

He follows, crawling between her thighs on his hands and knees before pressing his body down on top of hers. He rests most of his weight on his elbows, but their hips are flush against one another, and he's just hard enough to tease her.

There's still time. And he makes the most of it, pressing a kiss to the pit of her throat and tracing the slant of her clavicle with his tongue. His mouth travels lower, over the soft swell of her breast. He sucks her nipple between his teeth, flicking at it with the tip of his tongue.

From:

katyafeline

He is rewarded with a sharp gasp, and she arches up against him in an unreserved demand for more. She explores the unfamiliar planes and curves of his body - nails tracing the arch of his shoulder blade, smoothing over the ridge of his spine, surging against him while cupping his ass.

From:

i_am_your_host

He does it again, dragging his tongue over her stiffened nipple, then nuzzling the supple flesh of her breast with hot sighs ghosting over her skin.

She reaches for him, and he delights in her wandering, grasping hands. Leaning on one elbow, his free hand does some of its own exploring, skimming down her side, sweeping over her ribcage and stomach. Her every reaction tells him that there is more to her than this seemingly delicate body, brimming with a powerful sensuality that she can barely contain. He can feel it, and he wants to bring out what's inside her.

From:

katyafeline

His breath is like a hot brand against her sensitized skin - she whines, writhing under him as the fire spreads. She's pretty sure now she knows exactly what kind of instrument Emcee is used to playing - and Light, she's appreciative of his commitment.

With his weight on one arm, it's easy for her to roll them, straddling his hips, pinning him back. She dips down to kiss him again, tangling her tongue against his.

From:

i_am_your_host

He exhales a huff of breath when he finds himself on his back with Katya straddling him. He would grin up at her except she kisses it right off his face. With a muffled moan, he meets her tongue with his in a coiling, serpentine dance.

Both hands free, he slides them up her thighs, kneading and squeezing. He bucks up against her hips, wanting to feel her move.

From:

katyafeline

She groans, rutting against him, a futile movement to satisfy that low-down ache as she burns. Her teeth nip a trail along his jaw, lapping along the pulse in his neck, chasing the taste of him in the hollows of his collarbone.

From:

i_am_your_host

He tilts his head back against the swirling mess of silk and velvet, writhing in the luxurious textures as she uses her teeth and tongue on him. She drives utterances of rough German from his lips, whispers and moans and half-laughs of sheer pleasure. And she makes him hard, with her grinding hips and firm thighs pinning him down.

His hands skate up the slopes of her back and sides, eager to touch every inch of her. He cups her breasts, chafing her nipples in the crooks of his fingers.

From:

katyafeline

His joy rolls over her, sparking through her veins and sending shivers through her frame. She whines, rocking harder as nerves spike lightening from breasts to belly to groin.

Her teeth find his ear and tugs sharply, her voice comes rough, the words slow as she consciously translates from the Russian that wants to come out.
"Emcee, please." The words rumble with an almost-growl, "Fuck. Me."

From:

i_am_your_host

He grunts through clenched teeth at the bite, even as his lips curl back in a delirious smile.

Reaching between their bodies, he aligns himself with her, and with an upward thrust of his hips, he pushes into her, sliding between the folds of her warm, wet flesh. He grasps her waist and thrusts into her again, deeper, harder.

From:

katyafeline

She moans, her English lost again in broken litany of Russian when he slides home - that is good, that is right, and she wants more. Taking the reins, she rides him to a driving rock 'n' roll beat. Her breath comes hot on his neck as she marks him, suckling and biting her way down his neck.

From:

i_am_your_host

Her teeth sting, leaving tingling welts on his skin. He in turn grabs a fistful of her hair, without pulling her away from his neck.

Heels braced on the mattress, he bucks wildly underneath her, each thrust punctuated with a throaty growl. Her rhythm is hard and driving and he lives for that, urging her on in breathless, barking German. Nothing is lost in translation between them when the only thing that matters is to push one another to the very edge.

From:

katyafeline

The burn and glow along her scalp earns a fierce crow of yes-please-sir-may-I-have-another against his skin. She dutifully laves attention where he directs her, more than willing to have more of the taste of him in her mouth.

She can feel the end coming like a runaway train barreling down the tracks, her body tightening in eager anticipation, her litany of not-quite-words taking on a pleading edge. Reaching down between them, she roughly grinds against her clit, fingers sliding in the slick between them.

From:

i_am_your_host

He tastes like sweat and cigarettes and gin and vodka, like shadows and light and the shifting gray of smoke.

She burns against him. The heat of her mouth, her body, her everything is so intense that he might melt into the bed covers. He feels her fingers move between them and his head spins. His hold on her becomes less a grasp and more a cling, as his nerves start to unravel like frayed rope.

He picks up the pace with short, hard thrusts. The sound of slick skin against slick skin fills the room, the creaking and rocking of the bed, their tangled voices echoing in every corner. (Katya's unfortunate neighbors are getting an earful. But who cares.)

She sets him on fire and now he burns, his limbs giving out and giving in. He tosses his head back as if he were possessed. And he comes, his body going rigid underneath her, a choked cry squeezed from his constricted throat.

From:

katyafeline

His release crashes through her, the mage and the woman subsumed in the fire. She jerks against him, clenches around him, cries out as she flies apart in his arms.

Slowly the tremors subside into shivers, the feedback dialing down to levels where she feels almost settled in her own skin. Dizzy and strung-out, she nuzzles her head against his shoulder, laving soft, open-mouthed kisses on the skin she can reach without shifting.

From:

i_am_your_host

He lies still, sprawled and spent, panting heavily, his eyes closed to the world.

His hand loosens in her hair to gently cup the back of her head. It's an unconscious gesture, almost instinctual.

Her body simmers now, cooling down. He slides his fingers through the sheen of sweat on her back, and purrs deeply under her kisses.

From:

katyafeline

She smiles, one hand shifting to rest over his chest, over his heart, feeling it settle slowly. And if she mutters softly in her mother language, words and intent learned more from the babushkas on her patrol than from any trainer - what of it? Such energy is easy to spare, and she can bask in the feeling of well-being she lets sink slowly into his bones.

Oh shush.

Clearly it's all just an excuse to cuddle, sharing his warmth as the sweat dries.

From:

i_am_your_host

He's not a cuddler, but... It's not as if he could do anything about it. It's not like he's going to move or anything. That would be rude. And plus he can't. Too comfortable.

He curls his fingers in her hair, over and over. Tracing the curve of her ear. Gently scritching the nape of her neck as if she were a cat.

"That was wonderful, Tiger Cub."

His voice is a deep, rasping velvet.