Impatience will get her nowhere with Teren, who smirks to herself at the little sounds the woman is making. Go on? She will, when she pleases. For now, she releases Lakshmi's hair in order to use both hands on her knees, pushing them outward as she herself lowers to the ground. Then, a clawlike grip pulls Lakshmi to the edge of the bed, hot breath and a teasing, exploratory tongue here to meet her, flicking in and then out again in the practiced, rhythmic motions of someone who has definitely done this before. Her hold on Lakshmi's thighs is tight, nails pressing into the soft flesh, perhaps enough to leave faint bruises on anyone who wouldn't heal them immediately.
More was the pity for that - there is a sort of savouring of them, she had always liked to it, a half a lifetime ago. That sort of pride to poke at in the morning. Feel the ache of when she moved about in the rest of her day pleasantly. But - those were the choices she'd made.
Which as much as her sigh is mournful when the fingers leave her hair, she's happy to return the favour. Her hands drop, catching against the hollow of her thighs to find Teren's hair, scraping through it roughly as she anchors herself there. There isn't much else to do. Teren's grip is an anchor that stops anymore than the barest twitch of her hips. And when the inevitable comes as suddenly as it hadn't, she - "Shit."
Her fingers curl in, harsher than someone else might want to. Less than the most Teren can take, she's sure. Because if she wasn't aroused before this, she was now. That unmistakable pool of heat that trickles down her limbs. A click over like Tesla's motors, that twist of lightning that builds up inside a rifle's barrel.
There it is. And here this is, all the chaotic neutral energy Teren can muster: she pulls her head away with a cruel glint in her eye, not minding much that Laskhmi's fingers are digging into her scalp. Here she drums her fingers gently at the base of the woman's thigh, taking care to never let her stop thinking about it.
"Be still," she says in a low purr, ensuring that her breath is pointed exactly where she wants it.
Well, damn. It's unbecoming for a Queen to whine, but she most surely does. Her fingers twisting and gripping tightly in her hair like she means to shove back somehow. Her hips twitching for the contact they are denied. All those hard, scarred muscles that even where they are hidden below her clothes, under Teren's hands - are scarred by claw marks, bite marks, gunshots and swords.
All different sorts of battlegrounds. But this one surely is one just now.
Fuck you, except, she definitely already was. What little control she had right now, and it takes considerable effort to get her breathing even, to force her hips back and down and not squirm against the hot, tickling breath. Looking down her body meeting Teren's gaze that is somewhere between I hate you, and I want you.
This merits an actual smile, but it's quite easily interpreted as cruel in its amusement. She meets Lakshmi's eyes squarely, relishing that look, her fingers venturing closer, then in, curling slightly in the pursuit of pleasure more than penetration-- then withdraws. Her mouth returns a few moments later, to play the same game as before: dipping in, out, ever dancing around where she knows Lakshmi wants it, but never landing there long enough to make it count. Not yet.
It takes a monumental effort to do what she's told. Which - given what Teren had watched her say to their commanders - no doubt could be appreciated by the present company for the rare occasion it turned out to be.
Not that it was endearing her too said company, as she's split between breathless prays when her fingers, her tongue, dance close, and swearing worse than a Whitechapel doxie when they move away again. The only thing that can't be helped no matter how she tries to keep still is the physical twitch when Teren strikes sensitive nerves just too well. Her legs jolting where they're pressed down, her fingers twisting in, all of her breath driven out of her lungs before she can desperately suck it back in.
"Damn you," it'd be far more serious a curse probably if she wasn't wet against Teren's tongue, and utterly unable to stop how the end of the word turns into a moan of sheer frustration, bubbling out of the back of her throat.
Plenty have said worse and probably meant it less, if they're being honest. But there's something about reducing a queen to this state that is its own reward, not that Teren is one to gloat (apart from smirking like a piece of shit, at least), and after it looks like Lakshmi is about to hyperventilate she finally decides to end the poor woman's suffering. In total contrast to all the teasing, Teren's final motion is an authoritative thrust of several fingers, pressing directly onto that sweet spot as she holds Lakshmi's legs apart with her free hand and her pointy elbow.
She wants neither soft hands nor kind words, wants nothing that could be mistaken for less than this. The harsh dig and the breath out of her lungs like she's been punched. With it, her back bows, her head driving into the pillows as she physically rolls, lifts. Arched up like her bones twist inside her skin.
With it her fingers hold to her hair, still, gripping hard. Open, unable to be anything less than so. Each cry pitches, louder, higher. Holding onto her like she was breath itself.
Teren smirks faintly, pleased by her handiwork, pressing as long as it takes for Lakshmi's cries to dwindle once more. Then, without ceremony, she removes her hand and stands (however much resistance it takes to free herself from the grip on her head), wiping her fingers on a cloth at the wash basin.
There isn't much to do, after that. One hand lifts, cover her eyes as she lays there - her chest rising and falling in quick breaths. One leg still propped up on the edge of the bed, the other curving over the side of the bed. All that white material bunched up around her hips that. When she does sit up - the great wonder of her garments is to their practicality. A little tug, her hand smoothing over it to let it reach down again, and apart from where her hair as pulled free from her writing about, it would suffice to say nothing particular at all had happened.
Save that ache, pleasant. That little too full way her lips feel, her eyes are blown. That hum that turns all her limbs lanky-feeling, that she stretches herself out like she was no more than an overgrown cat.
"Wine? Or would you prefer me to return the favour first?"
"I'll be off, actually," Teren says, stepping away with a little pat to one of Lakshmi's legs, "got to keep watch." Her bearing isn't unfriendly, but nor is it especially tender-- the moment is over, and with it her presence. With little more than a nod of farewell, she takes her leave and closes the door behind her. Fuckwitch Out
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2018-11-17 07:42 am (UTC)For now, she releases Lakshmi's hair in order to use both hands on her knees, pushing them outward as she herself lowers to the ground. Then, a clawlike grip pulls Lakshmi to the edge of the bed, hot breath and a teasing, exploratory tongue here to meet her, flicking in and then out again in the practiced, rhythmic motions of someone who has definitely done this before.
Her hold on Lakshmi's thighs is tight, nails pressing into the soft flesh, perhaps enough to leave faint bruises on anyone who wouldn't heal them immediately.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-17 08:00 am (UTC)Which as much as her sigh is mournful when the fingers leave her hair, she's happy to return the favour. Her hands drop, catching against the hollow of her thighs to find Teren's hair, scraping through it roughly as she anchors herself there. There isn't much else to do. Teren's grip is an anchor that stops anymore than the barest twitch of her hips. And when the inevitable comes as suddenly as it hadn't, she - "Shit."
Her fingers curl in, harsher than someone else might want to. Less than the most Teren can take, she's sure. Because if she wasn't aroused before this, she was now. That unmistakable pool of heat that trickles down her limbs. A click over like Tesla's motors, that twist of lightning that builds up inside a rifle's barrel.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-17 08:15 am (UTC)"Be still," she says in a low purr, ensuring that her breath is pointed exactly where she wants it.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-17 08:54 am (UTC)All different sorts of battlegrounds. But this one surely is one just now.
Fuck you, except, she definitely already was. What little control she had right now, and it takes considerable effort to get her breathing even, to force her hips back and down and not squirm against the hot, tickling breath. Looking down her body meeting Teren's gaze that is somewhere between I hate you, and I want you.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-17 09:02 am (UTC)Her mouth returns a few moments later, to play the same game as before: dipping in, out, ever dancing around where she knows Lakshmi wants it, but never landing there long enough to make it count.
Not yet.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-17 09:22 am (UTC)Not that it was endearing her too said company, as she's split between breathless prays when her fingers, her tongue, dance close, and swearing worse than a Whitechapel doxie when they move away again. The only thing that can't be helped no matter how she tries to keep still is the physical twitch when Teren strikes sensitive nerves just too well. Her legs jolting where they're pressed down, her fingers twisting in, all of her breath driven out of her lungs before she can desperately suck it back in.
"Damn you," it'd be far more serious a curse probably if she wasn't wet against Teren's tongue, and utterly unable to stop how the end of the word turns into a moan of sheer frustration, bubbling out of the back of her throat.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-17 09:34 am (UTC)In total contrast to all the teasing, Teren's final motion is an authoritative thrust of several fingers, pressing directly onto that sweet spot as she holds Lakshmi's legs apart with her free hand and her pointy elbow.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-24 02:54 am (UTC)With it her fingers hold to her hair, still, gripping hard. Open, unable to be anything less than so. Each cry pitches, louder, higher. Holding onto her like she was breath itself.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-28 08:33 pm (UTC)Teren smirks faintly, pleased by her handiwork, pressing as long as it takes for Lakshmi's cries to dwindle once more. Then, without ceremony, she removes her hand and stands (however much resistance it takes to free herself from the grip on her head), wiping her fingers on a cloth at the wash basin.
no subject
Date: 2018-11-30 04:42 am (UTC)Save that ache, pleasant. That little too full way her lips feel, her eyes are blown. That hum that turns all her limbs lanky-feeling, that she stretches herself out like she was no more than an overgrown cat.
"Wine? Or would you prefer me to return the favour first?"
no subject
Date: 2018-11-30 07:23 pm (UTC)With little more than a nod of farewell, she takes her leave and closes the door behind her. Fuckwitch Out
no subject
Date: 2018-12-02 11:50 pm (UTC)