flamebrand | overflow.

[ 'Pleased' is an understatement. There's no word in any language, alive or dead, to describe the thrill of being permitted to worship Jill's body like this―

―because that's what he intends to do, with his hands and his mouth (and maybe with the erection currently straining painfully against his trousers, if the size of it doesn't scare Jill off. Bigger isn't always better). Humming against her flushed skin, he kisses down to one breast and noses lightly against her very cute nipple (is that a weird thing to think about a nipple, he doesn't know) before putting his lips over it.

He'd say something about the incredibly sweet thing she's just said to him, but his mouth is busy. Another hum, head lifting from one peak to tend to the other, and he finally murmurs: ] Then I'm the luckiest man in Valisthea.

[ A kiss between her soft breasts, and he works his way further down. At any point, he's prepared to linger and pay attention to anything that Jill seems to like; blue eyes flick up occasionally, trying to gauge her reaction. ]

[He could have just said he intends to burn all of Valisthea and Jill would be none the wiser. Her entire being is focused on his mouth and his touch and his body and his eyes. And her breasts in his mouth--that's the most lewd and arousing thing she's ever experienced and she forgets to breathe for a few moments until the air comes out on a sigh and a laugh. She should probably do more than be a boneless heap on her back, but she focuses first on remembering to breathe. Air is good.

Her lungs rally, albeit a little unevenly, and she gives Clive a dazed smile.

She thinks about how he must feel inside her, gentle and tender and hot and she thinks she's going to die from how badly she wants every inch of him.

Speaking comes next as the neurons begin to fire again.]

What?

[She loves everything he does. It's so surreal, a dream come true. For a moment she doesn't know what to do with her hands and ends up patting him on the head like she might Torgal.]

[ She asks him what?, and it's the first time Clive ever experiences what passes for cute aggression: an impulse to sink teeth into soft skin, to take a bite out of her because she's so sweet.

That would be a Bad Dog move, though, and she's petting him as if he's a Good Boy, so. Clive laughs instead of doing anything unhinged, letting his warm breath dance over Jill's navel, which he also puts his mouth on.

His tongue scours ever downwards, then to the side. He leaves a lovemark on the jut of her hip, just above the waistband of her panties; he scoots further, displacing himself and maneuvering Jill so that he can situate himself between her spread thighs. He hikes one of her perfect legs, and litters kisses along her inner thigh. ]

You're lovely when you're out of your mind, [ he teases. ]

[She hums, fingers giving his hair a gentle tug as he leaves yet another mark on her. She's gone from feeling tipsy to feeling helplessly intoxicated. It's all because of him. If a hangover comes from this rush of love, anticipation, and joy? Well, he's with it.

Never in a thousand years dare she actually believe she'd have Clive between her legs. A fantasy on a lonely night, yes, but something forever out of reach for one reason or another. Their duties. Their responsibilities. Their own worries about what admitting what they both know is there might invite upon them.

But here he is, and her knee is hooked on his shoulder and she could die right now and be content. A good look downwards reveals the thin material damp from desire.]

I'm glad. [Because it's all his fault. She reaches for his face with her fingertips, wanting to touch.] I feel like I'm floating.

[ He shifts and cranes up to meet Jill's fingers, letting his face nuzzle against her palm. ]

Well, you are an ethereal beauty.

[ Still teasing. He's not one for poetry, though－ he's clumsy with the line, and he chuckles at himself for the horrid attempt.

He remains rested against her hand, happy to let Jill set the pace. A happy conundrum, being unable to decide if he wants to claim her immediately or if he wants her to boss him around. He didn't dare let himself fantasize about Jill like this before. ]

And you're very sweet.

[The Torgal allegations will never cease with the way he nuzzles her palm.]

And very far away.

[Like the length of her body is that great a distance. She can still see him, touch him. She's waited her whole life to kiss him. She can survive some time apart. Probably.]

But you are a handsome sight.

[His tanned skin beneath her pale thigh, only a scrap of fabric between her and his mouth. How content he looks.]

[ Content, love-drunk. Clive thinks he must actually look unseemly and desperate, but he'd believe anything that comes out of Jill's mouth at this point. They've been fighting tooth and nail for scraps of peace between conflict, and this closeness feels especially hallowed.

Blue eyes melt; Clive is putty under Jill's scrutiny. With his chin still settled in her palm, he slides his free hand down to rake his thumb over that damp patch between her legs, throat bobbing in need at the feel of it. He can hardly believe that she's gotten wet for him. ]

I'd have you choose whether you want to keep looking, or allow me to touch you more.

[The touch, despite Jill sensing it coming, makes her whole body jump. A thing she laughs about, embarrassed. His touch summons nothing terrible beside a deeper ache for him. Her hips strain forward, hoping he might touch her again.]

Cruel. I want both. I'll go mad without either, I'm afraid.

[Jill doesn't often use a sad face to get her way, but there is a pout on her lips. It's offset by the amusement in her eyes. That's actually an impossible choice and she doubts he'd be able to choose either, were their positions reversed.

Maybe they will be, soon.]

[ She pouts. Creator, she pouts. Jill, his Jill, who never once had a complaint despite all the ways in which she was endlessly entitled to them. The frown is meant to project playfulness instead of any significant distress, but Clive is grateful that she trusts him with it regardless. She could stand to demand more from him.

Love of my life, he thinks. He resumes the light petting, making slow, measured friction with his thumb as he sits up and tips forward to claim Jill's mouth again. Obliging 'both' as best he can, temporarily.

His hand snakes down the front of her underwear, under the waistband; she's hot and slick and inviting when he finally touches her, skin to skin, and Clive hums against her mouth in bare-faced appreciation. ]

One at a time, then. [ She can look at him plenty, later. He's not going anywhere. ]

[His mouth meets hers just in time for her to moan into his, unable to help herself. He's the only man she's ever wanted. The moan turns into a gasp, accompanied by another little jolt of her body.]

Clive... [There's so much fondness in one word, her hands cupping his face. She loves him. She loves him terribly, and she doesn't know what to do with so much love, and she can't tell whether the urge to fuck him recklessly or hold and kiss him slowly is stronger. Both. Everything.]

I want everything with you. Everything.

[Love. A life together, beyond this seemingly endless fight, whatever that looks like. Maybe they'll marry. Have children. Maybe they'll travel the world, beyond Valisthea. As long as they're together, she'll be happy.]

[ Everything. Clive keeps touching Jill, kissing the sweet sounds out of her mouth, feeling overwhelmed from just this, the slow and steady exploration of each other's boundaries. He has no idea what 'everything' looks like, what it will offer them once all of the crystals are gone and they're left to pick up the fragments of this battered, tired world.

But he wants it. Wants something better, with Jill. He wants his hand in hers, and wants the certainty of her beside him.

And he wants this, too. The feeling of her clutching around his fingers when he quests them inside her, making up for the intrusion with more kisses. Assuring her that it's just him, and that she's cared for. ]

―Everything I have to give is yours.

[ Delayed, but sincere. I adore you, he projects with the faint smile on his lips; he pulls away afterwards, testing to see if she'll let him slide back down again. ]

[His words and his touch make her whimper. An embarrassing sound, most times, but not with him. He should know what he does to her. He should know she wants him, body pressing closer, hands grasping at his back.

He's enough. For so long he's been made to feel like his worth is tied to what he can do for others. If she can make him truly know he's loved simply because of who he is, she'll consider her time on this earth well spent.

When he pulls away, her hands linger on him, but she doesn't pout this time.]

You're going to be the death of me.

[Because she can guess his intent. This is what will kill her, not a blade. She laughs and drops her head back onto the bed.]

[ A laugh, pressed to Jill's navel, and then: ] I hope not.

[ Please, do not die here. Not now. He'd follow suit instantly, and then the world will be fucked forever.

With that joke out of the way, he slides back down to the welcome cradle of Jill's thighs, where he makes the executive and audacious decision to divest her of her last scrap of clothing so that he can do exactly as he'd said he wanted to do: taste her. Warm lips, hot tongue. He licks a long stripe along her seam, with his hand holding one of her thighs to brace him. ]

[There's something immensely unfair about being totally nude and him still having trousers on. Let her see. The curiosity might be what kills her--except no, she was right before, what he's doing is going to kill her. She can forgive him for not stripping. They'll get to it, she reminds herself. They have all night.

Besides, the feeling of his tongue on her clit is quite distracting. She has no complaints, moaning softly in approval, a hand reaching down to pet his hair.]

I've had dreams about this.

[A breathless laugh. Admitting as much makes her skin heat up, but he should know that, too. She's always wanted him.]

[ Clive will have to deal with Jill seeing the frankly embarrassing state of his cock later, but until then: this. He makes his own sound of pleasure when she pets him (this is awakening something inside of him, he can feel it), breathing it between her legs mid-lick.

She really shouldn't make him smile when he's trying to concentrate, but he does. ]

How do I measure against the man of your dreams?

[ Coyly, as he sucks lightly against her clit and flicks it with the tip of his tongue. He wasn't lying when he said that she's lovely when she's out of her mind; he hopes the answer to his question is another what? ]

[Clive earns something better as Jill does her best to resist the urge to rut against his face:]

Huh?

[Very eloquent.]

Please don't expect me to--words.

[Apparently the sentence about her dreaming of this is the last Clive is to get that's complete. Jill laughs, the end trailing off into a moan. She's never felt like this before, and she can only think of more. Having more of him, closer, as close as they can possibly be.]

[ Alright, he fully laughs at her response, which is probably the most impolite thing a man could do when they're between someone's legs. ]

Cute, [ he quips, because it is－ she is. Is that insulting? She's a beautiful woman capable of slitting his throat in his sleep if she really cared to, but it's also intoxicating to see her lose herself to his ministrations. It's so often the case that others bid him to hurt others; being permitted to touch someone for the sake of pleasuring is new and thrilling.

He waits for Jill to catch her breath, then leans in again. His tongue resumes tracing her heat, then presses inwards to delve deeper where his fingers made friction before. Opening her as best he can manage, relenting every so often to litter more lovebites along her inner thighs. Not quite possessive, but covetous. ]

[That laugh is almost as good as his tongue. Flushed and so terribly aroused and smitten, Jill laughs with him. At least until she can only moan, thighs threatenig squeeze his head before she reminds herself. Suffocating him would be a hell of a way to go, but she'd like to have more of him before either of them expire.]

Clive... please.

[She doesn't even know what she wants to beg for first. More of his tongue. The return of his teeth on her skin. A harder grip from his hands on her. A kiss on her mouth with the taste of her still on his lips. His cock, filling her.

Her hips rock against his mouth, impatient and greedy.]

Are we... are we taking turns?

[There. A sentence. A question, even! Jill, enjoying every moment, doesn't quite know what it is to simply be doted on for more than five minutes. Already, she's eager to tend to him, even if that feels like a privilege. It is, to her.]

[ It's a herculean effort to detach himself from between Jill's legs (maybe he could perish down here, what a wonderful way to go), but Clive manages. Eyes dull from arousal, mouth slightly open and his lips slick.

His turn to answer, essentially, with a huh? He blinks up at her, uncomprehending, still stroking her flushed slit with his thumb while he struggles to cobble together a response of his own. ]

If that's what my lady wants, [ is what he finally manages, his voice thick with need. He cranes up to land more kisses along the smooth plane of her stomach, tongue along her navel and teeth pressing into skin, testing to see if she's relaxed enough to let him work a thick, sword-callused middle inside of her. ]

Maybe after I bring her to peak, once.

[Every time she looks down at him between her thighs, she is absolutely certain she could die from this, as she warned him. Distantly, as she revels in how handsome he is (always, but particularly when pleasuring her), she wonders how he simply knows how to touch her, how to kiss her, how deeply to press his finger inside her. Maybe it's sinply from the bond between them or too many daydreams. If there's another answer, she likely doesn't want to know.

Not that she'll ask. There are some things they don't talk about, and sexual experiences are one Jill is happy to leave in the dark.

Right now is all that matters.]

Another finger and you may.

[She teases, breathless. Another sentence for the tally. See, she's not entirely fuckstruck. Only mostly. His one finger feels like two of her slender ones, unable to reach and fill and stretch as his do. She thinks she'll never get herself off again--though memory of tonight may help.]

I'll do my utmost.

[ More a matter of enthusiasm and attentiveness than anything to do with finesse; Clive is not a man who can magically find the G-spot in one try. Case in point is how he's less sure about penetration than he was when he had his mouth on Jill, how he stops when he feels her tense and flicks his focus up towards her expression, checking for any nonverbal signs of discomfort.

Another finger, she demands, but he doesn't give it to her right away. Attention is given to letting her acclimate to the one, only making light friction when he's sure that Jill is relaxed enough for it. Once he's more certain that he won't hurt her by ramping up the contact, he fits his ring alongside his middle and starts up a slow, steady rhythm.

This is the first time sex has ever felt like a conversation. Something mutual, something shared. Not a hurried, unspeakable thing to get over with quickly in the dark. ]

...You're alright? [ Checking in, rearing up to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Jill's mouth. ]

[Jill's own exploration of her body leaves much to be desired. One day, they might find her G-spot together. Tonight, she's simply drowning in love given and love for him. Her Clive. She has no fears or worries in his arms, only a desire to make him feel as good as he makes her feel.

When he checks on her, words so sweet while he works her so carefully, she thinks she could cry. No one has ever considered her the way Clive has. It's her turn for misty eyes, smiling as she leans up to kiss him.]

I am. You're perfect, Clive.

[Always. She leans up to kiss hin again, lips parting for a deeper kiss.]

[ He's far from perfect, but hearing Jill use that word as a descriptor for him makes his chest ache with happiness. It only matters that Jill finds him suitable for her; he doesn't need anyone else in the world to share that opinion. Only Jill.

The kiss they share is breathless and deep, open-mouthed and lingering. Clive almost forgets himself entirely in it, his hand stopping with the sort of lazy stutter that says that he's distracted. He remembers himself a few beats later, humming a low sound in the back of his throat in apology, and resumes.

There are probably men who could do this much better, and with more flair. Still, Clive whispers: ] You feel so good, Jill.

[ Even if it's his fingers in her, and not his cock. He could probably come just from pleasuring her, which is a thought that makes his brain spark with happy serotonin; his fingers work faster now, thumb circling her clit as he strokes at her walls. ]

[Other men can't possibly exist when she's in Clive Rosfield's bed. He's everything she could want and more, patient and caring, strong and gentle. Jill groans when their kiss ends but the disappointment turns back into those sounds of pleasure. He really does mean to make her come, first and foremost.

Jill's moans pick up with his speed, teeth pressing into her bottom lip in some effort to remain quiet. The walls have ears, after all, if not gaping holes.

As if to remind them to behave, there are footsteps suddenly thudding up to Clive's door, heavy boots with a purpose behind them. Jill's moaning turns into a gasp, expression somewhere between panicked and pissed because of all times!!

Except the feet at the door seem to think better of knocking. Or perhaps someone nearby is shaking their head furioisly. A moment of hesitation, and the footsteps retreat.]

Founder.

[At some point she had tensed. Now, she sighs, deflating.

One day, perhaps they'll have actual walls. Stone walls.]

[ Of all times. Clearly, no one got the memo that he'd just returned, and that he'd perhaps like a few hours alone with the woman he loves. Clearly!!!

When footsteps recede, he also follows suit in deflating. Shoulders slump, and his weight settles lightly against Jill's front, face nestled against the crook of her neck. The saddest shaggy dog in all of Valisthea. ]

Do you think―?

[ "I should go check", is the rest of that sentence. As much as he just wants to lay here and kiss Jill until the sun comes up, obviously. His fingers draw out of her slowly, near-dejected. ]

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