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Twilight's fingers were insistent through the fabric of her dress, her light coat, guiding Yor into the elevator. He had been quiet on the way back to the hotel after their assignment; but so had been Yor, both reviewing, she assumed, as she stepped lightly to the corner of the elevator. Leaning on her hands against the wall, Yor watched Twilight press the button to their floor before he moved into place beside her. They'd been successful: Twilight had his intel, and Yor had killed her target and kept Twilight safe in the short altercation afterward when those bastards tried to take him by surprise.
But, she had been a little delayed to their rendezvous: Twilight shouldn't have been without her backup even for those two minutes. He can handle himself, Yor reminded herself. But that wasn't the point! He shouldn't have to. Not anymore. So what had gone slower than expected?
As they swayed with the odd judder of the elevator, he wasn't touching her which was a little odd, but Yor only half registered it, replaying her confrontation with her target's guard. She probably should have been finished with him perhaps fifteen or twenty seconds faster — where had she lost time?
The door opened on the second floor, Yor raised her head to smile in greeting to the people who stepped in. But Twilight shifted subtly, shoulder now leaning on hers, the bulk of his body largely shielding her from sight. She glanced at him in surprise — had she missed some blood splatter…? — then noticed more detail: the way he'd positioned his leg particularly, that motion of shaking out his left arm. Without peering around him she couldn't be sure, but she was starting to get the picture, recognizing a few of the spy craft tactics he'd begun teaching her for drawing attention away. The angle of his hips, the new placement of his leg, more importantly the way he'd subtly drawn his sleeve up with that shake, so the expensive watch he was wearing for this cover story would draw eyes instead.
They wouldn't notice the singed hole in her pantyhose, nor the slightly bleeding graze on the outside of her calf. It was probably a bit much, unnecessary — who would look at her legs anyway? But Twilight was nothing if not thorough and she smiled a little to herself. When the other people got out of the elevator, Yor slipped her hand around his elbow, pressed her nose into his shoulder and grinned at him when he glanced her way.
Her grin wavered — Twilight looked away so quickly — Is something the mat—
His other hand landed over hers, squeezing her fingers. I guess not…
Stepping out of the elevator on their floor, Yor smoothed her hand down his arm to slip her hand into his, and holding hands, they walked silently down the hall to their room.
Once Twilight let them in, Yor released him, going straight to the phone to report assignment success to the Shopkeeper. Twilight slipped into the washroom.
He was out by the time she finished her call, and Yor ducked in the bathroom herself, washing the blood that had dried up her arms, a spot check for anywhere else hidden by her coat. One of the drinking glasses was missing — Twilight must have taken it out with him. Shrugging, Yor filled the remaining glass with water from the tap, downing it before having a second. She did a quick visual check of herself: the only injury really was the small nick on her calf, overall a successful evening indeed. She carefully removed her Thorn Princess ornaments from her hair, plucking the other pins from her updo, running her fingers over her scalp with a sigh. Finding normal pins in her toiletries bag, she drew her hair up, winding it into a loose but secure bun high on her head.
Filling the glass once more, Yor went into the main room.
"Oh," she breathed, swaying to a stop. “My…”
Twilight had mussed his hair out of the strict, slicked-back he'd worn for cover, shaken his fringe out into his preferred looser style. Yor liked it best too, but that wasn't what had stopped her — that wasn't what tightened her stomach. He'd taken off his jacket, leaving his emerald vest over his shirtsleeves, rolled up to his elbows, forearms displayed, crossed over his chest. He'd removed his watch. Loosened his tie. Undone the top buttons of his shirt, collars spread to show the hollow of his throat.
Yor passed a hand down her stomach to ease the flutter there.
He didn't say anything though, a shadow over his eyes when he met her gaze, and she really did feel she ought to see to the nick before… before anything else. She set her glass on the bedside table, then passed Twilight to sit in the chair in the corner of the room where they'd earlier put the first aid kit in anticipation of injury.
Before she could do much more, Twilight was standing in front of her. Before she could tip her head to look at him, he knelt at her feet.
Yor swallowed, question heavy on her tongue, but he was reaching for her. He undid the buckle of one of her shoes, hand grazing her ankle, the inside of her calf, before moving to the other shoe's buckle. Yor toed out of them, tilting her head and watching Twilight curiously as he set them aside. His hands skimmed up her calves, the outside of her thighs, under her skirt up to her hips where he started to tug on the band of her pantyhose. Lifting her hips almost hypnotically, Yor held herself steady as Twilight tugged, pulling her pantyhose down, leaving her underwear in place. She'd never thought the sound of taking off hose loud, but the hush of the fabric off her skin as Twilight worked filled her ears, the only soft counter was her own breath, coming faster, and Twilight's, still even.
The pantyhose rolled under his touch — he took the time to straighten it. He lifted her ankle, tugging the hose off first her uninjured leg. Then gently he maneuvered the hose down over her injury before lifting that ankle, pulling the pantyhose off entirely. He set her foot down lightly. Turned on his knees to carefully lay her hose on the bed.
His eyes flicked up to hers when her breath caught — when they laid things out like that, in that specific way, on the bed, it meant —
"This may sting," he murmured, head tipped down again as he daubed disinfectant on a cloth.
Yor watched him, worrying her lip. She whispered, "Okay."
It did sting, she supposed, but it hardly registered against her concentration on him.
He was quick, efficient, careful, as always. It really was just a small graze — hardly worth the disinfectant; she hadn't even mentioned it to the Shopkeeper. But Yor watched Twilight's face as he work. His expression was… she couldn't quite...
Something was bothering him.
As he put the first aid supplies back, Yor pondered. How should she frame her question? He was so quiet, so intent. Was it best to wait? He rarely needed prompting any more, maybe he was still figuring —
The snap of the first aid kit's clasps sounded like a starting gun through her thoughts.
Twilight let out a breath. Shifted his weight. His hand landed on her ankle once more.
Her heartbeat stuttered, Yor licked her lips.
His fringe obscured his eyes from her, but when he pressed her ankle out, widening her thighs, her hands tightened on the chair arms. Yor held herself in place as Twilight leaned forward, drawing the tip of his nose lightly to the inside of her knee, skimming up to her thigh.
Her breath left her in a scalded exhale when his mouth touched her skin. His hand tightened on her ankle, and he shifted again, mouthing a little higher, his head pressing into the hem of her skirt, pulling it taut.
Yor wasn't — she didn't know — something was wrong, maybe? But also — ahh, ah! — very, very right, as Twilight set his teeth to the fleshy part of her inner thigh, biting down, just hard enough to leave an indent on her skin, just hard enough for a small sweet shock of pressure. She sucked her lips into her mouth to stop a whimper, forcing herself still, face tipped to the ceiling as she tried to regain control of her breathing.
She wanted — she wanted to sink her fingers into his hair. Shift her hips forward. Guide him up to — But — she needed to find out what was —
Releasing his bite, Twilight set the flat of his tongue to the mark, licking up and Yor did jolt at that, slamming into the back of the chair, the chair arms creaking under the force of her hold.
“Twilight —” she breathed and reached for him. Set her fingers to the hinge of his jaw, drew a line down to his chin, sought to tip his face up —
He ducked away from her touch, rocking back onto his toes to draw smoothly to his feet.
Undeterred, Yor whispered, “Are you… are you all right?” Her blood rushed, her cheeks and chest were hot, that damp line on her thigh cooling with the pulsing memory of his teeth — shivering, she looked up at him, meeting his eyes.
“I'm in perfect health,” he answered mildly. His eyes, belying that mildness, drifted down her body with the sort of hunger Yor had come to expect on quiet days, and date nights, and those few times Anya wasn't at home, or, god, every day, given half an opportunity, but prized in those times when they jealously protected set hours to spend alone together and inevitably —
His eyes narrowed as he lingered on the small bandage on her calf, before he lifted his gaze to hers once more. Something thick under his voice, he said evenly, “Thanks to you.”
Through the rising heat, Yor made herself think. Thanks to — ?
But — “Yor,” his voice fond. There was a whisper of the predator about him in the curve of a smile he gave her when she refocused on him. Her lips parted, blood thrilling in response. She knew that light in his eyes: assured, wicked, amused: warm with the intent of whatever he'd thought to do. He drew her in. Stomach tight, Yor found herself leaning forward in her seat, feet pressing into the floor. “If you come to bed with me tonight…” He extended a hand to help her to her feet. “I'm not going to let you come,” he promised easily, pulling her up, “Until you'll come so hard you feel me inside you for days.”
Her knees buckled, “I want that —” she gasped, clutching his hand for support.
He had been asking as much as telling; had she said no, he would have withdrawn. But that promise was exciting — they hadn't done anything like that before. Alongside No, they had other words in place if things needed to stop, slow down, change, and… Sliding her thighs together, Yor bit her lip. And. She suspected that, for some reason, he needed, needed to… She turned her face to look up at him —
Thought fled. Yor pressed up to her toes, sliding against his body as she skimmed her nails lightly over his scalp, urging him down into a kiss. He relented to her — she had expected something urgent, but where she was hungry, he was controlled. Where her fingers clenched in his hair, his hand cradled her head, guiding the turn of her head so he could direct the kiss — methodical, as his tongue stroked along the sensitive line of her inner lip the way she liked before delving deeper. His kiss was so practiced — she had meant to meet him in his strange mood, draw him out: instead each stroke of his tongue, the bruising press of his lips, the sounds he made that drew gasps, higher and higher, more and more, from her own throat —
Twilight kissed her so thoroughly she fumbled at him, yanked his tie looser, scrabbled at the buttons he hadn’t yet undone, needing — wanting — more of his skin —
His hands smoothed down her back as she worked. Then he took gentle hold of her shoulders. Only when he pressed her back, did she realise he'd also unzipped her dress, her dress billowing so her hands flew instinctively to keep it from slipping forward, cool air hitting the revealed skin of her back, a contrast to the heat left by his hands. She looked at him in shock, panting, her lips throbbing. It had been a little while since he'd been able to distract her such that she lost track of what he was doing. He knew it too: his mouth was red, damp, swollen from kissing, but his smile was softer than before, just the hint of something a little mischievous, pleased with himself.
He licked his lips — Yor swayed towards him — his voice was low, low, low, low, as he invited, “Take off your clothes,” and she swallowed, felt the words rumble deep in her core.
It was distracting — undressing side by side. Her breath caught again when he laid his tie out beside her pantyhose and from then on it truly was a challenge. She barely stopped the reach of her hands as he took off his waistcoat, his shirt. The familiar, intimate, erotic slide of his belt freed from its loops made her fingers slip from the hooks of her bra as though she hadn't ever taken one off before.
When finally she set her underwear on top of the haphazard pile of her other clothes, when she'd turned again, eyeing her stockings, his tie, lying on the bed in that specific way, Twilight stepped to her side, a wall of heat and a temptation of skin.
“I… don't want you to touch me,” Twilight said quietly. Yor stilled. They'd done that sort of play before: bindings or a game of who could resist touching for longer. Yor really liked both. But combined with Twilight's current mood… She thought maybe he could do with a little touch.
Yor hesitated. “Twilight…”
He turned his head, met her eyes fully, finally, crooked her a smile. She couldn't pinpoint exactly why, but the smile, it sent an ache to her chest.
“I want to focus on you,” he told her quietly, something slow and hot moving under his voice. His smile widened a little when she swallowed thickly, fingers trembling, and he moved to stand between her and the bed, blocking her view of his tie, her pantyhose. “I struggle to do that,” he admitted, leaning closer, almost touching his forehead to hers. His breath hot across her upper lip. “With your hands on me.”
“Twilight…” She didn't mean to kiss him again, she'd meant to — meant to have a conversation. But she was up again on her toes, her tongue drawing across his lips without her permission, her hand was at the back of his neck. Her breasts plumped between them, nipples dragging against the revealed skin of his chest, and she swallowed his ragged breath, sagged into him when his arm circled her waist, cinching her skin to skin, and he opened his mouth to her.
She was losing track — Twilight leaning down into her, his hands squeezing, gripping her ass and dragging her cunt to his pelvis — Yor wrapped her arms around his shoulders, a desperate sound loosed into his mouth to match his groan — sweat blossomed on her skin, his, heat rising — his cock between them, growing, stiff, and stiffer, and Yor — “Want you —” moaned into his mouth, rolling her hips as best she could when he kept her so tight to him, when she was up on her toes —
“Yor- please —” Twilight broke away.
“Sorry,” she gasped, shuddering as she put space between them, watched goosebumps rise on Twilight’s chest. He had just said he didn’t want her to touch him and she — “Sorry, I'm — I'm sorry — I—”
“I need—” Twilight stopped with a sharp exhale she almost missed, then: “I want to focus on you,” he said, again evenly. Twilight pressed his temple to hers, breathing hard in time with her, belying that evenness. “And I want you to focus on what I'm. How I’m making you feel.”
“The tie?” she guessed softly after a moment to clear her thoughts. “Blindfold?”
“Blindfold,” he confirmed.
Yor stared at her fingers touched just lightly to his chest; she couldn’t help herself. Twilight's chin smoothed against her forehead, his hands firm again on her hips, keeping them apart this time. Giving her time, space to think. I need, he'd said. That — it wasn't the first time but it wasn't often he said that before they started, before she had brought him to a certain point. Her heart was pounding, an echoing throb between her thighs. She was so, so curious — until you'll come so hard you feel me inside you for days— she wanted that, god, god, she wanted to try that so much. And — your hands on me — it was hard to think — but she was — she knew she wanted — so then, most important that Twilight was — but if, if he was —
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
No hesitation before he answered, “Yes.”
“Then yes,” she breathed.
She always liked watching Twilight do anything with his hands (or, well, she very much liked simply watching Twilight, full stop) but there was something particularly captivating about him doing this. He draped her pantyhose over his arm, taking hold of both of her hands. He drew them across her middle, bringing her wrists together — giving her a moment to adjust her arms to accommodate her breasts before asking, “Will this be all right?”
Keeping her wrists touching, Yor rolled her shoulders, moved her arms up over her head, down as low as they’d go kept tight like this, side to side to test range of motion. Then clutched her hands together; flexed her fingers wide.
“Yes,” she nodded, lightheaded, a spiral of giddiness brightening her voice.
“Mm,” Twilight acknowledged, then took up her pantyhose.
They'd had to work through the initial impulse, for both of them, that instinct to fight against or resist anyone trying to tie them up, tie them down. There were certain things she needed to do for him when she bound him. And when he bound her — Yor shivered, Twilight skimming her pantyhose over her wrists — so long as he narrated what he did, her instincts stayed dormant, her nerves had learned — anticipation instead of fear, excitement instead of reaction, the steady thrum of his voice raising the little hairs over her arms, the back of her neck, his matter-of-fact way of explaining, trust purred through her, the thrill of turning herself over to him, his promises —
“How's that?” he murmured.
Yor rotated her wrists, feeling the slight drag of the pantyhose on her skin. Tested it, the tightening as she tried to draw her wrists apart — “Mhm, comfortable,” she confirmed for him.
He insinuated a finger between her wrists, a little shock to the sensitive skin there, before pulling up on the bound stockings to lift her hands, “Open your hands,” he said softly. Yor obliged curiously, pressing her wrists together to alleviate some of the restriction of the pantyhose.
Twilight bent, pressed his face between her palms — all Yor could think of was his head between her legs, his stubble against her palms seeming to echo across her inner thighs and as he kissed the soft centre of each palm, her knees wobbled — he said warmly, “You’re being so patient, Yor,” his praise seemed to skim hot across her whole body, stretching her neck for some kind of relief, she bit her lip against a high whine, but he heard it, of course he did, glancing at her knowingly.
She didn't mean to, her chest heaving towards him on heavy breaths, suddenly overly aware of her breasts when he licked his lips from that bent angle, her nipples pulling tight, but Twilight ducked forward, damp heat of his mouth on one breast, then the other, Yor threw her head back, the kindling heat fanning to flame — his hand gripped her hip to steady her, his other, fingers drawing her chin down just enough for him to kiss her fast and hard —
She sucked in breaths when he broke away, a small relief as he went to retrieve his tie. She already felt slick between her thighs, her stomach tight, pressure low in her core — how could he draw this out — won’t let you come — she was already so wound up.
Yor resisted leaning back into him as he moved behind her, overly aware of his anatomy, generally, intimately, her mind's eye filling with possibility — His voice warmed her spine as he narrated blindfolding her — that wasn't necessary, but she liked his voice, liked to listen to him talking to her, and he knew that. The silk smoothed down her forehead, then slipped into place when she closed her eyes on his request, soft and smooth and cool from where it had been laying on the bed, the faint impression of his cologne reaching her nose as she forced herself to breathe normally —
Then he leaned forward as he made some minor adjustment, saying affectionately in her ear, “Clever of you to put your hair up,” and she was flooded with heat, arching her back, whimpering his name in weak protest.
He let out a slow breath and Yor's stomach swooped at the near-imperceptible shudder she heard. The warmth of his body behind her dissipated as he took a step back, the hotel floor creaking quietly. Quietly, he said, “Get on the bed, but stay sitting at the edge.”
She hesitated, knew the bed was close but couldn't see it. Twilight set his hands on her shoulders and turned her, urged her forward until her knees hit the mattress. Yor turned, sat, and waited.
She forced herself to keep her eyes closed under the tie, it wouldn’t help to try and peek through the slight gaps either side of her nose. And it would bother her eyes later, if she battled it now; best to train them. He was — as far as she could tell, Twilight wasn’t doing anything. She couldn’t hear anything, but she did know he was watching her. And that felt like something of a challenge, her lips twitching with a smile. It was a challenge she knew she would lose — Hyper aware that he was just out of her direct peripheral awareness but just as naked as she was, watching her, looking at her body — at the way she sat, knees together, back straight, hands held neatly, because it was easiest and most comfortable, but also because she didn’t know what else to do with herself — she wanted to put her hands on him, she wanted his hands on her — wanted to shift to relieve a bit of the anticipation readying her muscles, shifting under her skin, throbbing at her core, increasing wet between her thighs — Goddamnit… — she bit her lip but she was growing aware of how her breasts must look, framed almost by the brackets of her arms to her hands clasped in her lap, her nipples pulled stiff, areolas pebbling, breasts rising and falling faster and faster as her breathing cycled faster and faster and god, she didn’t know exactly where he was, only mostly from the direction of his attention but oh, oh god, would he come to her, if she reached out —
His name slipped from her lips and she did reach out. The sound of a step and his skin filled one palm, pressed against the knuckles of her other hand. She'd known he was naked, obviously, had felt him against her, the sweat slick of his skin against hers, his stomach warm on hers, his cock growing longer, stiffer, against her, between them as they kissed; and before that, she'd stolen glances as he stripped, watched the shift of muscle in his thigh, his ass. The stretch of his back, and tension of his shoulders. The sway of his dick. And she'd been so aware of the expanse of skin as he bound her hands. In that moment where he took hold of her chin and kissed her hard and quick before tying the blindfold over her eyes.
But it was something different, finding his hip, she realised, this way. She could imagine him so well, but just this one point of contact, how cool he was under her palm, skin soft and smooth except for a divot, a scar, there, just under the tip of her forefinger, she knew exactly the one —
Her mouth filled with saliva — she tipped her face up, started to drag her hands towards his abdomen — a muscle under her knuckle jumped and Yor swallowed hard — he said he wanted to focus on her but maybe he would ask her to —
“Spread your knees,” he said, drawing his body back out of reach instead, and another whimper stole from her lips. She complied, sending her clasped fists into the mattress just in front of herself for leverage, opening her legs.
The floor creaked again as she lifted her hands away, a wash of air breezing against her skin just before the sound of Twilight's knees hitting the floor. Yor gasped, reached out blindly again, but his hand found her two, and this time, he pressed her hands back, so she kept them clutched by her chest, cradled between her breasts. “Keep your hands there,” he directed. She nodded mutely, wished he would touch her breasts —
His hands closed on her hips, he pulled her closer to the edge of the bed. She didn't wobble, muscles instinctively tightening to stabilise, but she left her breath behind. Caught it again as he released her.
His hands found her knees. He pressed her legs wider, her toes pressing into the cool floor for balance— Yor couldn't help herself, breathing his name, hands clutching one another, and without any warning, his open mouth was on her cunt — She cried out, jolted, moaned, redoubling as his hands left her knees to graze her inner thighs until with fingers and thumbs, he framed her, spread her labia. He licked a long strip from her entrance up, flicking his tongue across her clit and Yor heaved —
She couldn't help it, reaching for him again — his mouth didn't stop, but Twilight gripped her wrists, pushed them back, kept them pinned to her chest between her breasts. Then he did that thing, had that way, hummed into her cunt and she felt that hum all the way to her finger tips. She arched back, flopping down onto the bed with an exaggerated complaint.
This was the fun part of being bound. They both knew that he would stop if she asked him to. Or that she could break free easily from her pantyhose if she wanted to. Or have him on his back in seconds. But she loved this — moaning, squirming under his mouth, his tongue, as his hand spread, explored up her stomach making her muscles twitch and jump, whispering fervent thanks when he finally palmed her breast — giving herself over to him.
And particularly tonight, when Twilight clearly had something he was working through. Yor knew well that sometimes it helped to start by working things out in the body, before trying to find the words. And she never, ever, forgot what it meant that Twilight chose to do so with her.
Squirming under his mouth, his hands, his stubble grazing her thighs, sensitizing her folds, Yor nearly clamped her legs shut on his head when Twilight drew his hand away from her breast — gasping, “Twilight — !” when his fingers slid inside, a teasing, not-quite-satisfying stretch that had her rolling her hips down onto his hand, gripping her own together — his fingers dragged down inside of her as he sucked on her clit—
Frustrating — she breathed hard, liked sinking her hands into his hair when he did this, tugging, but stretching her arms down — she couldn't quite — with her wrists bound, her legs hanging off the side of the bed, somehow all she could do was touch her fingers to his head — she did her best, lightly dragging at his scalp — a choked moan when he rumbled a wordless rebuke from his throat, vibrating around her clit as he worked.
He didn't stop her touching him but he did keep groaning and rumbling after that — deliberate, intent noises direct from his throat into her cunt, making her dizzy — she found enough leverage to roll her hips to meet the heat of his mouth, his tongue lapping — his fingers pumping, mostly good but not — not quite — why doesn’t he add another finger? — her shoulders strained as she reached, her head tipped back and her breasts jiggling as she moved, heavy on her arms, nipples aching for touch —
Her thighs shook — Twilight seemed somehow to bury his face deeper — she wished she could see him, his eyes watching her over the curve of her mound, her belly but she squeezed her eyes shut under the soft pressure of his tie — distantly she wondered why he was taking her this far, this close, she was close, he said he wouldn't let her, but her body was building to it, fluttering pressure low in her belly, only a little — little — little bit more and — it would be—a smaller one, a smaller orgasm, but she would, she would, she would —
He vanished.
Bereft, she gasped, twisted and squirmed, trying to find his mouth, his fingers —
Only belatedly she felt his hand on her knee, keeping her legs spread — knowing he was there — that was fine, she was okay — and it would be awkward but — if she raised her knees, curled in on herself — she could reach, still had her fingers — finish what he —
Her thought must have been obvious, because his other hand closed over the bindings on her wrists, lifting her arms away from her body so she couldn't touch.
Yor protested, but Twilight didn't let go.
She sucked in a breath, then another. One more.
Stretching her free leg relieved a bit of the strain, released a bit of tension. Her inner muscles tightened on nothing, the unsatisfied pulse of her clit —
She breathed through it. She breathed. And breathed. And wondered what Twilight saw, what he thought, as he watched her, and waited.
Once she felt more under control, the demand abated just enough, she exhaled slowly, shakily. Drew the toes of her free leg up the side of Twilight's knee, his thigh. Debated wrapping her leg around him to pull him against her —
But, he would counter her. Wrestling him was fun but not tonight. So she poked her big toe into the shapely dent in the side of his ass instead. Heard his soft exhale, the fond, amused sound he made that she had come to cherish deeply, and she let herself laugh, a little breathy, just a little, little bit wild. Set the flat of her foot against his hip, a little touch of affection, a little touch of defiance as she gave him a nudge. She loved when he made that sound.
“Yor,” he murmured, a shiver danced across her skin. He pulled her hands up and Yor had to round her shoulders to accommodate — she sighed when he gave damp kisses to her fingertips. “I'm going to let you go,” he said, breath skimming into the cup of her palms, the back of her hand, tickling the little hairs of her arm. She bit her lip. “No touching yourself when I do.”
She tried to swallow her complaint but wasn't very successful. Twilight hummed approvingly which made her moan softly, made her squirm, and he gently let her hands go, pulled his hand from her knee.
“Stay on your back and move higher on the bed,” he instructed as she listened to him move away. Inclining her head to follow the sounds of him walking, Yor planted her heels on the edge of the mattress, awkwardly shimmying up — This would be so much easier with my hands free, she lamented — only then — it was sort of fun, actually. The rumple of the blanket under her back, a little rough on her skin but in a way that was grounding rather than unpleasant. Yor stretched her arms over her head, liking the stretch in her sides and her belly, then she swung them, shoving the pillows out of the way.
She was about to ask how far she should go when something crinkled, then tore — her whole body was drawn taut at the tell-tale sounds of a condom wrapper. Her inner muscles clenched hard in anticipation, her mind’s eye played for her time after time after time after time she had watched Twilight efficiently roll a condom over the thick length of his cock, and she was suddenly very, very aware of how empty she was, of the cool air on the silky damp between her legs, up the inside of her thighs —
Her body remembered all the times Twilight had been between her thighs, his hips pressing her thighs wide as he moved, sinking into her, making her feel —
“Twilight —”
As though her groan drew him, his weight landed on the bed near her feet. His hands found her ankles and she let her legs go loose so he could move them as he would. She arched, hummed appreciatively, as he pulled her knees up to his hips, stroked his hands down her calves, calluses dragging against her skin setting off little sparks, drawing her ankles around his waist.
Yor's thighs tightened, she couldn't stop herself this time, tried to pull him closer. He yielded, breathed out that soft huff again, his hand landing on the mattress by her shoulder. His skin was so wonderful and hot against her thighs, her inner knees, calves; his abdomen, chest, radiated warmth as he braced above her.
She couldn't catch her breath.
She loved having sex like this.
She tried to reach for him again, but his other hand was gentle, smoothing over her triceps, encouraging her arms to lift, directing her bound hands over her head again. “Keep your hands there,” he murmured, breath breezing over her face and carrying her own scent. Twilight let go of her arm, his hand moving to lightly hold her side, fingers wrapped around her ribs, thumb just under her breast — Yor keened when he dropped suddenly, nosed between her cheek and her arm to mouth kisses to the tickly skin just below her ear.
Arching accomplished more this time — her breasts, brushing against his chest, nipples catching at the faint hair there. At her soft cry, his hand found her breast and Yor jerked, gasping, finally, finally — He dragged open mouthed kisses from her neck down her chest and as his fingers massaged one breast, Yor gulped in air, heat tightening her stomach — her whole body poised — as he panted over the other —
The tip of his tongue touched her nipple and she arched so far off the bed, she nearly threw him — his soft “Whoa — !” as he braced, followed by softer laugh that made her dizzy with affection bleeding into the whetted edge of her need — her own soft giggle was pulled into a high cry, Twilight suddenly lavishing attention to her breasts, deft fingers, hot, damp mouth, clever tongue, pushing nearly all thought from her mind.
Pulling at him with her calves, Twilight undulated against her in response, his cock hard in the seam of her thigh, not where she wanted but — they moved together — his mouth, hands, pelvis, making her a little wild, arms straining as she fought the instinct to bring her arms down to find him, her cheeks hot between her arms, the blindfold pulled taut, pressing at her eyes —
“Kiss, kiss me,” she begged. “Please — please kiss me —”
Twilight's mouth released her breast with a wet pop that pulled another whine from her throat and his mouth soothed the tail of it, his tongue between her lips, kissing her down into the mattress, then swallowing her moan as he guided his cock to press against her. It took all her willpower to keep her hands over her head, to tie her fingers in the bedsheet, grabbing desperate fistfuls instead of holding him, stroking her hands down his back —
He didn't fill her on the first stroke. Twilight rocked them together, filling her more and more and more, stretching her perfectly, rocking, rocking, letting her adjust.
Gasping into his throat, Yor pulled her knees higher, and Twilight swore under his breath, sinking deeper.
“God, Yor —”
“Mmmm…” Yor circled her hips so Twilight ground inside her. Her arms tightened either side of her head — of his head, pressed so close now. He nosed her elbow — Yor had never thought of her elbows as particularly erogenous but — he butterflied ticklish kisses to the inside of her arm and Yor lost herself to sensation, the slide of his abdomen, stomach, over hers, the pump and loss of his cock, as he started to move.
They found a leisurely rhythm — Yor was glad for that. She didn't think she could take faster just yet. Twilight's arms caged her, his body warm above hers, and when she whispered for him, he kissed her sweetly.
She hummed softly into his mouth when his hand skimmed down her ribs, her stomach muscles fluttering as his palm dragged down, down, abdomen jumping when his callouses caught on a little scar, and finally his fingers slipped between her folds, set to massaging her clit.
Breathing out as Twilight kissed the corner of her mouth, her jaw, she wanted so badly to wrap her arms around him, settling instead for nudging at his head until he raised it so she could kiss his jaw, his cheek, nosing into his hair, nibbling his earlobe, Yor melting into the rolling rhythm he set with hips and fingers, murmuring how good he was, how good she felt, Twilight's low groans pooling in the building pressure between them.
Burying his face, his breath damp, hot, in the bunched crook of her neck and shoulder, oversensitive with her hands over her head, she sensed the change — that undefinable moment when he reached that point — she knew, he would start thrusting faster, breathing harder, he would kiss her deeper and if her hands were free —
But — but he didn't change — he kept that same steady pace, meeting each rise of her hips with a deep, sure thrust — it was-his fingers — mmMM— that worked faster — "Oohhh keep-keep-that-doing that, Twiiii…" — her thighs trembled, the pressure from him - remembered him— on his knees- his mouth working her — and now-here- rocking together, building, his fingers — the pressure warmed, doubled — she was — getting closer, closer, so close, so close close close close — would he — let her — this time —?
His fingers moved quicker, harder, counter to that same steady pace of their thrusts and she — god, godGod — pressed her cheek tight to the side of his head still buried in the crook of her shoulder, the blindfold dragging damply between them — "Keep, pl-please keep," she whispered, rising on a cresting wave, "A lit-lit-little more—"
Twilight sucked lightly on her neck, Yor bucked — and —
And faster than she could follow in her chase of the crest, he did something to her knees that wouldn't normally have worked, broke the lock of her ankles at his back, pulled out of her entirely — was no where near her —
"Twilight," she gasped, yanking her arms from over her head to reach blindly — drawing her thighs close to relieve the ache just enough so she could rise to find him —
"No," he said gently, taking firm hold of her ankles, pulling her legs wide apart.
Her clit pulsing out demands that twitched her thighs, her cunt empty, clutching again around nothing, when she had just had him inside, and —
She missed him —
She could only twist, cling to that small point of touch, his strong hands and the way she could nearly feel the weight of his eyes on her skin as she writhed — not enough — her breath heaved, aware suddenly of the cool air touching her throat, her neck, her stomach, the damp curls over her cunt, throbbing, aching, where she'd had him just moments ago, her heart pounding and sore and she missed him and she needed him —
“Breathe, Yor,” Twilight told her, voice rough but tender, “I'm right here. You're taking this so well. Breathe.”
Telling her she was doing well — he knew what that would do — pure need swallowed her whole and Yor thrashed, keened loudly, Twilight's hands tightening on her ankles as she twisted.
But she was good at following instruction when she had to, and —
Breathe —
Breathe, Yor —
Breathe —
The need receded just enough. She wondered how much of a mess she was as Twilight watched her: Twilight was the only person Yor had always felt comfortable with watching her. She liked when he looked at her. God, what did he see now? She was spread, stretched, the front of her body tingling in the cool absence of Twilight's body over hers, but the hair at the back of her head rumpled against the blanket, back sweaty against the bed. But he — oh, god — he could look his fill of her. The way she moved, reached for him — and whatever, however her body coloured. There were little beating marks on her neck, her throat: was her skin rising for him? Or, spreading her legs like this, he could stare at her cunt, wet and plump for him — she groaned, pressing her hips down into the mattress — did he watch her do that, too? And he? She couldn't tell what he was feeling, how he was doing — was he anywhere near as ragged as she felt?
As though in answer, he dropped her ankles, taking her by surprise.
Her feet had only just touched the blanket when she felt his knee hit the mattress between her legs, a whoosh of air across her body as he leaned forward.
His hands closed tightly on her hips, and he dragged her back to the edge of the bed.
Her breath caught in her throat — if he was going to do next what she thought — god god god, she hoped —
Before she finished the thought, he scooped her legs up, against his chest, one arm pinning her calves by his shoulders, Yor already breathlessly chanting, “Please,” and “Yes —” gasping his name, when Twilight positioned himself and pushed deep inside as Yor arched to meet him, her ecstatic cry rebounding off the walls.
“Hands — over your — head—” Twilight muttered, setting a steady pace, faster than before. Yor complied immediately, trying desperately to rock her hips to meet him, moaning, biting her lip.
She loved this position most especially because she could watch Twilight, watch his thrusts undulate down his chest under her legs if their pace was slower, or the snap of his hips if they were moving fast, trace the shine of sweat on his skin with her eyes, the deep flush in his cheeks, his throat, the way his hair flicked as he fucked her. And more than anything — his eyes, his face, the way he would watch her, too. Sometimes he looked straight down, watching his cock moving in and out of her cunt, which worked her up in ways she hadn't reasoned out yet (why bother!) or watch his eyes traced up the flex and stretch of her her belly to the bounce and jiggle of her breasts, or the way she played with her breasts if her hands were free, up to her hot throat, her flushed face as she watched him back, hungrily, needily, trying to keep up with him, the emotion on his face careening her closer and closer.
But. She. It was a tiny torment that she couldn't see him now — only feel him pounding, pushing in and dragging out as he pulled back, the snap of his hips, the lurch of his shoulders under her calves as he kept her legs from bouncing too wildly only through that firm grip, his other hand keeping her from being pushed up the bed. He had said — focus on how I'm making you feel — she stretched her arms over her head, burying her hands in the blanket, twisting it, moaning, feeling — her legs like this meant the thrust of his cock was not as deep but the push was more,activating different muscles in her ass to accommodate her legs straight up, a jolting light pressure to her clit with her thighs like this and it— it— oh god, she really hadn’t noticed just exactly how he pushed into her this way — usually so captivated watching him — but she felt the intensity of his eyes watching her now — it was driving her wild —
“Twi-light,” she gasped, digging her hands into the mattress for leverage as he groaned, started moving faster. “T-tell me-what yo-you — oooooh yesyesYesYes —” the hand holding her feet dropped, her legs bouncing against his chest until she pressed her feet into his shoulders: his fingers massaged the plump folds of her cunt around her clit — just- just- just enough— pushing her closer — closer — “Please - please oh pleaseplease—”
“Fuckfuck —” His hand disappeared from her mound but as Yor protested vehemently, reaching for him, he drew her legs apart, one still at his shoulder but the other down to his hips and, “Wrap your — yes, god fuck, good Yor —” as she wrapped that leg around his waist, wailing under his praise. She yanked her wrists as wide as they could go, dropping them over her middle to dig her elbows into the mattress, pressing into the edges of her shoulders to arch her back, breasts spilling to the sides, Twilight's hands landed in the mattress, the new angle pushed her leg against his chest, stretching her hamstring —
She gasped, "Yes!" on every thrust, louder and louder —
But this angle — it was — god, good — very g-g— but her clit wasn't, he wasn't and — and even before he'd touched her—before— her legs together on his chest — flexed her foot, Twilight groaned — there was some some some — fuckfuck fuck — some pressure but now-none — and maybe if she, if she just, both knees, together, at this angle - then —
Shsh, she had to keep it to herself — gave it away — last— time and —
Yes — yesyesyesShShSh — she could — he was pounding pounding pounding — so close to the spot she needed but not — she could — god still — she was so close, so close, so close, if she could — her knees, then maybe she would — ah! At last and —
Now, god, close your knees, Yor —!
Twilight took firm hold of her knees and spread them wide, at the same time pulling out of her completely.
Yor bucked, leveraged her knees in his hands to lift her hips high off the bed, chasing him, writhing, hurled curses at him in frustration. If he hadn't been holding her knees, she would have slammed her foot against the bed frame. As it was, she was still tempted — only stopping herself for fear she might hurt him in wrenching free.
Still — breath heaving, her inner muscles clutched and clutched but nothing was there — her entire body strained to reach him —
“I want you I want you —” pleading instead, “Please please Twilight please I want you I want you —” But he only touched her with his hands to her knees, no relief to the demanding pressure deep in her core, keeping her spread, taut, on edge, and she couldn't see if he was affected, how she affected him, or even just the beloved curves and angles of his face, the beautiful depths of his eyes when he looked at her —
She whined, pushed into her shoulders to lift her hips high off the bed, twisting this way and that to try to ease — something — but it wasn’t — she slammed her clasped fists over her head but the angle was — wrong —
Yor slumped, forced herself to gasp, to breathe, to suck in air and exhale more slowly, breathe through the demands of her body, just as she had before.
It had been difficult before — “God,” she groaned as her body trembled, “Twilight —” complained from between grit teeth —
I'm not going to let you come, he'd promised her and she hadn't exactly understood he meant — this, this using his skills and his knowledge of her and his body — mmmmMM! A wave of lust rocked her, remembering, imagining — using his body like this, taking her to the edge again and again and again until — until —
Ah, god! In positions she loved loved loved, her body taut and thrumming in that way sex with Twilight always made her thrum, feeling the pressure of unsatisfied release absolutely everywhere — this was — if she'd known what he meant — yesyesyesyesyes! — she may have, have — no— there was nothing she would do differently — desperate, she felt so so so so confusingly good in all that desperation for him and for him to, to let her —
The silk of his tie slid across her eyes as she thrashed, a faint whiff of his cologne filling her nose and —
Much more of this and — it's the game, Yor — she was ready to crawl out of her skin! — a few more breaths — a handful of groaned curses — and- it was — nearly tolerable — her cunt, still throbbing, still empty, again untouched, felt so plump — he kept her so wide — if only she could close her legs — dull the edge — she whined, “Hooow? How did you know?”
Twilight was silent for a beat — long enough that Yor finally heard what she had missed. He was panting. Quietly, still with some measure of control. But she knew that sound very well; should have realised from the way he'd hauled her to the edge of the bed, then that sudden change, her leg around his waist instead, the urgent snap of his hips but she had been lost to it — but! But Twilight was himself on the very edge of his own control —
Knowing that… Yor hummed quietly, tried to ease her body to sink against the mattress, rotated her ankles, let her legs hang heavy in his hold… It smoothed the jagged edge off her frustration, that he was frustrated, too.
Only slightly, though. If he so much as breathed on her clit, she thought she might snap, tear her pantyhose, throw him to the bed, and —
“You telegraphed,” he said, voice gravelly.
“Oh, fuck,” she groaned, that gravel dragging all the way up her spine, making her moan and writhe with wanting all over again.
Some part of her was chanting, wants it too he wants it too —
“How?!” she demanded instead.
He moved, maneuvered her legs so her feet touched the ground and kept her legs spread by pressing his thighs to her knees as he smoothed his palms up her inner thighs, trailing a liquid heat that stopped just before where she wanted to be touched most. She arched, pushed her hips down, angled her cunt — if he'd even just cup —
His hands stayed exactly where they were —
Goddamnit —
He left his palms flat, building heat in her skin under his, even as she squirmed and twisted her fingers into the comforter, squeezed her arms around her head, her heart pounding. She still couldn't see him, the silk of his tie damp at her temples, but as before, she knew he was watching her, could imagine the look on his face, a dozen possible expressions, all of them —
“Twilight —” she ground out.
“I'll tell you later,” he murmured. She'd forgotten she'd asked a question, mind clamouring, touch me touch me touch me! But his voice — she heard it again — the needy thread of his own want buried under his calm tones. “I want you,” she whispered fervently, moaning again despite herself. “Please, oh please— let me have you — Twilight —”
One of his hands left her thigh and her breath caught — she bucked, his hot palm landing flat on her abdomen cool with sweat, she surged under that point of touch, goosebumps flourishing out across her skin, pebbling her breasts, pulling her nipples tight, all over again. But he gently urged her flat to the bed once more, Yor made herself docile, baited, heavy breaths that he might stroke his hand down —
He dragged his hand across and Yor arched in protest, twisted trying to — she didn't know what. He kept denying her — that was the point, she knew she knew — but he’d never denied her before, not like this, she hadn’t known it could be like this, and god — Her whole body, all of her attention, was fixated on that point of touch, primed. His hand wrapped around her waist, the heel of his thumb holding at her hip bone, fingers digging tenderly into her back. Yor bit her tongue to keep from begging. Another whine did escape her. He could — he could take hold of her waist, like this, hold her steady and fill her over and over and over and over and over —
She was panting again when finally he said, a rasp to his voice that she felt scrape across every sensitised part of her body, “Will you get on all fours for me, Yor?”
Fuck — Would she? She loved that, too! He would be so, so deep — that spot he hadn’t quite hit before — and if his rhythm was — “Twi-liiiight,” she groaned in assent, vibrating, and the sound he made in response flooded molten throughout her entire body, pressing her hips into the mattress, her back leaving the bed. She was so wanting at this point that she'd have done nearly anything he asked.
“Which way will you roll?” Twilight asked raggedly. Plunged once more into awareness that he was watching her, Yor shuddered. Answered with a flex of her hips and with his hand still on her waist, Twilight helped her turn.
Was it help? His other hand landed on her other side, holding her so firmly, applying pressure to help lift her hips — he sucked a kiss on one round of her ass when her knees found the mattress and Yor's whole body lurched, the brief damp heat gone cool, pulsing in rhythm with the renewed urgent clench of her inner muscles, aware again of the silky slick on her thighs. His thumbs pressed circles into the tight muscles of her lower back and Yor's arms nearly gave out as she pushed them forwards —
“Crawl further onto the bed, Yor,” came Twilight's voice raw behind her.
She groaned, did as he directed, his hands pushing. Her senses overly aware of the depression of the mattress by her feet, the creak of the bed, as he followed her up.
He was driving her out of her mind —
Less threat than a last attempt at persuasion, Yor planted her elbows, gasped, “If you don't —” she stuttered, for a beat lost all thought, as Twilight's cock prodded her thigh, then pinned between her ass and his abdomen, his knees slotting between hers — “Soon, I'll…”
Twilight's hands tightened, in the way that, that meant, when he was, was going to, to —
“Mmm, Yor?” Came his voice, breathless, curious, behind her. One hand stayed strong on her waist, his other dragged up her side, up to her ribs — “What will you do?”
There was something so fond under the raggedness of his voice, and the warm tease in the question was a lifeline to clarity. The humour fizzled under her skin, and despite herself, “Heheheeee…” her laugh strumming through the spiralling, urgent tension in her body, “I — I would —” she gasped, pressed down into his hand as he palmed her breast, he squeezed — “Break my — rip the — pa-pan-please keep —” his fingers on her nipple, somehow torment and relief both — “Rip the — pantyhose —” she strained against them but not enough to rip, just enough that they creaked — “And throw-o-o-o you to the bed —”
“And then?” Somehow sounding polite despite the breathy rasp of his voice.
“God — ruh-ruh-ride you until-until—”
“Until, you… finally… come,” he finished for her, voice low, still teasing through his panting, breath hitting the back of her neck. She couldn't speak — buried her face in the comforter, her hands twisting hungrily over her head.
“But you're staying like this for me… Trusting me,” his voice so warm, so dark, so deep, it seemed to draw from the soles of his feet or maybe deeper, the ancient soil beneath the city.
“Do you want me fast, Yor?” Her groan vibrated her teeth as she nodded, comforter hot on her face, his chest leaning over her back radiating warmth. Rounding her back, Yor pressed into his stomach and Twilight didn't immediately move away, his skin slid on hers, both slick with sweat. He rumbled, “Deep?” She keened, wriggled under, against him, his fingers rolling her nipple, drawing a taut, taut, taut line between her breasts and her core. His hips tight to her backside, she ground back, his cock hard, insistent, between them. His breath hit her spine just before his mouth did, teeth dragging down between her shoulder blades, Yor threw her head back as he kissed down, she couldn't describe the sound she made when he husked, “I'm going to make you forget my name.”
Breathless, scandalised, “Never,” she insisted. “Never never forget —”
She whined as he released her breast, gulped as his hand tightened on her waist, leveraging himself back up behind her.
What was I saying? Important —
His hands smoothed from her lower back to her hips, over her ass. Quietly, “Widen your knees,” directed Twilight —
Name —! “Never forget,” she gasped earnestly, hurrying to spread her legs, quivering, anticipating, “Your name —” His hand landed on her waist again and she shuddered hard, imagining he must be taking hold of his cock with his other — yes, there, the press of the head at her entrance and — “Twilight —”
“Yor,” Twilight thrust, Yor cried in sweet relief as he filled her completely, his hips snapping against her ass, seating himself in one stroke.
But — He didn't move — Yor tried to pull away but his hands clamped on her waist again, keeping her in place. He rotated his hips, grinding, dragging. Yor sucked in sharp breaths, taking fists of the blanket.
“Was going,” Twilight panted, one hand moving to the base of her spine. “To be slow,” he told her, heel of his palm massaging that spot, cock thick and deep, new pressure rolling into the tight, layered, need deep in her core — “But I think —” he finally pulled out and Yor moaned, “— I can't —” he thrust into her again. Yor rolled her head back.
“Not —” she choked, “Not — slow —”
Despite what she said — what he said — his next thrust — Yor quivered as he slid inch… by inch… by inch… and he had been inside her how many times today? These last months? Yet all her attention focused in — on each… slow… inch… pushing, stretching, dragging along, her inner muscles, filling her more… and more… and more… Until —
“No,” she breathed, her eyes prickling as he pulled out, slow and slow and slow, leaving her quaking, wanting him back —
“Fuck, Yor,” Twilight groaned (yes please, Yor thought deliriously, fuck Yor fuck Yor!) Twilight stroked into her again, faster than before, still not fast enough — his hands opened, clutched at her sides, closed tight — “I have — I have to — Yor —”
“GoGoGoGo —” she tried but Twilight stole her voice. Two hands gripping her waist, he tugged her sharply back, and finally — he didn’t stop, didn’t slow! — she cried on each thrust, louder and louder, Twilight filling her again again again again again!
Twilight panted behind her, muttered once YorCan’t— but biting the blanket to keep from screaming, she was too far gone to make sense of it, dizzy, desperate, couldn’t do more than take him, shove back to meet his every thrust, extant pressure growing, building, nearly overwhelming, trembling through her veins, driving thought out of her head —
He set his hand to her lower back, pressed down, fucking her deeper at the new angle, feeling him everywhere, just as fast, knocking the air from her lungs, driving her into the mattress, and finally — Finally! Hitting the spot she needed on- every- single- stroke. The blindfold pressed damp silk to her eyelids, his cologne faint in the back of her throat, breasts forced to the mattress with every rough thrust, she was — was — she was so — so so so so so ! — his hand tight on her waist, bruising, and she, she, she, she, god, she - ahAh! - loved — but she — she needed — needed — couldn't do it, her bound hands twisting the blanket uselessly — begged — he pounded hard from behind, cock hitting that that that p-perfect spotevery every time - but not enough, not enough, so close but desperate, pleading — his hand moved, fingers on her clit and — ah-Ah-Ah! — shewas shewas shewas —pleasePleasepleasePLEASEPLEASEPLEA —
Pleasure lashed out from her core as orgasm shook her apart, loosing the scream from her throat —
And Twilight — TwilightTwilightTwilight — didn't stop, didn't pause, working her clit, grinding deep, unyielding, unrelenting, her cunt squeezing, clutching his cock, wanting him there at her core through wave after wave after wave after wave, until she sobbed relief, her mind going white.
Awareness returned, floating and cloudy, as Twilight juddered behind her with desperate short thrusts, he grunted and gasped and shook, his cock pulsing deep inside as his own orgasm took him, and something about it, about those choked sounds he made — with some tendril of awareness, Yor wished she could take his hand gripping her waist.
Through the haze in her mind, she remembered Twilight at her knees, his head down, tending to her —
Behind her Twilight slowed. Then he stopped. Then he quieted. After a moment where the only sounds were Yor and Twilight breathing heavily, one or two abrupt aborted thrusts, before finally he passed his hand gently down her back, stroking over the round of her bum, letting her go. Boneless and light, Yor squirmed when he murmured something she couldn't hear, pulling out of her as an aftershock rolled through her, drawing a shocked croak from her throat. Slumping with a low, satisfied hum as it passed, Yor vaguely registered the shift in the mattress as Twilight got off the bed, the sounds of him moving away to deal with the condom.
As the tap sounded in the bathroom, Yor vaguely aware he must be cleaning himself, she’d do that, too, but later — for now, wriggled lazily forward instead, lying down fully, stretching her legs out, half on her front, face pressed into the comforter. Twilight landed beside her on the mattress, Yor clumsily pushed his damp tie up with the heels of her palms. Met his hooded, glazed eyes, as he laid on his side facing her. He was a flushed wreck and so, so stunningly beautiful — tender fondness welled up, spilled from her equally tender heart to press against her sensitised skin, fill her dry throat, prick her eyes —
"Kiss?" she whispered, "Please?"
A little bit of haze cleared from his eyes with a blink, softening to affection and just enough awareness for him to lean across to her, a quick, damp, rare clumsy press of lips.
"Thank," she managed, "Twi… light…" closing her eyes, just for a moment. Another aftershock tumbled through her, making her shiver, stealing a soft sound from her lips.
Twilight hummed, his hand landing on her waist again — it was almost too much, she was so sensitive, still almost feeling full with Twilight, plump at her core, the impression of his fingers gripping her waist, the guiding pressure of his palms, insistence of his fingers as he'd finally taken her over the edge — for so long — but she grasped his forearm between her hands when he breathed apology and went to pull away. It was awkward — she hadn't realised how damp her pantyhose had become with sweat, making them less forgiving, her arms at an uncomfortable angle. Still, that was a problem for a few minutes from now, when these — ngh, mmmmm — aftershocks stopped, when her bones came back, when she could open her eyes again. Or when Twilight recovered. Whichever happened first.
Yor sighed. Some wordless rumble was Twilight's response.
She laid there side by side with Twilight, his hand on her waist, her fingers around his arm, and together, they slowly returned to themselves.
Eventually, Twilight stirred first. When he did, Yor roused herself reluctantly, too. Wiggled her fingers, tapping lightly on his arm, and he jolted, reaching for the pantyhose. “Oh, Yor. I'm sorry,” he said, voice rough and tones a little raw. Nimble regardless, he undid the knot quickly, releasing her wrists and tossing the pantyhose aside. Massaging her wrists with gentle, careful hands, he murmured, “I don't know. What. Came over me.”
Usually they discussed bindings first — that was, at least a few hours in advance of doing it. And games like the one they’d done, that was typically a longer conversation ahead of time. But she was struggling to feel anything other than deeply, deeply, deeply satisfied. Also, thirsty.
Shaking her head to show it was fine, she was fine, Yor was content to leave it at that —
But — No, Yor, that's the fog of orgasm… Mmm… No, focus. She gave herself a little shake. If she didn't say anything, Twilight would start to overthink and worry, more than he already seemed to be, and she wanted him relaxed, too. She remembered, at the edges of her mind, thinking there was something… something he was working through. And she wanted to help him. But she still… couldn’t quite bring her thoughts together.
Body first. Rolling her wrists, flexing them, wiggled and stretched her fingers again to test blood flow. It wasn't bad at all though; Twilight knew well how to bind someone and specifically how to bind her. Probably the awkward angle she’d been lying in had done more to cut off flow, and it was all the gripping of the blankets that made her fingers a bit stiff.
“Do you want some water?” Twilight asked quietly, turning away to reach for one of the glasses on the side table when she nodded. With a sigh, she lifted herself onto her elbow just enough to be able to sip, and — oh, even the tepid water she’d poured earlier was delicious. With a fortifying inhale, she dragged herself to sitting, drew another breath, the cool air on her throat and chest and stomach felt especially lovely after the close heat of the blanket. A soft sigh, and Yor also dragged herself from bed, legs a little wobbly, knees a little weak, on her way to use the toilet.
Her mind began to clear as she washed her hands, splashed her face, dampened a face cloth with cool water to pass between her thighs. She'd forgotten her glass, so cupped her hands and drank a little more, the cool soothing down her throat.
Glancing in the mirror — mmmm — she was still a little flushed, rumpled along her cheek from the blanket, and her eyes shone, still somewhat glazed. She hadn't realised at the time but Twilight had left lovebites on her neck, her chest, her breasts. There were a couple on her thigh she didn’t remember at all. She lifted her arms curiously — yes, on her left tricep, aaand her right one too, harder to see on her inner elbow. How cute!she hummed to herself. And her hair. Huh. Her bun was still mostly intact, though it had shifted, leaning to one side, and a few tendrils loosed down her back from where it had come undone against the mattress, she supposed; her bangs flew everywhere. She debated fixing everything… Then decided against, only tousling her bangs back into place (mostly, sort of). She looked wonderfully wrecked too, and it made her feel warm and glowing to see it, and really Twilight should get to enjoy that as well, since he was the one who wrecked her.
“Don't apologise,” she answered him, gliding back into the room on light feet, slipping back onto the bed beside him, sitting, tucking her feet near her thighs. There was a lingering soft throb in her core, she noticed, sitting like this. “I feel really good,” she told him happily, more and more aware of the pleasant languor radiating to warm her heart and skim through her limbs. He was lying on his back, his fingers pressed into his eyes, elbows high in the air. But he lowered his hands as she spoke, turned his head to her. Stretching her arms out in front of her, then out by her sides to shake them loose, she smiled sunnily at him when he met her eyes. “And it was a lot of fun,” she added, rolling her shoulders.
Twilight stared at her for a moment, then his eyes finally moved, and she felt herself flushing as he took in her hair, her neck, her breasts and belly, she nearly raised her arms to show him the marks he'd left there, but his eyes, warmer now, still a little wary but also with something pleased and maybe even proud, swept back up to meet her gaze. The corner of his mouth tugged up into a smile. “You always think it's fun.”
“That's not true, there was that one time —”
“The one time,” Twilight conceded. Though Yor did have to admit that in that case they'd tried something it turned out neither of them particularly enjoyed. So… “But we've probably had sex at least,” he paused, looking off to the side. She could practically see on his face as he ran the fast calculation in his head, the gratification first, then the moment he decided he felt a bit smug about the number: so did she, come to that, without even knowing the specific. He cleared his throat, “At least a couple of hundred times since then. And we'd had sex dozens of times before that.”
“Teehee! Well, I really like having sex with you,” Yor told him warmly. Then when he dropped his eyes to look at her again, she forced her expression into a mock frown. “Why, are you saying you don't?”
A single beat of worry crossed his features and he lifted his head in alarm, until he looked at her more closely. Seeing she was teasing, Twilight huffed, dropping his head back and covered his eyes with his arm.
Yor bit her lip. Oh, after being denied, she really wanted to look her fill. His hair flew in all directions above his arm, a few pieces sticking to his brow, her fingers twitched to brush them loose. She could only just see the tip of his nose, but the angles of his jaw, the throb of his Adam's apple… Yor sighed. And his arms really were very beautiful, the shaped musculature just under his skin. Even his armpit was beautifully shaped, the hair darkening almost artfully there. One of his hands was hidden from her, and she could only see part of the other, in a loose fist by his side — but she lingered on his defined forearm, the knobble of his wrist, hills and valleys of his knuckles. She was sorry she couldn't see his long fingers… And his torso — lean, firm lines, inviting contours, familiar scars she had learned thoroughly and had such a complicated relationship with. The gentle slope of his abdomen, his pelvic muscles creating a vee guiding her to his lovely penis, soft now but still flushed a little pink. Were his mood different, she might have followed through on impulse, dropping a light kiss to his sack, shaft and head, each with heartfelt thanks. Another time. And she hadn’t even looked at his legs yet! Strong, powerful thighs. The loveliest knees she had ever seen. Shapely calves — she had seen him in heels once when he was undercover and hadn’t been able to forget how gorgeous his calves were, his ankles. And his feet! Oooh, every part of him.
Her hands were also itching for him though. All the wanting to touch, and not being able to — And really, she liked looking at any part of him, including the back of his head. The back of his neck was one of her favourite spots to kiss! It often made him shiver—
Focus, Yor — They needed to talk so she really should stop letting herself get distracted… Best to remove temptation, she thought with a firm nod to herself.
She leaned forward, stroking her hand up his chest, relishing his cool skin under her palm, her fingertips, the dusting of hair, the firm muscle, occasional bump of scar tissue, the heat and round of his shoulder as she slid down to lie beside him. She bumped her nose into the back of his arm, still raised to cover his eyes and feeling as though he were essentially presenting it to her. Though she liked better when he dropped it to stroke her head — or, poke her bun first by accident, and then stroke the back of her head, down her upper back. She wriggled around, jostling him gently, playfully, the touch and tug of his skin so sweet against hers, until he complied with a soft grunt of assent, rolling to his side away from her so she could cuddle up around him from behind as she wished, insinuating her arm under his side to curl up across his chest.
She loved holding him this way, and she did also sometimes wish she was taller. Either she could feather kisses to the nape of his neck, bury her face in his hair, whisper in his ear, or she could fit up tightly against him, his bum slotting into the fold of her waist, her thighs tight to his, knees tucked nearly into his, face at the perfect level for nuzzling between his shoulders blades but no higher. It was one or the other, not both.
She opted for access to his head and neck: and most importantly (!) his ears. When Twilight held her this way, he didn't have any of these problems, didn't have to make that choice. Lucky.
The bed was rather enormous, as their cover required some sort of ridiculous, anonymous-ish flaunting of wealth, and they'd ended up close to one side, leaving plenty of space on the other side. Yor flailed behind her, trying to capture the comforter edge to pull it over them. It landed across them with a whoomph, a damp spot touching her hip, another at her foot, making her flush with memory.
Nuzzling the nape of his neck, dusting a kiss to the soft skin there because finally she could, then kissing more forcefully because finally she could, giddy with the sensation of his shiver skidding across Yor's front, the inside of her arm across his chest — stealing a little lick of his skin that pulled a curious sound from his throat — Yor relished the spark of salty dried sweat blooming well-known on her tongue.
Wrapping her other arm around his waist, she sighed, finally figuring out how to navigate the next part of the conversation. Yor whispered, “I really did enjoy myself, Twilight. But…” she bit her lip, a little worried she should have said no at the start not that pieces were sort of starting to fall into place. Choice was important to them both. He also could have stopped things, of course, any time, but stopping things he didn't like or didn't want to do was still sometimes complicated for him, an option he forgot he had. Yor tried fiercely to ensure Twilight always remembered that choice, never did anything with her that he didn't choose. Most especially in bed. But… She may have missed something tonight, and so, “Did… didn't you?”
“Oh, yes I did,” his voice dropping into an honest hum that squeezed her core pleasantly even as she sighed in relief. When he spoke again, his voice turned gentle, “Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you about that.”
Shaking her head such that her chin bumped the round at the top of his spine so he would feel it, Yor whispered, “So then… What happened?”
Twilight was silent for a long time. She knew the tenors of his silences now, and so Yor took advantage of his contemplation to have a good long stretch of her legs under the growing cosiness of the comforter. Rotate her hips, her ankles, point and flex her feet, before wriggling a little to position her thighs as closely as possible to Twilight’s, even if it was a little awkward. She debated hooking her chin over his shoulder, but opted for a little space between them there instead — particularly as there wasn't much between them from her breasts down, excepting where she didn't quite match up with the bends in the long lines of his body.
“When you intervened earlier,” he began slowly. His voice was a studied neutral, as though he were giving a situation report. She supposed it sort of was a situation report, as she refocused, training her eyes intently on the back of his head, the dear muss of his hair above his undercut. “I thought you were going to die.” Pause. “And.” Silence.
Yor waited. When no further words seemed to be coming, she wrapped her arms more tightly around him and asked quietly, “It frightened you?”
“… I was frantic,” he admitted quietly, his hand tracing up her arm to grip her hand against his chest.
Yor hummed softly. Bowed her head to touch her forehead to his spine. She closed her eyes, heart squeezing sympathy.
He wouldn't like that. Feeling frantic. She'd known she had everything under control, but thinking back, there may have been a few moments when Twilight lost sight of her… She eased her palms against his chest, his stomach. Let the confession sit. Gave it room.
“You use your body. When you — do something like that,” Twilight murmured, in the semi-distracted sort of way. It was a tone of voice she was learning, since he’d started working things through out loud with her sometimes. He went on, still a little absent, “You're in the literal line of fire. Your body is in the literal line of fire… You.”
With a soft sound in her throat, she protested, lifting her head. “I don't think there's too much difference,” she said gently, “When you consider the most wanted spy in Ostania, living his life under constant threat of arrest.”
“It isn't the same,” Twilight countered, focus sharpened again and voice too even, too neutral. “If they know who I am, I'll be taken alive. There would be a chance I could talk my way out, escape, or that I would be rescued whether through negotiated trade or force.” In fact, if Yor was alive when he was taken, she would ensure his rescue. She kept that to herself, however. “If you were severely wounded on assignment and I wasn't there,” he stopped abruptly. He didn't make a sound but his chest heaved under her hands.
“Garden does have a dedicated team who are sent if assassins don't check in within a predetermined period,” Yor reminded him carefully. “And I'm very well trained in first aid. Remember the Gustav assignment?” Yor dragged their twined fingers to the thin scar on his left pec, proof positive of her skill. Then she sighed. It was true, though, that their preferred styles of combat were different. She felt… wrong, being at a distance from her targets or opponents if it were possible to be closer. Whereas Twilight preferred that distance whenever possible. “I'm sorry, I'm not trying to argue with you,” she said softly. “I'm… terrified for you, too.”
“You threw yourself in front of me,” he snapped, suddenly angry. His hand tightening on hers. “You shoved me out of the away! I heard their weapons and when I looked back I couldn't see you. I. I know now what happened. But in that moment. Yor.” He reached down, pulled her leg up over his hip and unerringly set his fingers to the small bandage, a delicate pressure set to the nick he’d tended earlier. Breathing heavily, “It's your body. It's you.” Harshly, “You can't die for me.”
Oh, she thought.
Those promises… Feeling him inside me long after he was gone… Forgetting his name… Dimly she thought she remembered he’d said Yor can’t at one point but she wasn’t entirely sure…
Was this, could this be the first time she had stepped in to protect him so directly…? Perhaps it was… they'd done, hm, perhaps two dozen higher risk assignments together, countless training exercises, but she couldn't remember a time he'd been as vulnerable as earlier tonight. Not since — she breathed out slowly over the sweet ache of memory — not since their first date, just before they got married, that man with the knife she had kicked across the alley. Twilight had laughed and…
She bowed her head, touched her the top of her head to the curve of his neck. His fingers tapped lightly on the bandage before he breathed out forcefully, let her leg go, and Yor slid it back into place behind him. Twilight didn’t pull his hand away, instead finding her lower back, pulling her abdomen flush against his back, leaving his hand there.
Truthfully she’d forgotten about the nick entirely — probably wouldn’t have remembered at all until she saw it again. But clearly it loomed large in his thoughts, and it sounded as though this was the first time he was considering… any of this. That was likely bothering him, as well, but Yor understood it for the regard it was: for her, for her skill and for her profession. And for those same reasons… she didn't have anything to say to erase his fears; there was nothing he didn't already know. There was no way for her to make promises: they would both know them for lies. There had been enough of those.
So… as they'd learned together, better the truth between them. She lifted her head.
“I don't want to die,” she told him, simultaneous gentle and firm, thinking it best to make that absolutely clear. Twilight shifted in her hold — but he didn’t relax. Though nor did he tense further. Which was… Something. She went on slowly, “And I don’t believe in… hating my opponent.” Considered. “Or, hmm, they are very awful people. Certainly anyone trying to hurt you is someone I will stop.” Her hand curled itself into a fist against his stomach, and with a heavy breath out, watching it stir his hair, Yor forced her hand flat again. Forced herself to notice his skin, mostly smooth, under her palm, the rise and fall of his belly in time with his breath, more controlled than it had been. She went on softly, “But I never hate them. Even if they point weapons at me. That's only fair, isn't it? But… I can't say I'm never afraid.” Twilight's hands tightened — the one twined with hers, the one still at her back, his fingers pressing hard into her skin. “I've never felt more right in my work though,” she murmured, leaning a little forward so her lips brushed the back of his neck, his skin soft on her lips, his scent filling her nose, her mouth, “Than when I use my skills to defend… to protect you.”
“Yor —”
“That isn't to say anything about my other assignments, or my, my motivations. Like we've… We've talked about that. I've always understood the work as noble. But Twilight… You… you know what I do, no one else I love knows. I'll never regret starting it for Yuri, but it's different, isn't it? He can't know, I can't, I can't tell him. Anya knows too but it's, it's abstract, god, I hope it's still abstract. And I, I also hope more than anything that she'll never truly understand… But you know. You understand and, and you accept —” Eyes burning, she pressed her cheek into his strong shoulder. Twilight murmured her name, leaned briefly back into her hold. Reassurance. “You- you make it worthwhile in a different way. In a way that I… I never imagined… And I.”
It had felt hollow before. Necessary and important and valuable but hollow… Something she did for others that never really touched her, and that she herself never really touched. But with Twilight knowing, accepting, it brought the work closer and —
She swallowed around a lump in her throat, squeezing her eyes shut. Now, sometimes the beautiful world she worked to protect felt like it might be her world too. Might be their world. It had never, ever felt that way before. Her voice was thick, “As long as we work together, as long as… as long as we are together, in whatever way I can, I won't ever, ever, ever stop protecting you. I. I keep you safe.”
He shuddered in her hold.
Yor thought the next breath he drew sounded damp.
For a few moments, they both breathed together.
Then something flowed into his body, she could practically hear his thoughts beginning to turn —
“And if you think leaving will stop me, it won't.” It was half irrational fear but also — She squeezed him a little tighter, mindful of the limits of her strength, limits they had worked out together when they started being with one another in this way. “I would. For Anya and for m, me, too. I would find you.” She wouldn't, they both knew, if Twilight really wanted to disappear that she would never find him. But they also both knew she would never stop looking, so perhaps it evened out in the end. And that meant, in a way, that she wasn’t lying when she insisted, “I, I would. And then I'd keep protecting you whether you liked it or not.”
“I wouldn't leave you,” he told her quietly. “Either of you. Ever.”
Yor poked a finger into his shoulder, still keeping a tight grip on his hand. “Don't sound so down about that!” she laughed wetly.
“I'm not,” he said jostling his shoulder back to bump hers. “Not… I'm not.”
“Loving Anya, loving me, and letting us love you, Twilight, has made you stronger, you know.” Sincere and teasing and aching and tender and lighter-heavier in the confusing, complicated, relieving way of shared burdens. “Smarter, too… Quicker. More creative.” She paused, thought, wanted to bring a little levity, if only for a breath. “Oooh, and more and more handsome. Hehe —”
“More handsome,” he repeated lowly, skeptically, then huffed softly, like she'd hoped he would. And she could hear the way he was flattered, too, albeit reluctantly. “Is that so?”
“Mhm.” She kissed his neck again, smiled at that reflexive shiver of his that was only hers. Then she swallowed. “But mostly…” Yor drew a slow breath, bit her lip. “Happier,” she whispered, a nervous tremor in her heart. “I, I think.”
The crux of the issue was, though, that it might not be enough. If it was too painful for him, if he felt the risk was too great, then… His happiness was —
“I am happier,” Twilight breathed. Tension loosened in her chest, she sighed in relief. Then Twilight added seriously, “And I would never leave.” Yor drew nose up the back of his neck, kissed the round at the top of his spine again, to show that she knew. His breath hitched a little, before he asked softly, “Are… are you? Happier?”
She inhaled deeply, trying to open up, relieve a bit of the way her chest was suddenly full to bursting, and on exhale, she snuggled against him. “I am. I am so much happier, Twilight.”
“That's good.” Twilight's shoulders eased before her eyes, her hands sinking with him as he let out a slow breath. “Happier,” he said reflectively, slowly, “Also more frightened. Mm. Differently frightened?” He released her hand, passed it down over his face before linking their fingers together again. “When it was just me, I knew, distantly, that it was bad. With my anxiety, stomach aches. Stress dreams, nightmares. Barely any sleep. The rare dizzy spell. All things you're aware I struggle with. Indicators, I now understand, of chronic stress and almost certainly PTSD. I didn't consider that important, though. There was work to do and I was the only one I trusted to do it.” He paused, but Yor accepted that declaration. She knew the foolhardiness of arrogance; how many of her opponents met their end still believing it impossible? Twilight wasn't arrogant. Though she did suspect he wasn't truly the only one, but that was a topic for another time. When she didn't comment, he went on, “I've only realised recently how scared I've been… well. Since my mother died. Perhaps earlier. But with you, loving you,” he amended softly, “And Anya… I… You’re right, Yor. You were teasing —” Guessing he was referencing her earlier list, Yor protested in her throat, and she heard his slight smile as he insisted, “You were teasing, but you were also right. I am, my life is, better, immeasurably.” His breath shook, just barely but Yor felt it, heard it, being so close. “And also. I. … It's…”
Yor held him as he trailed away, closed her eyes prickling anew, and concentrated on the heat of his skin and contour of his back against her abdomen, her stomach, her breasts flattened between them. The way his body felt connected to hers as they breathed, just slightly out of sync. The pressure of his hand still touching her lower back, his finger tips sometimes digging in, acting as the emphasis missing from his tones as he spoke. His other hand, strong fingers linked tightly with hers. She breathed deep, breathed in the comfort of Twilight, with her, like this, skin to skin. Safe in her arms and warm under the blanket and filling her absolutely up to the brim with a sort of pristine, aching love. She snuck her nose just behind his ear. Inhaled that spot, one of those spots she'd been able to learn, that he let her, invited her to learn, to explore his body, and find out where he was sensitive, where his scent was strongest, almost heady.
Home.
She whispered, “Sometimes I can't believe I have… And I'm also scared. I think it would be scary, in some ways, even if we were,” her throat hitched, “N-normal. Or ordinary. But we aren't. And, and that fear is different… And it's also the same, from what I've seen..? It's confusing,” she muttered, voice hardly there at all. She swallowed. Confessed, “I don't want to lose this either.”
But she couldn't see a way — these were their jobs. They both took pride in their work. And even… even if — even if sometimes she thought, wondered — it didn't matter because she would never leave Twilight alone once more to the work and —
“There might… be a different option,” he finally said, tentatively. He was so rarely tentative, Yor held her breath as he went on, “Something I've been… thinking about. Something other than continuing on like this…”
Yor stilled. For a little while now, she had been thinking about — or, thinking about thinking about it; had suspected Twilight probably was, too. And suspected he was like her, circling and circling and circling the thought, never thinking the word outright, let alone speaking it aloud.
“If I stopped being in danger,” he paused, amended, “In active danger. If I…” A short silence. “Then would you… Would you consider…”
Is he going to say it? That word, for normal people, people with normal jobs, when they sto—
“Maybe that's… something we can discuss,” he pivoted. “When we. When we get—home.”
Relief, disappointment, they became the same thing. She wasn't sure she was ready to face the possibility. Not just… not just yet.
“When we get home,” Yor agreed softly. This was better. Probably. Probably this was better for now. “And for… for now…” She paused, tried to think through his worry. What can I do…? There must be something…
“Mm, I promise to be more considerate of myself. Of, of my body. So you don’t — so I don't — so there’s no reason to be frantic. I'll do my best. To telegraph everything, or to, to keep talking to you! If you can't see me, so that you know I'm all right. I promise, Twilight, oh, I promise I'll do my best.”
“You always do your best, Yor,” Twilight murmured with warm, serious affection that seemed to pour through her down to her toes. “Thank you.”
She pulled him closer against her chest, a little awkward as her breasts squished painfully between them but she didn't care. Kissed his neck, his shoulder, the ridge of his back, nuzzled the hair at the nape of his neck.
To her surprise, his breathing changed, and —
Yor made a soft sound of query in the back of her throat.
Twilight pressed back against her, a low hum, confirming.
Not needing further encouragement, Yor sent her hand exploring down his chest, mouthing his shoulder with greater intent, grazing her teeth over his back with every jump and twitch of his muscles under her touch, the soft hitching of his breath. She spared a moment to tangle her fingers in the hair at his abdomen, relishing the soft guttural sound from Twilight's throat, before she followed the trail of hair down to find him already half hard. Her breath coming faster, she pulled her hand away briefly to wet it, then took his cock in the firm grip he liked and began stroking him slowly. She kissed the side of his neck, when he sighed.
Not to be outdone — never to be outdone — Twilight smoothed his hand from her back, insinuating it between them, nudging her thigh until she shifted her hip, opened for him. He cupped her, the heel of his palm massaging her mound until she was rocking against him. Pressing his fingers between her labia, he drew her wet higher. Circling, pressing, Yor left him hungry lovebites across his back, his shoulders, her hand moving faster on his cock —
“How can you — oh!” He slipped two fingers inside and Yor clenched around the skim of lust as he began pumping a lazy rhythm — “How can you from — Mm, Twilight — from behind?”
“It's nothing you couldn't do, I'm sure,” he replied easily and did — something, inside, at the same time his thumb found her clit — that made her sink her teeth into his shoulder. His cock twitched in her hand, and she realised she had stopped stroking. She nipped his shoulder for distracting her, but his low laugh sent warmth spreading out from her heart.
She kissed his back, his shoulder, slid her hand lower to palm his sack, manoeuvring her other hand to press fingers to his cheek, urge him to turn his head, so when she propped herself up, she could reach him, kiss him properly.
When they were both panting into the kiss, she pulled away, tugged his shoulder, coaxing him to roll onto his back. Filled with affection, a pressing, insistent affection, she drew to her knees, curling over him as the comforter spilled back to her waist. Cupping his face with both hands, she showered kisses all over his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead, his jaw, his chin, his temples, the corners of his lips, the tip of his nose —
Twilight breathed out a laugh, one hand stroking the back of her head, touching a finger to her lips before she could kiss him again, murmuring warmly, reassuringly, “All right, love, all right.”
Preening under the only nickname he ever used with her, a reflexive flush of joy washing through her whole body, she touched her forehead to his, blinking down at him. “You're precious,” she whispered. “You're precious to me, Twilight.”
She watched his eyes widen, felt his released breath as his lips parted. Then he turned up his chin, their noses bumping, uncharacteristically clumsy for the second time that night as he kissed her hungrily. “I couldn't—bear… Yor…”
The truth was, if something were to happen to her, he would bear it. Just as she would bear it if something happened to him. If not for their own sake, then for no other reason than for Anya. And also because if they weren't resilient, they wouldn't be here, now. But. It didn't need thinking about. It was too painful and — And. She wouldn't die. She wouldn't let Twilight die. They'd never need to find out.
“We'll grow old together,” she breathed, not exactly a promise; not exactly hope. A dream, perhaps. A shared dream. Then she laughed: “We'll be like the Authens.”
Twilight wrinkled his nose slightly — but Yor knew he was at least a little fond of the Athens. She did laugh again, though, thinking how deeply he'd be uncomfortable with the sorts of public displays Mrs Authen lavished on Mr Authen. Though come to that, despite how she had just dropped dozens of kisses all over his face, she couldn't imagine doing that in public, either. And she thought she would expire on the spot if he did anything more to her in public than a light kiss to her cheek, or temple, or lips. And lips only very rarely!
Down from her head, Twilight skimmed his hand over the curve of her back, leaving a trail of goosebumps. He nudged his nose against hers. “Mmm,” he murmured, tipped his chin to speak against her lips. “I think we'll be like us.”
“Ooooh,” Yor breathed. “I like that much better.”
With a final slow kiss, a nuzzle of her nose against his, she crawled on top of him. As ever, her husband was prepared. His long arm reaching across to the side table where a pile of condoms lay.
Yor plucked it from his fingers and without needing to be asked, Twilight shifted his hips as she drew up, tearing open the condom packet, positioning himself so it would be easy for her to roll it on for him.
He always watched her do this; Yor bit her lip, was efficient as he preferred but let her touch linger after, caressing, exploratory strokes of her fingers to his shaft, her thumb massaging the head, a gentle and practised palming of his sack, smiling at each of his soft, hitched, breaths, his little shivers and jolts under her touch.
Pressing her hand into his abdomen, Yor shifted forwards until his cock rested against her mound, her clit grazing his base. Twilight's hands stroked slow, firm lines up and down her thighs: urging her without demanding.
Yor wasn't ready yet. She stretched her back above him, showing him her stomach, her breasts, baring her neck, her chin. He sighed below her, then murmured her name when she reached into the mess of her bun, drawing pin after pin so her hair slipped free, haphazard at first and then all around her shoulders. Twilight's hand strayed, fingers curling around a strand hanging down her chest, the back of his hand glancing against her breast, her nipple, and Yor's breath caught —
“Yor,” he murmured, in that way — and he hadn't even said whatever praise he was going to offer but his tone was nearly enough, Yor arching, smiling through the cascade it poured through her body. “You're—” Yor set a finger to his lips, stopping him. She inhaled, soothing the second, aborted wash of want.
If he said it, she might not be able to think. And this time she wanted to be able to think very, very clearly about him.
Or at least as clearly as possible.
Lifting up, she positioned herself above him, bracing a hand by his shoulder. Twilight looked up at her, seeming a little worn the closer she looked, but the good kind of worn that came after sharing a burden. Beneath her, against the pillow, his eyes were soft and a little hazy, red high on his cheeks, his hair a mess, his mouth bruised from kissing. Waiting patiently.
“You're so lovely,” she whispered.
He reached up, tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear before cupping her cheek. Yor nuzzled into his palm. “I've never met anyone as —” Two fingers to his lips this time, her own lips parted as she tried to control her breathing. The anticipation of his words was already so much, and she wanted, needed, to concentrate. His eyes were so adoring she nearly relented, especially when a spark of fond humour flared, kindling a responding flare low in her belly, but after a moment, Twilight nodded against the press of her fingers, lifted his chin against her touch and drew her fingers into the hot damp of his mouth instead. His tongue stroking as he sucked, Yor's breath heaved, thighs clenching — She hooked her thump under his chin, pulling her fingers free and dropping down to kiss him deeply, her hair falling around their faces like a curtain.
Releasing him, Yor slipped her hand down his chest — a rough press to one of his nipples so he sunk his head back with a groan — before she took hold of his cock. Positioning him, with a soft sigh, she eased down, taking him to seat on one stroke.
Her panting mixed with Twilight's through a cycle of breath, watching one another, as she adjusted. With one more forceful kiss, she pushed herself up, leaning back to brace her hands on his strong thighs, shaking her hair out as she lifted her hips… sunk down. Lifted… sunk. “Oh, Twilight,” she breathed, lifting… sinking… “You feel so good,” she hummed, drawing him in until she was heavy on his pelvis. Circling her hips to meet the grind of his hips, she sighed, “You always feel so good.”
Twilight’s hands spread over her stomach, her muscles fluttering. He swept his thumb in such a way, like a call to attention, she dropped her head to look at him.
He winked and her breath caught. Oh he was so handsome — he murmured, “I won't say it, since you keep stopping me,” his eyes were tender, a knowing smile on his lips, “But you know what I'd say anyway.”
She did, oh she did.
Yor folded forward, Twilight’s hands skimming to her back as she melted over him, the circle of his arms welcoming her, chest to chest. Capturing Twilight's mouth in a kiss, her tongue finding his, she set a rhythm, rolling her hips.
Twilight matched her.
Their rhythm was languid. Their kisses were slow and deep. She couldn't stop touching him, hands down his sides, his arms, his neck, his head, and hair and face, anywhere she could touch as she murmured, gasped, into his mouth, swallowed the sounds he gave to her, under his hands all over her, Twilight inside — there was some part of her wishing, not for the first time, this wouldn't end.
“Oh,” she remembered into his kiss. At Twilight's soft question, she found his hand and pulled his palm to cover her heart, levering herself up so she could look him directly in the eyes. Meeting her eyes, he groaned, hips flexing out of rhythm, and Yor whimpered at the expression capturing his face, his hips under her taking for one, two, three strokes before he found it again — she had to remind herself — had something to say — braced her other hand over his heart. “I -oh- I, I always feel you,” she whispered, throat thick, holding his gaze. “Always have you inside."
Twilight's hand tangled in her hair, he pulled her down urgently, kissed her messily. "Me too,” he gasped between kisses.
Yor broke the kiss with a gasp, and Twilight's knees rose behind her, cradling her backside. Another sensation, the rise and roll of her ass against the firm push of his thighs. With his heels in the mattress giving him better leverage, he increased their rhythm until —
“You come first,” Yor gasped, clutching his shoulders with each roll of her hips meeting his. “After- last time.”
“You,” he grunted.
She moaned, half pleasure, half complaint. “Tw— F-fine. Together then. Do our, our — best.”
“Do our b-best —”
But only moments later, Yor kissing him, hand light at the back of his neck, filling her other palm with one round of his ass, gripping the flex and release as he rolled under her, something stubborn spiralled through her, caught in her throat — damnit — she'd had a- a- a- plan — : him first —
“Twilight?” she breathed.
“Ngh —?”
She whispered, “I love you.”
He made a startled, strangled sound, which morphed swiftly into a deep, long groan, his hands clamping on her hips as he juddered, thrust up, cock pulsing as he came undone beneath her.
Yor kissed him, Twilight gasping into her mouth, his body surging beneath her as she kept grinding, finding the friction she needed against his pelvis and — he panted, “Dirty play, Forger —”
Her laughter sent her spilling into her own orgasm, gasping little hiccups into the underside of his jaw, coming more gently this time in little starbursts of pleasure, twitching her limbs.
In the flutter of her inner muscles around his cock, there was a feeling she hadn't had since they first started doing this: which was the last time, she realised, she had felt him inside her for, well, perhaps not days, but for some time, after they finished, as her body learned, grew accustomed to Twilight. It was a sweet ache, a gentle almost-bruising. She hadn't realised — she didn't… miss the sensation exactly. But squirming a little to test it, tasting a small gasp on her tongue, it was sweet, and it was Twilight, and without thinking she took light hold of his chin again, tipped his head and kissed him as she caught her breath.
“Mission successful, my beloved Twilight,” she breathed when they broke apart. “Hehehe! My Mister Forger, I'll be feeling you inside for… a little while anyway.”
Twilight blinked a few times through a lingering haze, then frowned when he made sense of her words — but he studied her face and she could tell the moment he decided she wasn't upset, that he hadn't hurt her, that actually, she was quite pleased, and…
Rarest of rarities, a different sort of blush swept high on his cheeks. The master of a thousand faces, a thousand voices, only managed to say, “Oh,” in a voice that hitched, from lips that twitched with an almost shy smile.
Bonus, a little while later:
After, in the shower, Yor scrubbed shampoo into Twilight's hair as he bent, massaging soap into her skin. He reached her knees and Yor straightened in memory. “Oh! How did you know what I was going to do?”
Knowing how she telegraphed things during sex was nowhere near as vital as during a fight, of course, but she was still curious.
And it was fun, to surprise one another sometimes. And knowing her tells would make that easier.
Twilight chuckled. “You told me.”
“I — eh?!”
“You were saying everything out loud,” he said, humour clear in his voice as he spread soap down to her calves. “You were babbling but I've deciphered more confusing mid-coital talk. Though admittedly it's the first time I've done that while actually enjoying myself. If you hadn't said anything, I don't think I'd have remembered to stop. The last part where you said, Yor, close your knees now! was easy to parse, even in the midst of my own fairly intense sex haze.”
And it was testament to her strength, Yor decided, that she didn't expire from embarrassment on the spot. Twilight straightened, kissed the backs of her hands where she'd brought them to hide her face, and she squelched against him when he pulled her into a hug, the warm water from the shower cascading down her back and loud enough she nearly missed his soft laugh, it nearly swallowed her low embarrassed moan.