[ They go easily, slipping into the water. Warmth seeps deep into their bones, soothing tired muscles. It doesn't compare to the heat between their bodies. What other option do they have but to melt against him? Like this, it's almost too easy to forget about everything else. About his Vision, about the ever-present dread that's creeped up on them since it started acting up. ]
Of course I will. [ The touch, gentle and thoughtful, relaxes them even further. It's not the first time they've remembered how easy it is to simply let things drift away, even for a short time. Any more of this, and they might get too used to the feeling. Their fingers play at the back of his neck, through his hair, sinking deep into it. ] Feels good.
[ An understatement, like many things, but speaking it outright makes it a thing that can be torn away in a moment. Their body language, how they sound and how they smile lazily, says so much more than any words could.
And speaking of. Words fail them even more at the press of his lips over their heart. Beating fast and hard, they watch him like he's the only other person in the world. It's always like this, when Tartaglia acknowledges it as something other than an ink-black blemish on their heart and soul.
They lean forward, touching their forehead to his. ]
I thought I already had, [ they joke, hand against his chest. Suds be damned, they tilt their head to brush their lips feather-light against his. ] In a way other people can see? More times than I can count. Just haven't figured out how.
Can't help you there. Guess it'll stay a secret between the two of us...
[ A bit depraved, given the damage he's utterly content to wreak on others. In many respects, he's physically intact, only truly mindfucked in the emotional sense. Most of the wounds he bears are internal, things the Abyss forcibly dragged out of him: bloodlust, irreverence, unremitting greed. Some days, those nightmares— fourteen and deathly afraid of the monstrosity he was becoming— seem to go on forever.
Rather modestly, Tartaglia presses two fingers to the raw cupid's bow of their mouth, staving off the kiss. ]
No distractions, Mira. You said you could behave, so keep your word. You can be good for me, can't you?
[ Or you can go ahead and suffer chastity for the indeterminate future? Tartaglia's content to glut himself on other pursuits, if need be.
That said, he's no stranger to hypocrisy. Scrubbing down their shoulders and the wet sprawl of their spine is the pretext of a touch that only deepens around the time Tartaglia's groping their ass in the bath. ]
It'd be nice if I could leave something on you... [ He's squeezing it with insolence now, fondling the left cheek, then the right one. ] ... or with you. I'd like to think I'm reasonable.
[ Someone sane would withhold these filthy urges. Luckily, he's deranged, so he wastes no time bouncing them on his lap. The compulsion to smack that bottom is unbearable. ]
[ A secret. They'll keep it that way, collecting them and locking them away for only the two of them. After so many years, they've learned to keep things at arm's length. Keep something close, and you're bound to lose it. Either you tighten the grip and clutch it tight to your chest, or you stay detached from everyone and everything.
Another gift from Teyvat, then, one they're loathe to share or give away. The only option is to keep Tartaglia close, through the good and the bad, even when he's on his worst behavior. They wouldn't have him any other way, with all the things he hasn't said or told them. Secrets again, buried deep down. It doesn't bother them, because they'd be a hypocrite if it did. They have their own.
And it's becoming more difficult to keep them. Resting just beneath their skin, it's like an itch that'll never be scratched. Fear? No -- it's just trying to figure out how to open them up and lay them bare.
Maybe he can tell when they're too in their head. Always him, to drag them out of it and center them. It's impossibly cruel to not be able to kiss him, but they don't try to push their luck. Besides, there's something that gets to them when he coaxes that obedience out of them. If it were anyone else, they wouldn't be so keen, but it's that unsaid desire that lives solely on his praise.
Praise kink? Not at all, except when it is. ]
I'll be good. [ Arching into his touch, it's gone far too soon. Any touch can wreck them, if it's him. Lucky for both of them, he's very generous with it, and it draws from them a quiet huff. Keep up appearances, and all that. The flush on their cheeks has nothing to do with the heat rising from the water. ] One of us has to be. [ And, teasingly-- ] I'll tolerate it only if you're having fun.
[ As if they're complaining, ever. Go ahead and give it a smack, since they're not going to stop him. ]
There are a lot of jewelers around. Maybe we could get each other something.
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blankpoint) wrote2023-01-01 03:09 pm
no subject
Of course I will. [ The touch, gentle and thoughtful, relaxes them even further. It's not the first time they've remembered how easy it is to simply let things drift away, even for a short time. Any more of this, and they might get too used to the feeling. Their fingers play at the back of his neck, through his hair, sinking deep into it. ] Feels good.
[ An understatement, like many things, but speaking it outright makes it a thing that can be torn away in a moment. Their body language, how they sound and how they smile lazily, says so much more than any words could.
And speaking of. Words fail them even more at the press of his lips over their heart. Beating fast and hard, they watch him like he's the only other person in the world. It's always like this, when Tartaglia acknowledges it as something other than an ink-black blemish on their heart and soul.
They lean forward, touching their forehead to his. ]
I thought I already had, [ they joke, hand against his chest. Suds be damned, they tilt their head to brush their lips feather-light against his. ] In a way other people can see? More times than I can count. Just haven't figured out how.
no subject
[ A bit depraved, given the damage he's utterly content to wreak on others. In many respects, he's physically intact, only truly mindfucked in the emotional sense. Most of the wounds he bears are internal, things the Abyss forcibly dragged out of him: bloodlust, irreverence, unremitting greed. Some days, those nightmares— fourteen and deathly afraid of the monstrosity he was becoming— seem to go on forever.
Rather modestly, Tartaglia presses two fingers to the raw cupid's bow of their mouth, staving off the kiss. ]
No distractions, Mira. You said you could behave, so keep your word. You can be good for me, can't you?
[ Or you can go ahead and suffer chastity for the indeterminate future? Tartaglia's content to glut himself on other pursuits, if need be.
That said, he's no stranger to hypocrisy. Scrubbing down their shoulders and the wet sprawl of their spine is the pretext of a touch that only deepens around the time Tartaglia's groping their ass in the bath. ]
It'd be nice if I could leave something on you... [ He's squeezing it with insolence now, fondling the left cheek, then the right one. ] ... or with you. I'd like to think I'm reasonable.
[ Someone sane would withhold these filthy urges. Luckily, he's deranged, so he wastes no time bouncing them on his lap. The compulsion to smack that bottom is unbearable. ]
no subject
Another gift from Teyvat, then, one they're loathe to share or give away. The only option is to keep Tartaglia close, through the good and the bad, even when he's on his worst behavior. They wouldn't have him any other way, with all the things he hasn't said or told them. Secrets again, buried deep down. It doesn't bother them, because they'd be a hypocrite if it did. They have their own.
And it's becoming more difficult to keep them. Resting just beneath their skin, it's like an itch that'll never be scratched. Fear? No -- it's just trying to figure out how to open them up and lay them bare.
Maybe he can tell when they're too in their head. Always him, to drag them out of it and center them. It's impossibly cruel to not be able to kiss him, but they don't try to push their luck. Besides, there's something that gets to them when he coaxes that obedience out of them. If it were anyone else, they wouldn't be so keen, but it's that unsaid desire that lives solely on his praise.
Praise kink? Not at all, except when it is. ]
I'll be good. [ Arching into his touch, it's gone far too soon. Any touch can wreck them, if it's him. Lucky for both of them, he's very generous with it, and it draws from them a quiet huff. Keep up appearances, and all that. The flush on their cheeks has nothing to do with the heat rising from the water. ] One of us has to be. [ And, teasingly-- ] I'll tolerate it only if you're having fun.
[ As if they're complaining, ever. Go ahead and give it a smack, since they're not going to stop him. ]
There are a lot of jewelers around. Maybe we could get each other something.