She can’t tell whether she’s being teased or if Napoleon simply wants to make her take what could otherwise be freely given; either way, Gaby’s unwilling to let the moment drag too long. This closeness is heady, and the first nudge has her body flooding with heat all over again, ready and willing to indulge him. Careful fingers curl around him for a moment, all the better to guide him where she needs him to be before sinking down slowly with a fluttering of lashes and a soft sigh of something that sounds an awful lot like relief.
An indulgent little moan is not far behind, soft and sweet and meant to convey appreciation and pleasure without being loud enough to wake the sleeping giant beside them. It will be difficult to get enough motion going for getting the job done without jostling him, however; to wake him is inevitable, and she knows it. Let him watch, if he wants to. There’s nothing left for Illya to be ashamed of, and she hopes he knows it.
Gaby’s fingers slip from his hair so she might use that hand to grip him at the base of the neck, her other grasping at one of Napoleon’s shoulders. She trusts him to steady her, large, capable hands at her waist or hips to support her as she begins to rock. It’s slow at first, the better to get the feel of him for the first time, but Gaby hasn’t got enough patience to keep it leisurely for long. She gives a soft hiss, teeth finding his ear again, the soft patch of skin beneath, and the curve of his gorgeous jaw.
Napoleon curled an arm around Gaby’s waist as she slid down around him for the first time. They were pressed so close together, far more close than Napoleon generally let his lovers get, but with Gaby, he found he didn’t mind. He was right. She’d been beautiful as he watched Illya bare down into her before, but up close, well, if the way his breath hitched as she rolled her hips against him was any indication, she was breathtaking.
He rolled his own up to meet her thrusts as her teeth once again found his skin. “I’m not surprised that you’re a biter,” he purred, as he lifted his chin, allowing her all the access she wanted. Napoleon didn’t mind, even if she did leave marks, though he dind’t think she’d be quite that bold yet. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d worn proof of a lover’s possession, and it would give him something to remember the night by after they left, and he was alone again–
–not that Napoleon thought he’d have any issues remembering anything that had happened tonight; even the somewhat awkward, stumbling conversation he’d steered them into in the bath.
“How you resist covering Peril in your bruises, I’ll never know.” Napoleon kept the arm around Gaby low on her waist, not clenching or directing her movements, but just offered support. He worked his other arm between them, cupping a breast between his fingers as he curled forward to press a line of kisses along her shoulder. He was loathe to pull away from her lips, and teeth, but with one thumb rubbing circles around a pert nipple, it was only logical that he duck his head down to tease the other with his tongue.
She doesn’t, Illya thought to himself, referring to Napoleon’s mention of the bruises. Illya didn’t bruise easily, but Gaby was sometimes harsh with her tiny fingernails, scratching him and grabbing at his shoulders or clutching around the back of his neck, that Illya bruised where nobody really saw it. And Gaby bore Illya’s bruises sometimes; handprints far too large to be anyone else’s on her buttocks, or finger-sized bruises around her hips and waist where he’d clung to her too tightly while Gaby rode his lap, much like she was doing with Napoleon now.
The thought alone--Gaby bouncing so carefree and wild atop his lap--had Illya giving a loud enough moan to surely be heard, forcing him to immediately bite his lip and furrow his brow; the trio of gestures as noticeable as if Illya had opened his eyes and announced he was watching. He peeked an eye open slowly, pretending to be waking from sleep with a groggy grimace, his toes stretching and his knuckles cracking from the tightness with which he fisted his hands during the stretch.
Being subtle wasn’t one of Illya’s strongest suits, but he would’ve been killed a hundred times over if he didn’t have a flair for acting, the way Napoleon did. He licked his lips and moaned again softly, still pretending in that sleepy way, then cracked both eyes open a bit wider than was natural, not trying to act too surprised but trying to seem interested in a secretive, silent way.
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