@silcncc said: “You know not my desires enough to think I find you appealing when you are posed and perfect?” A hand reaches out, fingers splaying upon his chest before she shoved him back onto the bunk she usually occupied, gaze pinning him in place as she removed her helm. “You are at your best when you are rumpled.” Armguards discarded. “Sweaty.” Boots stepped out of. “Coming /undone/.” Corsetry and overlay discarded as she leaned in, lips dragging along his inner thigh though his pants. “/Needy/.”
He falls back with a grunt, eyeing his companion as she removes her armor… piece by piece by piece by piece. It’s exciting him, obviously, and she would know. She knows him so well. Her talk riles him up. The show she is making is riling him up- and she knows this because she knows him so well. He is wanting that attention, craving it, and the need for it is growing. She likes to tease, that much she knows. She likes to take him to the cliff but never actually lets him jump until the time is just right- until he is a crumbled mess begging for her to let him go.
A quiet sigh leaves his lips as he watches Fran, his muscles twitching in response to her touch despite the fabric that separated her lips from his skin. He was going to crumble, no matter how hard he tried this time… especially since he was begging for the attention in the first place.
“It’s always a game to you, isn’t it?” He’s not insulted by it. A being that lives as long as her, to find a creature as pompous and full of themselves as Balthier… to knock them off that pedestal- to see a side that no one ever got to see… it must taste sweet. “You enjoy it…”
Aye, she did know him well. She had known him well since the first time they intertwined their bodies beneath the shelter of Nature’s embrace, sunlight dappling their skin as it shone through the boughs overhead. His confidence had caught her eye, his silver tongue and independent mien ensnaring her interest... but yet she had been the one to lower him to the grass, to take her place atop him--to draw out the real Hume that dwelled beneath peacock-esque finery. While there was still an appeal to Balthier’s strut and pageantry, what won her heart was what she beheld the beginnings of now--honey-and-leaf intermingling in his eyes, flush climbing to his cheeks, sweat beginning to emerge ‘pon his brow.
He was beautiful, truly beautiful, to her in that state moreso than any other.
The question was echoed, resonating against inscribed fabric as her lips ascended higher, properly joining him upon that bunk. Ah, if only there were no walls, no stench of oil and gas to interfere with the scent of his need--but no matter. The fly restraining him was brushed over with kisses intermingling with her response.
“Would a game not require a winner and a loser, ainnir? There be no losers here.”
A statement further affirmed by how her teeth take hold of the tab of the zipper, that grasp used to slowly guide it downward.
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