Anticipation
Elden Ring Nightreign: Duchess x Recluse
Rating: M (explicit content)
In honor of the DLC I am presenting another chapter of their story. If you like this pair I would humbly like to point you to AO3 where I have been posting chronologically (and with some exclusive chapters!). Check out Staff of the Receeding Night
Or read the newest chapter below the cut <3
This time Recluse brought company with her to the ocean front. The Duchess' wounds prevented her from returning to the battlefield, and the witch didn't have the bloodthirst much of the others did.
Guardian had taken the lead, taking the Executor and Revenant with him. Though she and the eagle didn't get along so well, she trusted him to take care of the puppet girl.
The Executor seemed to have more on their mind, causing Recluse to suspect their investigation would be cut short once personal endeavors were achieved.
With their wellbeing at the back of her mind, she dug her feet into the sand. The cool earth filled the gaps between her toes and crawled up her leg.
It was colder than she anticipated, making her skin feel frosted and hardened against the wind.
The Wylder and Iron Eye showed once more their strength as they ran into the water, keen on being the first one to splash the other.
The Raider stood with his face to the sea, as if the salt in it was bringing about old memories.
But most prominently was the woman next to her. The Duchess’ pale skin braved the cold, even with the modified clothing she had on. Recluse found it endearing that this was the morning the other woman decided to put effort into her hair. The neat spiral braid was certain to get messy and salt-filled, rationalizing another wash.
Recluse walked further into the waves where the sand was softer, covering up to her ankles. Teddy-bear sand Revenant had called it. Recluse remembered thinking that was cute.
“Are you coming?” Duchess asked, extending a hand towards her. The sorcerer was a few steps ahead now, yet the water went up to her calves. Wylder's splashing in the distance frightened her a little, but Duchess seemed keen on wandering in another direction.
So Recluse took her hand, following the blonde woman into the rolling waves. They lapped around her hips not unlike the Duchess did at times. Her cheeks flushed at the thought, generating some mode of heat to her cold extremities.
The Duchess was sure-footed, guiding her through the twirling tide until they reached a calmer, and surprisingly warmer, patch of water. A matter of distance had been put between them and the boys, so they watched for a moment with an amused smile as the Raider forwent his ominous staring and initiated a 1v2 game of knockover.
“It's polite isn't it?” Duchess hummed, “that there can be so many laughs from them despite the impending.”
“It's easier for them,” Recluse replied, “a face off with Heolstor ends in freedom. It's only you that is bound to the more unsightly.”
“You think there's more misfortune waiting for me beyond?” Duchess inquired, watching with flushed cheeks as Recluse moved closer to her. Now that her limbs weren't at risk of breaking off she could approach more smoothly, using her hips to guide her feet.
“No one could be that cruel,” Recluse smiled, looking over her shoulder before wrapping her arms around the shorter woman's neck. The Priestess laid her eyes where she often did, undoubtedly thinking her mask let her get away with such a secret. But the metal could only disguise so much when her nose was pointed so distinctly. “Besides, I've been having thoughts.”
“The mage who never pries her eyes from the pages, nor her figure from the library has thoughts?” Duchess grabbed Recluse's elbows first, kissing the inside of her arms before her cold hands found her waist.
“Daphne's puppetry,” Recluse admitted, “is rare magic.”
“Howso?”
“Necromancy, but permanent.”
“Poltergeism,” the Duchess argued.
“Perhaps…” Recluse considered.
“What about it?” Duchess pressed, her eyes flicking briefly back to the men at the sound of a cheer before looking up to meet her own eyes.
“If I could… make a doll perhaps it could fit you.”
“What are you suggesting?” The other woman stopped, dropping her arms to her side and pulling away from Recluse's allure.
“Murmurs of Renna in a place adjacent to here,” Recluse described, “one of the books set next to the hearth described her talents. She taught such magic to those of good faith.”
Duchess simply glared at her through the metal, Recluse could picture her solemn eyes beneath. “We could build one, to your design and seal it to your fate.”
“So I could be a tool of your sorcery?” Duchess accused.
“I have no interest in ventriloquism,” Recluse assured her. “You would walk freely, speak and touch like the Revenant. Your sorcery and wit would persist you could–”
“I could be with you,” the Priestess interrupted.
“It would be possible.” Recluse agreed, too worried that more enthusiasm would push her partner into a hasty decision.
“The magic would have to be learned,” Duchess reminded them, “and the night draws near. The mission–”
“Is stalled in time,” Recluse told her, “held aback by daylight.” Duchess shook her head.
“My duty,” she recanted, “is to the Roundtable. To the sorcerous blood in my veins that determined my fate be tied to it. Perhaps if the early nightlords had pushed back but… not while we are at the brink. The sky grows darker, Recluse, the red streaks will be fire on the horizon before we know it. I cannot enter with a hope to survive or else I cannot give all of myself.”
“Duchess–” the blonde woman raised a hand to her mouth, her mouth pursing in a quiet desperation to silence Recluse's retort.
“It is not a no,” the Duchess assured her, “but rather something I must do beyond the red sky. When you return to the world from which you came I will embark on this conquest but all that I can promise is an attempt.”
Recluse found herself in a frown. The Duchess held her cheek, smiling reassuredly as though her words hadn't broken the last veil of her sanity.
“If it eases your mind,” the Priestess continued, “you may continue your research. Perhaps it will go smoother if I can pick up the pen where you will have last placed it.”
“Our worlds may not be the same,” Recluse added, picking a poor time to introduce another dark cloud that had been daunting her thoughts.
“Then I will remedy that too,” Duchess assured her, “in time.”
A high pitched whistle drew their attention. It seemed the Raider was no longer playing, but rather coaching the re-initiated brawl between the Wylder and his closest friend.
“We should entertain them,” Duchess sighed.
“Hah! Is that meant to suggest something?” Recluse scoffed, shaking her head at the roughhousing.
“Only this,” the Priestess smiled, returning her hands to her waist and pulling Recluse forward. She grinned as their stomachs pressed against each other and the pale woman's lips found her own. What surprised her is how quickly the blonde attempted to pull away, leaving it the Recluse's responsibility to hold them together.
Any coldness in her bones had certainly migrated, leaving nothing but the warmth generated by their scantily clothed bodies in close proximity.
“You are…” the Duchess hummed, slipping a finger up her side, staring unapologetically at her chest this time, “rare.”
“Easily explained by the scarcity of my assets among the others.”
“Magic has nothing to do with it,” Duchess told her naively. Recluse bit back her smile, holding the porcelain chin in one hand.
“My quip was not in reference to magic, Priestess.”
The other woman stared for a second, before her cheeks erupted in a flush.
“Those would be… uh, they certainly help.” Duchess was looking at her, but still Recluse could find distraction in manner. So she sent the shorter woman off to her brother, tempting her with a promise of seduction if she could beat them.
While retracing her steps to the shore she listened to the heated debated, and found a spot on the sand just in time to see the blonde woman climb onto the shoulders of the raider, and the hoodless archer do the same to the Wylder.
Even before she arrived in this place she couldn't remember a time so tranquil. So full of laughter and melancholy. Perhaps it was why she was constantly trying to solve problems, it just never felt right not to have any.
But even as her mind whirled on the subject matter of puppet designs she found herself unofficially cheering when the Priestess managed to dislodge Iron Eye from her brothers grip and send him into the sea. The Raider had an infectious bellow, earning a smile on everyone's face.
Duchess's masked eyes looked over her shoulder, finding Recluse sprawled into the sand. Recluse offered her a polite wave, hoping that her desperation for her company wouldn't be so obvious.
The memories of their time spent together would be more easily relived through a swift hand, but the Duchess would have a hard time recreating this once everyone else was gone. Boisterousness, a little chaos, and of course, collegiance.
After one more round with what seemed like an undetermined winner, the group began their saunter in from the sea. Recluse waited, propped up on her elbows with her back against the sand, for the Duchess to reach the shore and offer her aid to get up.
“Now is a good time to tell you,” Iron Eye said, “The guardian and I went for a hunt earlier. Plucked some mighty birds from the sky. We'll eat well tonight– and there is enough for all of us.”
“I sure hope the cooked pheasant won't reveal itself as an eagle,” Recluse teased, “let alone one with a shattered wing.”
“Hah!” Raider laughed, smacking her slightly too hard against the back. “I'm going to repeat that one when he gets back.”
“They'll be on the return soon enough,” Wylder observed, turning his eyes to the sky. “We best make ourselves comfortable now so they can have the space to settle back in.”
“The salt marinates the beard,” Raider grinned, “I'll start the pheasants.”
“Race you to the bath!” Iron Eye said quickly, racing off before anyone had a chance to catch him.
Wylder followed in pursuit, so the two women strolled behind, allowing their shoulders to touch in quiet peace.
“I wish I could think of more words to flatter you with,” Duchess said out of the blue, “but all that comes to me are teasing comparisons.”
“Oh?”
“I feel as though I've sipped from the Raider's tankard when I look at you, but I know that I am not drunk.”
Recluse smiled, shaking her head at the silliness of it. But it was true in some way. She understood the mellow haze the Duchess referred to when they were together.
“I couldn't have played,” Recluse told her, “with you and the gents.”
“Why not?”
“My skin would reveal too much of my blush if I were to sit on your shoulders.”
The Priestess’ pale cheeks flushed a vibrant pink, and her hand brushed against the Recluse's until her fingers interlocked in reply.
“We should go to the tower,” the Priestess suggested, “be on the lookout for the child.”
“She's fine,” Recluse insisted, “besides, her absence presents us with an opportunity.”
Duchess said no more, instead she followed the mage's lead. Recluse guided them to the partitioned sleep chamber their shared with Daphne. It was a small room, separated by a weak corridor to make a section for the Priestess and the other for Recluse and Revenant.
Recluse felt this was a good time as any to be presumptuous, so she pursued the bed of the shorter woman, falling onto it with a grin.
“The salt wouldn't benefit yours,” Duchess teased, removing the medallion from her braid and letting her hair fall out in the back.
“It's wise to dirty only one,” Recluse told her, “truthfully I think Revenant would appreciate we break the secluded one and share the one in her room.”
“What if she is to return?”
“Fresh pheasant to distract her. Are you worried you won't finish in time?”
“I thought I would try something new,” Duchess told her, “but not unless it appeals to you.”
Recluse nodded for her to proceed, smiling at the prospect of something new. She had her suspicions, and they were confirmed when the pale woman revealed the efforts of her tinkering.
“Let us start,” she demanded, taking what the paler woman had suspended over her fingertips and setting it aside.
The bundle of blankets and pillows supported her neck while the other woman closed the partition. Recluse stared down at her own chest, still bound by the white-pink wraps she had put on for the water.
One of her legs bent to raise a knee, only for the Duchess to push it back down as she was straddled. Hands planted themselves on either side of her head, causing the bed to indent slightly. Lightly clothed hips brushed against her own with an intoxicating heat. Recluse raised an arm down her back, strumming the Duchess’ exposed spine with a smile.
The gentle touch of lips against her caused her to be distracted, and soon her hands sought something more stable to hold onto. The waist of the other woman was one of her favorite places, but as the Duchess squeezed her thigh she found herself reaching upwards for the back of the bedframe. A tongue pushed its way through her teeth, taking the water from her cheeks and using it to deepen their kisses.
Her body hummed in gratuity, pushing itself against the warmth of the woman on top of her as though it was a living thing of its own mind. She wondered if her partner would remove her mask tonight. Sometimes she claimed it to be more comfortable, other times she spoke of things that were simply worth the discomfort to see.
The Duchess shifted her position, pushing a leg between the Recluse's and sinking deeper into her. Recluse arched her back so the sweet spot between her thighs could get more friction from the pale limb found there.
A small gasp slipped out of her lips as the blonde dipped her head. The light tattered hair fell across her back as she made imprints on the ebony skin of the Recluse's breasts. Each kiss was like a little bite, as though she was trying to get as much as possible without getting caught.
“Harder,” Recluse whispered, placing a hand on the back of the other woman's head and forcing her to engage more firmly with her chest. It wasn't like their companions would be able to see it anyway, and the gratification of looking at herself in the mirror was worth it.
The Duchess obeyed eagerly, taking larger portions of her flesh, securing each one with a suck drawing blood to the surface of her skin. Recluse inhaled sharply, feeling the softer parts of herself harden with stimulation. The hands on her waist continued to pull, undoubtedly leaving pale bruises in the shape of fingerprints. Not that she cared, for each tug of her flesh sent waves of heat coursing through her veins.
Her own hand reached in desperation at the wraps around her chest. Although the Duchess had been efficient enough to pull them aside with her teeth, she'd been too distracted to properly remove them. So Recluse pulled at the back strand, wiggling herself for an uncomfortable second, before presenting the other woman with the fabric.
Duchess smiled, sitting back on her knees and mimicking the gesture, letting her own bindings blend in with the mess of articles on the bed.
They paused for a moment, so that Recluse could place a wandering hand up the other girl's abdomen. Duchess simply watched, perched on her hips like a bird of prey on a branch.
“I wasn't hurting you, was I?” The pale woman asked.
“I don't think you're capable of that,” Recluse replied, pushing herself up on her elbow.
The Duchess paused, lifting her hands before her eyes as if they had committed a sort of crime.
The drama Recluse surmised with an eyeroll. The other woman was incapable of awkwardness, despite being a magnet for it. Talking for the sake of sound. Doing for the sake of an action.
A problem easily rectified.
While the Priestess was distracted by her own mannerism, Recluse pushed them over, using her advantage to get atop the other woman. The Duchess seemed surprised as she looked up at her, her hands wasting no time in reclaiming the real estate around her hips.
Recluse began to move her hips, slowly at first, to build a rhythm for the other girl to pull her forward.
Now she was on top, directing the feature but not starring in it. No, as the Duchess sucked her breasts she made it expertly clear there was a designated driver.
The hands at her waist clawed under the line of her swimwear, attempting to slide it off her ass. The Duchess was smooth about it, too, lifting a leg just enough so the Recluse could kick the fabric off her feet. When her final piece of clothing was gone she made quick work of the high waisted band around the Duchess’ legs, sending it to the same derelict site her own article had been cast too just moments before.
Now it was truly just them. Onyx against the ivory. Porcelain, as she described the Roundtable's leader. Porcelain in color, and in texture perhaps but unlike the material the Duchess was not so easily broken.
A hand slipped through her cunt, causing her to momentarily keel over. She huffed, looking down at the confluence between their legs, before finding her partner grinning up at her.
“The water,” the Duchess hummed, “its salt is dehydrating.”
“Mmmhmmm,” Recluse hummed, leaning down to meet her lips before directing her breath to the blonde's ear. “What is it you mean to tell me?”
“I could use a drink,” the Duchess answered with a grin. Recluse sat upright once more, taking a moment to stare down her own chest at the other woman's growing desperation.
Hands preemptively readjusted, gripping at her ass to pull her forward. Admittedly the flirtations were a success. Recluse swung her body forward slowly, gripping the rickety headboard before her as she smothered pristine cheeks with her thighs.
“Fuck!” She called into the air, letting her body move as it desired against the other girl’s face. Hands clawed into her back, and she pushed deeper into the mouth of her paramour. “Right there,” she commanded as a tongue flicked rapidly against her excited clit.
She might have felt bad, or at least worried about hurting the other woman, but the Duchess hummed to her own pleasure and remained steadfast. Recluse shuddered as the sensation of a tongue inside her. It nicked at her pleasure groove, as if to tease her into getting even lower on the Priestess’ face.
Pressure swelled in her chest and abdomen, not unlike the surges of fire she was used to unleashing on their enemies. It threatened to rupture her skin like the blood boone if she didn't release the tension soon.
Her hips grinded harder against the teeth that sought to undo them, finding even more friction against her lover's skull.
Lover.
It was such a strange word. She was almost certain no one else at the roundtable knew of it. She had been oblivious to its connotations not too long ago. It wasn't until one of the books yielded a story of matrimony, baked in the love of the nominated couple.
She'd tried to find a definition but nothing felt quite right. Words hadn't yet matched the sensation in her stomach when the Duchess returned from the night. Or how her mind eased into sleep much faster when she conceded to spending her sleeping hours in the Priestess’ bed.
Words could not describe how she felt in this moment. Her body ached to do something so primal she wasn't sure even the most primitive people here would understand. Her throat contorted in pain as she held in her howls of satisfaction. Her leg began to shake as the Duchess concluded her testament of skill by reaching her core with her tongue.
“Priestess I-” she gasped, throwing her head back so she could stare at the ceiling while her breath was taken. Her cunt throbbed against the blind woman's jaw, as if daring her to take more. Components of the fluid Duchess had testified having a taste for pooled against her legs, coating the two of them in a thin layer of heat.
Fingers crawled up to her breasts, titillating her nipples while she tried to rationalize her surroundings. A heavy fog weighed down her skull like one of her wide-brimmed hats. Only with this she had no intention of seeing it removed.
“Yes,” she moaned, starting her grind again while the Duchess focused on the parts of her that were still cold. Her breasts first, drawing them in with a gentle guiding hand before wrapping her lips around them. Recluse hummed her approval at the softness, sliding lower to lay on the other woman so she was in better reach.
When the Duchess was done with her chest, if that was possible, she found a spot for her hand on the back of the Mage's head. The woman beneath her arched her back as she pulled her in for a kiss. Sweat stuck them together as they engaged each other's lips and tongue.
It wasn't long before the Duchess used her instability to flip them over once more. The blonde woman laid atop her, taking a moment to look at her eyes. Even though their gazes were intercepted by the mask, Recluse could feel the intensity of their shared stare.
She wondered then, what words the Duchess used to describe them. And if that word sought to penetrate her skull right now.
“Satisfied?” Recluse asked coyly, adjusting her position slightly.
“I should be asking you,” Duchess replied, placing her lips against her cheek.
“I think you'll find my evidence quite compelling, Priestess,” Recluse told her, “it pours like ichor from me now.”
“I'm not so thirsty anymore,” the other woman teased, “but I would be a fool to refuse another round.”
“Mmm,” Recluse laughed, drawing her hands across the shorter woman's back. “Your mouth is a tool of envy,” she prefaced, “but I was promised something new.”
The Duchess raised her eyebrows in surprised excitement. Her weight shifted, exposing portions of the Recluse's sweat-trapped body to the chilly air.
She waited patiently, watching with amusement as the other woman recovered the tool she'd presented earlier. Seduction manifested in the way she stood to put it on; as though the Recluse hadn't noticed just how charming her figure was.
Being a devout mage gave her the privilege of being soft. Her wit and mind were far stronger than her limbs ever would be, and so her training regime was more relaxed than that of her peers.
Though the Priestess was a talented sorcerer, she walked the line between physical and mental. What she lacked in faith she made up for in her combat skill. Like a swift-running river or a fox through Limveld the Duchess slipped her dagger into unsuspecting foes.
It made her lean, strong. And evidently under the warm torchlights of their bedroom it made her into something the Recluse had won. To be the bedfellow of someone so enchanting was a reward, but for what she didn't know.
Her body pulled her from her thoughts as it hardened again, this time against the pressure of the other girl returning to the bed. Leather straps wrapped around her hips and thighs, squeezing her skin enough to leave a little indentation. Recluse found her fingers pulling against the straps, tightening it until it fit the other girl to her satisfaction.
Duchess beamed a smile that should not have been found on someone so tragic. Of all her victories on the battlefield she smiled the most for this one.
“Radiance,” Recluse commented, inviting the Duchess to her lips, “or confidence?”
“Anticipation,” the sorcerer answered, “it seems one of my spells has finally worked.”
“You cannot compare your magic to mine,” Recluse reminded her. She inhaled, finding the Duchess’ cold fingertips and placing them on her labia. “Violence is in the veins of magic. It comes naturally to any who might try it–” she panted now, growing increasingly warm as the Duchess lined up their hips. “But purity from the fingertips- pleasure- is a skill I've known only one to have mastered.”
“Who?” The Duchess whispered in her ear, holding her jaw in place. Recluse smiled coyly before her head shot back in pleasure. The Priestess inserted her contraption with a thrust of her hips. A slight slapping sound of their skin reuniting filled her with more heat and edges her closer to the end goal of satisfaction.
Involuntary sound escaped her lips while her hands sought for something to hold onto.
“You,” she managed to say while the other woman pushed in and out of her. The derelict wood of the bed rattled embarrassingly from the motion, but they were too involved with the action to notice or care much.
Her nails dug into the skin of the other woman's back, undoubtedly leaving scratchmarks on top of her scars. Her cunt absorbed each push like carian retaliation, pushing out sounds in exchange for the Duchess’ touch.
The sensation filled her entire body. Though it was impossible to be in her chest she felt it there, churning her blood like a cauldron stew. Lips sucked at her nipples, hardening them into weathered ocean-like stones. Her body told her to rupture again. It pleaded against the tissue keeping her skin together, begging to be let out.
But the Duchess was not so tired yet. Her cheeks were red with attraction and effort, and sweat dampened her hair. Yet the loyal Priestess soldiered on with a grin, as if the orgasm at the end was voluntary and the journey was just as exciting.
So held strong, letting the cold material penetrate her in quick succession. Her back arched with each push and her cunt contracted around the phallus to keep it inside. The Duchess nipped at her neck and collarbone, attempting to distract her from her steadfast position.
The blonde released a high-pitched moan, her cheeks igniting in the sweet cherry color of embarrassment. Recluse ensured the feeling was short lived by making a sound of her own.
The others told them they spoke too much, yet Recluse never thought that was the case. She always had more to say, but she was quiet about it. Her thoughts were usually said into the mirror, that is until her first conversation with the Priestess. Effortless and self-sustaining. It wasn't until now that she recognized she had yearned to hear the other woman's voice so she kept them engaged. Funny, how she had manifested an image of an extrovert so accidentally.
Her body seized with pleasure as the Duchess increased her pressure. Even her temperate skin had a limit, and the Duchess was about to find it.
“I can feel it,” she murmured, latching on to the shorter woman's neck.
“Tell me how you like it,” the sorcerer urged, desperate to finish with perfection.
“Higher,” the mage answered, picking up the blonde's hand and placing it on her lower abdomen. She showed the other girl how to properly push– reaping the rewards in the moment that followed. The added contact was enough to break her barriers, and soon she was panting again.
Desperation showed in the way her hands pulled at hair and her feet dug into the worn mattress. The heavy fog on her brain return to temporarily stifle her vision while she rode out the orgasm.
Her throat desired to scream but she'd been loud enough already. The attempt at subduing her vocal cords was a futile one, though, as the clicking sound of seconds reversed activated in her ears.
The repetition doubled down on her ecstasy, washing over her skin like the embrace of a frenzied flame. The Duchess forced their lips into a kiss with a ferocity Recluse could not match in her state of indisposition.
Her cunt throbbed as the phallus was removed. It rested against her shaking thigh while the Duchess continued to splatter her torso with indentations carved from her lips.
Her eyes closed and her lips parted into a smile as she coaxed the other woman into relaxing her advances. The strum of her heartbeat could take no more pressure at the moment--and as the blood drained from her extremities she was left with cold hands.
The Duchess rested on her legs for only a moment- just long enough to discard the heavy strap next to the bed, before she crawled next to her. The warmth emanated from the sorceress’ body, causing Recluse to sink further into her in hopes she might absorb some of it. Her lover wore a deep red flush on her cheeks, and the hair that had dried from the ocean once again stuck to her face. Recluse took a moment to remove the mask so that the pieces covering her eyes wouldn't bother her vision.
Beneath the silver was two pale irises. She knew they couldn't see anything, but somehow they looked at her as if they could see everything. She kissed the woman again, this time inviting a thigh to rest on her leg.
“A personal best,” the Duchess remarked, her tone flat and serious but the subject matter playful. “Perhaps favorite,” she added nonchalantly.
“I've returned from battles less weary on the body,” Recluse assured her, “your effort won't ever go unnoticed, Priestess.”
Duchess propped herself up on her arm, her aimless eyes attempting to meet her own, but instead pointing at her cheek. Recluse smiled because of it, using her palm to gently coax her jaw in the right direction.
“I don't know if I have it in me to persevere here,” the blonde woman spoke, “without you.” Recluse frowned, thankful that her leader could not see it.
“Perseverence implies persistence,” Recluse told her, “I won't expect you to persist. Endure is the most I can ask.”
Duchess seemed to consider this as she laid back down, pushing her head underneath her chin. Recluse kissed the top of her head, hiding her recoil from the lingering salt taste.
“We'll lay here,” she decided, rolling onto her side and holding the Duchess against her abdomen, “until the candlelight has expired.”
“Again?” Duchess asked excitedly.
“Mmm, the bath, Priestess. The Menial has surely prepared more water by now.”
“Oh,”
“We could share it,” Recluse suggested drawing a fingertip up the other woman's side. Duchess perked her head up, tilting her ear in the direction of her hum.
Recluse kept her hand going, stopping at the pale woman's chest before going back down and finding some place warmer to put it.
The others could return at any moment, and the Priestess was too good of a leader to do anything but forfeit her bathing time. Which meant she would have to work fast.
She started with one finger, going in slow gentle circle while the woman it her arms suppressed a moan. The Priestess was already so wet and swollen that there was little trouble locating the spots that mattered.
Her other hand wrapped underneath the other girl, and around her chest. It held them both in place, but better yet it stimulated her nipple, drawing out the invigorating hardness.
Recluse added another finger to her circulation, pinching the clit between her nails and kissing her target's neck. Duchess moaned softly in reply, her hands gripping Recluse's arms and begging for more contact. She picked up her pace, drawing out quiet whispers of pleasure from the other woman. After a moment the blonde girl inhaled, stretching her head up to meet her lips and moan into her mouth. Recluse caught herself smiling as their teeth butted together. Her hand slipped up the pale woman’s torso, wiping onto it the collection of fluid on her chest before inserting her fingers into her mouth. She hummed at the taste, amused at the fact the Duchess had a messier finale than herself.
Duchess panted for a moment, before she let her head relax against the Recluse’s breast. A cold hand extended backward over her thigh, earning a sly grin as the Priestess circulated her body like a vulture.
Had time been on their side she might have encouraged the advances, the two of them had certainly recovered enough, but she had meant it when she said they should take advantage of the empty bathhouse.
“Comfortable?” She asked, and the other woman rolled over. The Duchess lifted an arm, wrapping it lazily around her waist until it settled at the small of her back.
“Undoubtedly,” the blind woman replied, stealing a taste of her nipple as she spoke.
“Forgo it temporarily,” she murmured, stroking the side of the Duchess’ head.
“Times are bleak,” the Duchess replied, taking her mouth from Recluse's ebony skin and sitting upright. “If you would ask me to stop.”
Recluse laughed, pushing herself forward and taking a moment to solve the puzzle created by their mess before putting one of her robes over her head.
The Duchess watched her as she always did, except this time she held pieces of their undergarments with a look of confusion on her face.
“You've missed a piece. Or two,” she pointed out, attempting to hand them to her. Recluse dropped them back on the lazily made bed.
“I said forgo it temporarily, Priestess.” It wasn't until the Duchess reached for her mask that Recluse felt a little apologetic. Of course the other woman couldn't see her intentions.
Perhaps this is the riddle-talk she claims to misinterpret.
When the Duchess did find it, her eyes did a brief scan of the room. Her cheeks turned red again, something her body evidently could not be trained to withhold.
“I want you to join me for a bath,” Recluse clarified. “And to make a point of leaving our underclothes here.”
“That can be accommodated,” the Duchess said, hastily finding something to cover herself up enough for the walk. As she walked over towards her, Recluse stopped her by placing a hand on her chest. The Priestess paused, elements of her exercise lingering in rapid breaths.
“Bring your toy,” she ordered, speaking in a low whisper directly in her ear.
The Priestess nodded, shoving the strap under her coat. Anticipation had rendered the Priestess disordered and disheveled. It was endearing, mostly, that Recluse was found so desirable it put the most well kept of them in such disarray.
She decided then, that the Duchess would feel her appreciation. And if the other woman made a stake to take charge, then she would hear it.