(Maybe enumerate your ideas better next time. Just saying.
Technically, the sentiment is similar — giving, to put it broadly, although his initiative comes with score-settling to back it up. That feels... Much, much more comfortable for her to put that physical distance between them, it allows her more freedom to play around right back at him and distract him if he gets way too damn close. It's an acceptable loophole, and she'll figure out how she feels as they go.
There's never any real defense or pushback that isn't petty, expected foreplay from her when he reaches, and this time is no different. Free-flowing, she feels the warmth travel from her spine down, eyes closing so she can let out an exhale.
If she was ever on the fence before, that smug grin pulls her right back into action. Unsure whether he knows that works for her, or if that's just him in general, but either way.)
Deal.
(Once she's sitting back where she had been, she's just diving for a heated kiss so she can wipe the smug off his lips.)
[She should know better than to think she can wipe the smug off Quentin Quire. His smug is eternal. Unstoppable. You wipe the smug look off his face but he has a second smaller smug look under it. Omega level smugness.
He returns the kiss, but doesn't touch her aside from the hand still on her wrist. She's allowed to touch him all she wants, he's arbitrarily decided, but he only gets the wrist. Every game needs rules, even if they're ones he just made up. The challenge here isn't how he can touch her, it's how he can make her feel him touching her without actually doing it. Like the invisible kiss to the sensitive part of her neck. Or the hands that aren't there sliding down her back, sending more of that warmth down her spine.]
(Yeah, she knows it's impossible, but she's no quitter. Go down fighting, or else what is the fun in anything?
He doesn't need to state the rules; she's already understood them from the fact that his hands aren't perfectly locked in the curve of her waist, not on her thighs, nor anywhere but the wrist he took. That's fine by her, actually. If he had forgone kissing, then she'd be in trouble, but he didn't — it means she gets to enjoy it in addition to the very real (to her) touches he's giving her, a smile forming against his lips as she lets out a sigh.
He knows she loves telepathy. Knows this works for her perfectly, but she just has to be a little difficult even if her spare hand on his cheek caresses skin, and she fights the grin from widening as she continues the kiss.)
/Jury's still out./
(Nope, jury likes it. The jury approves. She knows he knows.)
[There are several erogenous zones on the human body, the stimulation of which induces arousal in the brain. And today, Quentin has decided that the inner wrist of Sophie's hand is one of them. Or it will be, once he finishes nudging around a few things in her head. Don't worry, he'll put everything back where he found it when he's done! And yes, the invisible hands and lips touching her are meant to distract her while he's working on that. Classic sleight of hand. Or uh, sleight of... brain. Whatever.]
/What if I've got additional evidence to submit?/
[Not how court works, but he doesn't expect her to nitpick the logic of stupid banter. Especially when he lightly rubs his pointer finger over the back of her wrist, which should—if he's as amazing as he thinks he is, and let's face it, he is—give her a nice teasing little jolt down her spine. And, more importantly, a really entertaining reaction for him to enjoy.]
(Ah, to trust. Surely not with everything or without a lot of work to pull it out of her, she's not insane, but with telepathic bullshit, there is not an ounce of suspicion or uncertainty. She knows he's in there, she feels him in her head and the kisses and touches he's making her feel, but whatever the additional fuck he's doing, she's not particularly worried about it.
Wait, is he the defense or prosecution — this is so stupid that it finally makes her give in the chuckle she was fighting before, thus breaking the kiss.)
Seriously, you gotta stop making me laugh, I can't kiss and laugh and talk.
(Do not though, that's honestly one of the top tier things she enjoys.
Oh. That's what the additional fuck he was doing. Rewiring nerves. Unexpected, it pulls a small breathy moan from her, still close enough that he can enjoy the microexpressions of 'I like this, but also fuck you'. It includes the nose crinkle.)
[It's very convenient that him making her laugh is one of her favorite things, since trolling her is one of his favorite things. So nice when things like that work out.
Anyway, speaking of things working out, he just has one or two more nerves to patch into aaaand there. Done. The little breathy noise she made is good, but he can (and has) gotten much, much better sounds out of her.]
Sneaky? No idea what you're talking about. Well, unless you mean this.
[Psychic hands slot on her waist the way his real ones have a dozen other times that they've done this, and while there's no actual hands pulling her against anything, no actual grinding happening, the way he presses his thumb to the underside of her wrist should theoretically come with a similarly pleasant type of friction. Theoretically because, well... how's he supposed to know what any of this shit is going to feel like to her until he tries it? None of this is an exact science or anything. Just a lot of experimentation. Sexy experimentation.]
(The only reason why she doesn't answer with the most mature rebuttal of 'you're a skill issue' is because that's a very, very dangerous thing to say to a man who has direct control of your nerves and a mission he's very dedicated to.
An eye roll has got to suffice.
They're different when it comes to telepathy. Sophie's approach is much more traditional, but even before she knew she was an Emma Frost clone, she had been learning under her — which means that illusioning, pulling out desires and wants to use, and more sensual, sensory, and psychological approaches of how to use one's mind are her usual go-to. Which, well, it's all fine, but it is very contrasting with Quentin's more analytical, computer-like thought process. Of course he's moving her nerves around, restructuring her pathways so he could use her wrist as a pleasure joystick. Because of course he is.
If anything, she can't ever say she's gotten bored with him. Irritated, annoyed, baffled, fond, occasionally mushy, and detrimental to the brand — yeah, sure, whatever. Bored is kind of impossible.
It works, yes, not like he isn't going to know by the fact she attempts to ground the sudden surge by kissing him again, a louder noise muffled. She's too fucking sensitive, like he doesn't know, and the hand that rested on his cheek is now to his shoulder, because she needs a place to hold.)
[Too sensitive? He'll be the judge of that. Maybe he thinks she's not quite sensitive enough, hmm? What then?
He's thankful for the residual lazy, heavy feeling in his limbs, because without that it'd probably be a lot more tempting to actually touch her with his free hand. But as it is? He's perfectly happy to let her muffle her moans with his mouth and hold onto his shoulder while he plays with her brain. And play he does, continuing to rub her wrist with his thumb as he moves her hand up and into a convenient place to tangle into his hair if she's so inclined. That's just a treat for him, honestly. Is it cheating a little? Yes, but he made up the rules so who cares.]
/Ouch. And I'm being so nice, too! You're not gonna make me have to get mean, are you?/
[Oh, right, and that whole sensitive thing? Well, the invisible hands grip her waist just the way she likes it, and he adds a bit of firm psychic pressure between her legs. But not the feeling of fingers there—no, no, that's amateur shit. What he gives her is pure stimulation, a sensation that's strengthened by any movement of her hips, which the hands at her waist as well as a bit of (very not hidden or sneaky) telepathic suggestion encourages. The nerves he rewired to her wrist are a more general spark of "good" throughout the most sensitive parts of her body. Add in what he's doing downstairs, and he expects her to be putty quite soon.]
(Haha. Remember when touching his hair was a limited offer thing? That was months ago; she always has her fingers in his curls lately. It's also good grounding and enrichment for her — she's never keen on being a pillow princess, just existing there being her gorgeous self, without interaction or mutual connection. Which means that, yeah, gladly she's let her nails scratch the scalp before she pulls gently on the strands.
Also, this position is starting to get uncomfortable. She just breaks the kiss to climb to his lap, forehead to forehead as she smirks at the comment he sends her mind.)
Just remember I'm horribly vindictive.
(Welp. What a place she decided to be when he does all the telepathic bullshit he is. It's not the suggestion that makes her move, it's the chasing of feeling that she does instinctively when it first happens.
Congratulations, she's loud again, hiding her face on his neck to press her lips to it in kisses, the hand in his hair pulling a little stronger. Give her two minutes, give or take, but just because she can? She'll send an echo of what she is feeling straight to his brain.)
[He grunts uncomfortably when she moves to his lap, and when she sends him that wave of sensation, he breaks his one rule to nudge her further back towards his knees.]
Easy there. Trust me, I'd be just as hot and bothered as you if biology would let me.
[For a brief moment, his hand moves from her thigh to slip his fingers just below her the waistband of her shorts, but... No. Too easy. And she said that whole thing about being vindictive and blah blah blah. His hand returns to the couch, but now he's got a nasty little idea brewing in his nasty little skull.]
Sorry the real thing isn't available yet. Guess you'll have to make do.
[See, they've done this more than enough times for him to know what it feels like on her end when he's inside her. So that's what he adds next, psychic "thrusts" automatically syncing to whatever pace she's setting with her own movement. Overkill? Almost certainly. But hey, he warned her. Kind of.]
Just kidding, no, she'd possibly be overstimulated too. She tends to be after, they usually don't give each other much of a break. Hence why there are breaks, and naps, and stupidity between rounds. How they manage to be this horny is proof that the spirit is truly unbreakable.
She didn't really climb to his lap to bring him into this mess, at least not completely — but for positioning, thank her later for saving their neck from being too sore, but whatever. Not enough brainpower to fall down into that stupid argument.
The movement of her hips are soft, slow, mostly because otherwise he's going to kill her. It's way too familar, and she's already plotting her revenge for another day as she senses herself come closer. It's when she knows she's about to that she leaves his neck to place a gentle kiss to his lips, letting the sound of pleasure vibrate against the skin before...
She's beaming, a little shaky and spasmy as the pleasure runs through her every nerve, her hand on his shoulder gripping as she rides it.
The attempt to breathe is obvious, and what comes out in chuckles is, well, a fucking lie.)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Technically, the sentiment is similar — giving, to put it broadly, although his initiative comes with score-settling to back it up. That feels... Much, much more comfortable for her to put that physical distance between them, it allows her more freedom to play around right back at him and distract him if he gets way too damn close. It's an acceptable loophole, and she'll figure out how she feels as they go.
There's never any real defense or pushback that isn't petty, expected foreplay from her when he reaches, and this time is no different. Free-flowing, she feels the warmth travel from her spine down, eyes closing so she can let out an exhale.
If she was ever on the fence before, that smug grin pulls her right back into action. Unsure whether he knows that works for her, or if that's just him in general, but either way.)
Deal.
(Once she's sitting back where she had been, she's just diving for a heated kiss so she can wipe the smug off his lips.)
no subject
He returns the kiss, but doesn't touch her aside from the hand still on her wrist. She's allowed to touch him all she wants, he's arbitrarily decided, but he only gets the wrist. Every game needs rules, even if they're ones he just made up. The challenge here isn't how he can touch her, it's how he can make her feel him touching her without actually doing it. Like the invisible kiss to the sensitive part of her neck. Or the hands that aren't there sliding down her back, sending more of that warmth down her spine.]
/How's that?/
[As if he doesn't know.]
no subject
He doesn't need to state the rules; she's already understood them from the fact that his hands aren't perfectly locked in the curve of her waist, not on her thighs, nor anywhere but the wrist he took. That's fine by her, actually. If he had forgone kissing, then she'd be in trouble, but he didn't — it means she gets to enjoy it in addition to the very real (to her) touches he's giving her, a smile forming against his lips as she lets out a sigh.
He knows she loves telepathy. Knows this works for her perfectly, but she just has to be a little difficult even if her spare hand on his cheek caresses skin, and she fights the grin from widening as she continues the kiss.)
/Jury's still out./
(Nope, jury likes it. The jury approves. She knows he knows.)
no subject
/What if I've got additional evidence to submit?/
[Not how court works, but he doesn't expect her to nitpick the logic of stupid banter. Especially when he lightly rubs his pointer finger over the back of her wrist, which should—if he's as amazing as he thinks he is, and let's face it, he is—give her a nice teasing little jolt down her spine. And, more importantly, a really entertaining reaction for him to enjoy.]
no subject
Wait, is he the defense or prosecution — this is so stupid that it finally makes her give in the chuckle she was fighting before, thus breaking the kiss.)
Seriously, you gotta stop making me laugh, I can't kiss and laugh and talk.
(Do not though, that's honestly one of the top tier things she enjoys.
Oh. That's what the additional fuck he was doing. Rewiring nerves. Unexpected, it pulls a small breathy moan from her, still close enough that he can enjoy the microexpressions of 'I like this, but also fuck you'. It includes the nose crinkle.)
... Sneaky.
no subject
[It's very convenient that him making her laugh is one of her favorite things, since trolling her is one of his favorite things. So nice when things like that work out.
Anyway, speaking of things working out, he just has one or two more nerves to patch into aaaand there. Done. The little breathy noise she made is good, but he can (and has) gotten much, much better sounds out of her.]
Sneaky? No idea what you're talking about. Well, unless you mean this.
[Psychic hands slot on her waist the way his real ones have a dozen other times that they've done this, and while there's no actual hands pulling her against anything, no actual grinding happening, the way he presses his thumb to the underside of her wrist should theoretically come with a similarly pleasant type of friction. Theoretically because, well... how's he supposed to know what any of this shit is going to feel like to her until he tries it? None of this is an exact science or anything. Just a lot of experimentation. Sexy experimentation.]
You mean that?
no subject
(The only reason why she doesn't answer with the most mature rebuttal of 'you're a skill issue' is because that's a very, very dangerous thing to say to a man who has direct control of your nerves and a mission he's very dedicated to.
An eye roll has got to suffice.
They're different when it comes to telepathy. Sophie's approach is much more traditional, but even before she knew she was an Emma Frost clone, she had been learning under her — which means that illusioning, pulling out desires and wants to use, and more sensual, sensory, and psychological approaches of how to use one's mind are her usual go-to. Which, well, it's all fine, but it is very contrasting with Quentin's more analytical, computer-like thought process. Of course he's moving her nerves around, restructuring her pathways so he could use her wrist as a pleasure joystick. Because of course he is.
If anything, she can't ever say she's gotten bored with him. Irritated, annoyed, baffled, fond, occasionally mushy, and detrimental to the brand — yeah, sure, whatever. Bored is kind of impossible.
It works, yes, not like he isn't going to know by the fact she attempts to ground the sudden surge by kissing him again, a louder noise muffled. She's too fucking sensitive, like he doesn't know, and the hand that rested on his cheek is now to his shoulder, because she needs a place to hold.)
no subject
He's thankful for the residual lazy, heavy feeling in his limbs, because without that it'd probably be a lot more tempting to actually touch her with his free hand. But as it is? He's perfectly happy to let her muffle her moans with his mouth and hold onto his shoulder while he plays with her brain. And play he does, continuing to rub her wrist with his thumb as he moves her hand up and into a convenient place to tangle into his hair if she's so inclined. That's just a treat for him, honestly. Is it cheating a little? Yes, but he made up the rules so who cares.]
/Ouch. And I'm being so nice, too! You're not gonna make me have to get mean, are you?/
[Oh, right, and that whole sensitive thing? Well, the invisible hands grip her waist just the way she likes it, and he adds a bit of firm psychic pressure between her legs. But not the feeling of fingers there—no, no, that's amateur shit. What he gives her is pure stimulation, a sensation that's strengthened by any movement of her hips, which the hands at her waist as well as a bit of (very not hidden or sneaky) telepathic suggestion encourages. The nerves he rewired to her wrist are a more general spark of "good" throughout the most sensitive parts of her body. Add in what he's doing downstairs, and he expects her to be putty quite soon.]
no subject
Also, this position is starting to get uncomfortable. She just breaks the kiss to climb to his lap, forehead to forehead as she smirks at the comment he sends her mind.)
Just remember I'm horribly vindictive.
(Welp. What a place she decided to be when he does all the telepathic bullshit he is. It's not the suggestion that makes her move, it's the chasing of feeling that she does instinctively when it first happens.
Congratulations, she's loud again, hiding her face on his neck to press her lips to it in kisses, the hand in his hair pulling a little stronger. Give her two minutes, give or take, but just because she can? She'll send an echo of what she is feeling straight to his brain.)
no subject
Easy there. Trust me, I'd be just as hot and bothered as you if biology would let me.
[For a brief moment, his hand moves from her thigh to slip his fingers just below her the waistband of her shorts, but... No. Too easy. And she said that whole thing about being vindictive and blah blah blah. His hand returns to the couch, but now he's got a nasty little idea brewing in his nasty little skull.]
Sorry the real thing isn't available yet. Guess you'll have to make do.
[See, they've done this more than enough times for him to know what it feels like on her end when he's inside her. So that's what he adds next, psychic "thrusts" automatically syncing to whatever pace she's setting with her own movement. Overkill? Almost certainly. But hey, he warned her. Kind of.]
no subject
(Women rock, see, she'd be fine.
Just kidding, no, she'd possibly be overstimulated too. She tends to be after, they usually don't give each other much of a break. Hence why there are breaks, and naps, and stupidity between rounds. How they manage to be this horny is proof that the spirit is truly unbreakable.
She didn't really climb to his lap to bring him into this mess, at least not completely — but for positioning, thank her later for saving their neck from being too sore, but whatever. Not enough brainpower to fall down into that stupid argument.
The movement of her hips are soft, slow, mostly because otherwise he's going to kill her. It's way too familar, and she's already plotting her revenge for another day as she senses herself come closer. It's when she knows she's about to that she leaves his neck to place a gentle kiss to his lips, letting the sound of pleasure vibrate against the skin before...
She's beaming, a little shaky and spasmy as the pleasure runs through her every nerve, her hand on his shoulder gripping as she rides it.
The attempt to breathe is obvious, and what comes out in chuckles is, well, a fucking lie.)
God, I hate you so much.