(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}
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(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.