despitethenora | Sneck IC inbox

[This is cheating. This is very definitely cheating. And Tryse is going to feel tremendous guilt later, despite her rationalizations now. She's feeling more than a little guilty as is. She hadn't really expected things to move this far, this fast.

But what she's said is true. She's terrified of losing Aloy. Or Aloy losing her, possibly. And if this satisfies them, keeps them from beating themselves over future 'why didn't I' thoughts...

She gasps sharply at the grip on her neck, leaning in to the kiss. She assists with the pants then, without much patience for the underwear, bobs down and slips her hands under Aloy's thighs, lifting her and pressing her back against the wall with a thump. That press is a little necessary, Tryse isn't strong enough to hold Aloy without further support. But...]

I saw you dream about this sensation. Maybe you need to know what it's like.

[Holding Aloy's gaze, she leans down with her head and slides her tongue out. Hell, that's a long tongue. But she teases Aloy's skin with the pointed little tip until she catches the nipple between her lips and gives a gentle tug. How did Aloy's fantasy about being on her desk go? Let's try to give her an actual sensation to go with that fantasy.]

[Maybe Aloy will feel guilty later. Maybe. Right now, it's all nerves, excitement, and desire. She's getting what she's wanted, and this time not reining herself in.

There's the kiss, and she's offering her feelings up in the empathy. Thought stops for a moment, though, when Tryse lifts and presses her. So much contact, unexpected, new -

Finally, her legs hook at Tryse's waist. Aloy won't give up her hold on Tryse's neck, but she does set her other hand on Tryse's shoulder. She's hardly processed just how long that tongue is before Tryse's mouth is on her breast, Aloy's body tightening in answer to the sensation.]

A-any opportunity to teach. [Fingers flex, and urge Tryse toward her body.] Have a few others you saw?

[She'll take the feelings. They help a little, to drown out the feeling that she's committing a betrayal.

She closes her eyes and makes a noise to acknowledge the question, but she doesn't respond. Instead, she's teaching Aloy a lesson, with tongue and lips and teeth. She opens them and locks eyes again, working the Nora in practically every way she can think of before pulling off with a little suck. Now, she nibbles up Aloy's chest, along her collarbone, and then switches to kisses that she peppers up to her ear.]

Only saw two.

[She nips Aloy's ear.]

Thinking about it... So many titles, yes? But Aloy, Machine Hunter. Seer of the Unseen. Seeker of the Nora. Anointed of the All-Mother. Thrush of Sunhawk Talanah Khane Padish. Werak Chieftain. Savior of Meridian. Hekarro’s Champion. Wall-breaker. Who flies on the Wings of the Ten.

None of those mean anything now. For tonight, the only title that matters to you is...

[She reaches up, laces her fingers into Aloy's hair. Gives a little tug.]

Mine.

[She's responding without thinking, letting her body try to arch into the press and offer itself up to Tryse's attention. Her breath is sharp when Tryse finds her way back up - at the sharp little pinch at her ear.

For a moment, she's wondering where Tryse is going. The titles, what's that really have to do with anything. But there it is. The hand in her hair, and discarding the list in favor of something very particular.

Those emotions she's letting out? There's a flood of gratification. Aloy's eyes are on her. The timing is a little awkward, because her mind whirls and she has to swallow before she answers.]

That's the only one I want.

[The tug is a feeling on its own, and there's a part of her that wants to test how it feels to go against it, but Aloy wants what it means with being called Tryse's. She'll go with the little tug, letting that claim her as much as the word.]

[The kiss Aloy gets after that is a crushing, bruising affair. Not quite the affection of earlier smooches. Nor the tease of the party back when. This is hunger. The witch is drinking her Nora in, claiming her as much with the kiss as with words and the hand in her hair.

And then she's moving, one hand under Aloy to keep her supported, the other pulling her close, so that Tryse can walk (stumble) without letting go. It's not far, Tryse pushes her down onto a table, crushing a collection of fresh-cut herbs and flowers underneath her. She holds her there, a hand on her chest, and looks down like she's burning the sight into her memory. There's a pause, and a slight smirk, and she reaches up to tap her Focus. A screenshot.

Her hand slides lower, trailing her nails, letting them scratch softly down Aloy's abdomen. She stops at the redhead's underwear. Flicks her other wrist.]

Presto.

[...That's sure Aloy's panties dangling from her fingers. She flicks them aside, almost disdainfully.]

You've probably an inkling of how often I've thought of this day.

[Aloy's section of her fantasy book is, after all, very long.]

[Her hair is a mess around her, but an impromptu bed of herbs and flowers, the lack of neat preparation for the table - Aloy's all in favor of that. Tryse's hand on her chest can't stop her if she decides to move, but Aloy lets it pin her in place.

Her lips part in a huffed laugh, when she realizes what Tryse is doing with her Focus. The muscles of her stomach pull tight as nails make their way down her stomach, and she's starting to move to try making what needs to come next easier.

Oh. A fuller laugh at the way the underwear is discarded, and now she props herself up on an elbow, cut plants stuck in her hair, and snags at Tryse's chiton to drag her in for another kiss.]

Prepared that spell just for me, did you?

[Tryse sticks her tongue out a bit at the huffed laugh. And she lets Aloy have it with the next kiss, still pouring in heat. It's no wonder Aloy has red hair, with all of that desire burning inside of her.]

Didn't exactly predict this happening. Though I think you might be able to from here.

[Her fingers trail down, and she twists her hand, sliding them between Aloy's thighs. She teases her folds gently and then, as just she'd seen in Aloy's fantasies, slides in and curls. She's sticking to that script for the moment, but that doesn't mean she isn't watching Aloy's facial expressions intently.]

Everything about you says you're not very musical. But I think I can teach you to sing something beautiful anyway.

[She won't look down at the hand. The hand is a distraction. Aloy's keeping her focus up on Tryse. She remembers that speed date, expects that Tryse will get some enjoyment out of what the witch is doing to her.

Let them wrap themselves up in the intimacy of it. Of burning up all the pent-up want Aloy's been carrying around.

The teasing has her shivering, pressing against Tryse's hand. Not long, though - fingers press, and Aloy hitches. It takes a little before she starts trying to figure out what to do with herself, feeling this.

Once her mind latches onto something, she's trying to capture Tryse's other hand, to drag it to her breast.]

You'll have to be the next performance.

[She curls again, then starts a slow, thrusting rhythm, getting Aloy used to the sensations. Thankfully, she keeps her nails short. But here, she strays slightly from her friend's fantasies, going with what Tryse knows she hasn't considered, what she can't really do to herself.

She chuckles softly into Aloy, and leans back a little. Her hand at the breast knows what Aloy wants, gives it to her. A tease of the nipple. A tweak, a tug. A caress, a little too rough to be gentle.]

Mm. Perhaps. But I think I'd rather drag an encore out of you, first. Perhaps two or three. You've much to learn, after all.

[She leans in, nips gently at Aloy's ear again.]

Like the sweet apple which reddens upon the topmost bough,
Atop on the topmost twig, — which the pluckers forgot, somehow, —
Forget it not, nay; but got it not, for none could get it till now.

Edited 2023-09-09 19:31 (UTC)

[As non-musical as Aloy is, she can catch on to the rhythm. And too rough to be gentle was something she wanted. It's not singing, but she squirms a bit on the table, a pleased sound starting to come with her breath.

She doesn't have any banter, now. Just a shudder at the nip, and then - poetry. Adding the euphoria of an objective hit tears a moan out of Aloy.

It's unfair in the best way.]

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