“You're the best,” she promised him, still shivery with aftershock. She'd have said it anyhow; it made him happy, and she liked that. (Vaguely, she remembered the spell. It seemed less important than ever.) “What – what do you want me to do for you?” She glanced sideways at her hands, one half-buried in feathers. She could work Molly like a delicate lock under her fingers, maybe, if he asked; if he told her what he liked. Maybe. Probably. She was more used to a fumble and a fuck, when someone else was too horny to care it was her and she was too lonely to care that she was herself either.
“Just lie back,” Molly said, shifting himself up the bed until his knees bracketed her ribs. The sheet was a thin band over her stomach, pooling around his thighs. He kept his weight easily off her even as he sat back on his heels, arching his back just a little. “Enjoy the view.”
“Oh, I am,” she said. Bright metal chains spilled over his chest, highlighting the curves of muscle; glass and silver flashed from his rings as he ran his hand in a slow tease from collarbone to waist. His cock was a bulge in his pants the size of her closed fist, baffling inarguable evidence he hadn't lied. He really had enjoyed that. Enjoyed her.
“Are you sure you don't want me to do anything else?” she asked, half sitting up. Molly pressed down gently on her shoulder, holding her still; nothing she couldn't wriggle free from, but the message was clear.
“No, I'm going to come on your tits,” he said, snapping his belt open. “Unless there's a problem?”
“I –” Nott glanced down at her chest, long since left bare. Still small, still scarred, still ugly green. Molly's low, showy moan cut through her thoughts; he had one hand down the front of his stupid striped trousers, hand moving under the fabric. “Knock yourself out?”
“Oh thank the gods,” he said, and pulled his cock out of his pants. It was flushed a deep and brilliant purple, foreskin pulled back to bare the wet magenta gleam of the head. He made a show of the first long stroke, thumb pressing under the head, pushing a drop of precome out. With a smile he held his hand out to her mouth: “Want a taste?”
“If you want me to,” she said, with perfect honesty.
“Not what I asked.”
“Yes it is,” she said, blinking up at him. “If you want me to, I want to.” With that she leaned forward, swiping her tongue over his thumb before he could pull it back. He had a ring on the knuckle, a thin brass band; she tongued at that too, smooth under her tongue. “Salty. I mean that in a good way!” she added hastily.
“All right,” he said, with a bemused little shrug, and wrapped his hand around his cock again, stroking a little faster this time. He ran his other hand along the line of his throat, his chest, highlighting the tattoos; with a sly look, he lifted the chain of his necklace, tilting it to catch the light. She sighed happily. He was beautiful, over her, in his shimmering jewels and his jewel-bright skin. The loveliness of it mingled with the slick heat between her legs, the warm laxness of her muscles, the softness of the sheets against her skin. She felt like floating.
“Mmm,” he murmured, arching his back a little. He pinched his nipple between two fingers, eyes fluttering closed. His other hand was moving in sharp hurried strokes; his hips rocked up once, then again, bed creaking underneath them. It felt a little silly; she didn't mind. She liked it anyway. Molly gasped; his hand dropped to palm at her breast again, uncoordinated and clumsy with want. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. She could hear him panting.
“Come on,” she murmured, only half-hearing the words as they left her mouth. “Come on, that's good...” She was watching the brilliant ruby flush of his skin, the way his foreskin slid just a little forth and back with every stroke. His fingers tightened on her breast; he cried out, echoing in the little room. Come welled up between his fingers, falling hot and silky on her skin, pooling in the hollow of her chest. She liked the texture of it, the thickness.
Molly smiled down at her, looking entirely satisfied with himself.
“There,” he said, running his finger through the mess on her skin. “There you go.”
“Here I am,” she agreed, dizzy. “It's pretty good.”
“That's the point,” he said, and rolled to the side, falling full-length on the bed beside her. Strands of damp hair stuck still to his forehead, to his cheek. He tucked his arm around her, heedless of the mess, and pulled her close into his side. “Stay a little before we get cleaned up, I like the afterglow.”
“It seems pretty nice,” she agreed, nestling into the crook of his arm. He was definitively hotter than a human, or a goblin; it was like a hearthfire under his skin. She liked it. “So, do we talk now, or...”
“What, something you want to talk about?” he asked. “I promised not to ask any personal questions.”
“Oh, that's right, you did.” It seemed very long ago. “I don't know, I just... I don't want to just slink off and fix my pants. It feels sordid.”
“Stay, then,” he said, yawning again. “Sleep. Fjord's sleeping in your bed anyway. You don't take up much space, and I like the company. I snore, but I don't kick.”
“I know,” she said. “I hear it on watch.”
“Good point.” He yawned, tugging the blankets up around them. His come was drying on her chest; he seemed to have forgotten. She'd had worse things dry on her, to be honest. She could deal with it in the morning. “The, you know, the voice trick will have worn off by morning, if it hasn't already. I'm surprised it lasted this long.”
“Mmm-hm.” She kissed his shoulder while she still wanted to, tugging the blankets a little higher around her shoulders. “You enjoyed yourself, right?” she couldn't help but ask.
“Take a look at your chest,” he said, yawning. “I had a great time. Now go to sleep, it's going to be morning way before either of us wants it.” He closed his eyes, another yawn splitting his jaw. She was tired, too, and peaceful, warmth settled into all her limbs.
“Thank you,” she said, quiet and sure against his shoulder. “This was nice. Nothing at all like what I'm used to. From anyone, really.”
“No problem.” His voice was offhanded, almost insultingly casual; but his arm tightened around her like a promise that he understood. Maybe they both talked better with their hands and with their bodies than their words.
She fell asleep easily, Molly's breathing evening out beside her.
(A while after dawn, pale light filtering in through the edges of the window, something woke her: a distant rattling outside, something that might have meant trouble and the Crownsguard if it hadn't clattered right on past the window. She stirred, and Molly made a grumbling noise under the blankets and pulled her back against his side. The sound was fading into the distance, and she curled back into him with all the same warm trust she'd felt before. The spell was long since faded.)
"just finish the daydream," Nott/Mollymauk, E, 4/4, dysphoria + anxiety + consensual Charm Person
“Just lie back,” Molly said, shifting himself up the bed until his knees bracketed her ribs. The sheet was a thin band over her stomach, pooling around his thighs. He kept his weight easily off her even as he sat back on his heels, arching his back just a little. “Enjoy the view.”
“Oh, I am,” she said. Bright metal chains spilled over his chest, highlighting the curves of muscle; glass and silver flashed from his rings as he ran his hand in a slow tease from collarbone to waist. His cock was a bulge in his pants the size of her closed fist, baffling inarguable evidence he hadn't lied. He really had enjoyed that. Enjoyed her.
“Are you sure you don't want me to do anything else?” she asked, half sitting up. Molly pressed down gently on her shoulder, holding her still; nothing she couldn't wriggle free from, but the message was clear.
“No, I'm going to come on your tits,” he said, snapping his belt open. “Unless there's a problem?”
“I –” Nott glanced down at her chest, long since left bare. Still small, still scarred, still ugly green. Molly's low, showy moan cut through her thoughts; he had one hand down the front of his stupid striped trousers, hand moving under the fabric. “Knock yourself out?”
“Oh thank the gods,” he said, and pulled his cock out of his pants. It was flushed a deep and brilliant purple, foreskin pulled back to bare the wet magenta gleam of the head. He made a show of the first long stroke, thumb pressing under the head, pushing a drop of precome out. With a smile he held his hand out to her mouth: “Want a taste?”
“If you want me to,” she said, with perfect honesty.
“Not what I asked.”
“Yes it is,” she said, blinking up at him. “If you want me to, I want to.” With that she leaned forward, swiping her tongue over his thumb before he could pull it back. He had a ring on the knuckle, a thin brass band; she tongued at that too, smooth under her tongue. “Salty. I mean that in a good way!” she added hastily.
“All right,” he said, with a bemused little shrug, and wrapped his hand around his cock again, stroking a little faster this time. He ran his other hand along the line of his throat, his chest, highlighting the tattoos; with a sly look, he lifted the chain of his necklace, tilting it to catch the light. She sighed happily. He was beautiful, over her, in his shimmering jewels and his jewel-bright skin. The loveliness of it mingled with the slick heat between her legs, the warm laxness of her muscles, the softness of the sheets against her skin. She felt like floating.
“Mmm,” he murmured, arching his back a little. He pinched his nipple between two fingers, eyes fluttering closed. His other hand was moving in sharp hurried strokes; his hips rocked up once, then again, bed creaking underneath them. It felt a little silly; she didn't mind. She liked it anyway. Molly gasped; his hand dropped to palm at her breast again, uncoordinated and clumsy with want. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. She could hear him panting.
“Come on,” she murmured, only half-hearing the words as they left her mouth. “Come on, that's good...” She was watching the brilliant ruby flush of his skin, the way his foreskin slid just a little forth and back with every stroke. His fingers tightened on her breast; he cried out, echoing in the little room. Come welled up between his fingers, falling hot and silky on her skin, pooling in the hollow of her chest. She liked the texture of it, the thickness.
Molly smiled down at her, looking entirely satisfied with himself.
“There,” he said, running his finger through the mess on her skin. “There you go.”
“Here I am,” she agreed, dizzy. “It's pretty good.”
“That's the point,” he said, and rolled to the side, falling full-length on the bed beside her. Strands of damp hair stuck still to his forehead, to his cheek. He tucked his arm around her, heedless of the mess, and pulled her close into his side. “Stay a little before we get cleaned up, I like the afterglow.”
“It seems pretty nice,” she agreed, nestling into the crook of his arm. He was definitively hotter than a human, or a goblin; it was like a hearthfire under his skin. She liked it. “So, do we talk now, or...”
“What, something you want to talk about?” he asked. “I promised not to ask any personal questions.”
“Oh, that's right, you did.” It seemed very long ago. “I don't know, I just... I don't want to just slink off and fix my pants. It feels sordid.”
“Stay, then,” he said, yawning again. “Sleep. Fjord's sleeping in your bed anyway. You don't take up much space, and I like the company. I snore, but I don't kick.”
“I know,” she said. “I hear it on watch.”
“Good point.” He yawned, tugging the blankets up around them. His come was drying on her chest; he seemed to have forgotten. She'd had worse things dry on her, to be honest. She could deal with it in the morning. “The, you know, the voice trick will have worn off by morning, if it hasn't already. I'm surprised it lasted this long.”
“Mmm-hm.” She kissed his shoulder while she still wanted to, tugging the blankets a little higher around her shoulders. “You enjoyed yourself, right?” she couldn't help but ask.
“Take a look at your chest,” he said, yawning. “I had a great time. Now go to sleep, it's going to be morning way before either of us wants it.” He closed his eyes, another yawn splitting his jaw. She was tired, too, and peaceful, warmth settled into all her limbs.
“Thank you,” she said, quiet and sure against his shoulder. “This was nice. Nothing at all like what I'm used to. From anyone, really.”
“No problem.” His voice was offhanded, almost insultingly casual; but his arm tightened around her like a promise that he understood. Maybe they both talked better with their hands and with their bodies than their words.
She fell asleep easily, Molly's breathing evening out beside her.
(A while after dawn, pale light filtering in through the edges of the window, something woke her: a distant rattling outside, something that might have meant trouble and the Crownsguard if it hadn't clattered right on past the window. She stirred, and Molly made a grumbling noise under the blankets and pulled her back against his side. The sound was fading into the distance, and she curled back into him with all the same warm trust she'd felt before. The spell was long since faded.)