playing house on the road.

[justashotaway]

WHO: laura kint, matthias
WHAT: a very serious mission that is definitely not a date
WHEN: sometime in drakonis don't worry about it
WHERE: out of kirkwall, moving toward the planasene forest
NOTES: sexual content, references to prior nonconsensual sexual experiences

Laura's happier as soon as they leave Kirkwall and the heavy scents of people and filth get smoothed away by the rest of the world. Earth and salt from the sea replace them, trees begin to grow, and the distant mountains feel more possible. Everything seems more real: ground and sky, the pony they've been allowed to take with them, Matthias' hand in hers.

The first day, they travel, starting early in the morning and going until the sun is low, and the forest threatens to become too dark to see. Then, they find a clearing to stop in, one with a creek close enough to hear, and Matthias promises he'll build them the finest fire possible. The pony is tied up to rest and eat, supplies taken from its saddlebags, and Laura hunts.

She comes back with two fat nugs, already gutted, her hands still bloody. "We will need to make a spit."

Comments

[inkindled]

Eager as always to please, good at hints--especially hints that are too blatant and clear to be hints, really, and still, a reward of their own--Matthias keeps up. His hair prickles where her fingers have twisted, and that feeling spreads all the way down his neck, his spine, while her grip at his hip is like a heat, and he doesn't let himself get distracted, not yet.

He's on this now, as he presses his neck kiss to her. Her nipple has gone stiff from his hand has been--stupidly his chin brushes against it, first, clumsily, and that nearly throws him off before he thinks of what he knows, what he's heard, and he puts his mouth there, next--careful, a little cautious but trying to act sure of himself--listening for her reaction, either she'll like it or she won't, and then he'll know.

[justashotaway]

It's a sharper sensation than any of the rest so far; if his mouth on her collarbone is heated, here it's a blaze. The light pressure of his lips on her nipple draws a throb from her clit, makes her fingers pull in slightly more against hip and scalp.

Her head's still tipped down toward his, and she kisses his hair, the most encouraging response she has at that moment. It feels as if she should be doing things, more than simply sitting there and being kissed, but she wants him to keep kissing her more than she's ever wanted anything out of sex.

[inkindled]

That's good enough to know he's chosen right, and good enough encouragement for him to keep it up--so he does, with his skin all prickled from the pull and the pressure of her fingers. A little more firm now, assured--and when he pulls away, it's only so he can press a kiss between her breasts, right on that hard line of the bone, before he skips over to the other one, and tries it again--firmer here than even before, with confidence, mouth and tongue and all.

It's strange, all this familiarity--there is nothing so familiar as this, after all, tangled up against Laura, gripped to her, with his mouth on her breast, nothing at all between them. Stranger still is all this time that they have. Before sex was a rush and Matthias still feels that impulse--eager, wanting--but there is nothing better than this, he thinks, now (in what capacity for thought he has). He can feel her breathing, he can, if he thinks of it, hear her heartbeat, even, maybe, and her every reaction telegraphed by the grip of her fingers--and if he licks instead of kisses, that does something different, and then he can switch back again. This could be hours, and hours, and time is theirs, out here in the woods.

[justashotaway]

The strangest thing--for Laura, at least--is how unconcerned he is with himself. It feels as if they could be here forever, sitting here in a quiet corner of the forest, and he'd still be focused on her. He hasn't moved her hands where he wants them, hasn't asked anything of her. (She knows him better, at least, than to think he'd demand.) It's enough, apparently, to hear the hitch in her breath when his tongue flicks over her nipple; he can guess, perhaps, how the wet empty heat has its match between her legs.

It becomes overwhelming, slowly and then entirely, to realize it. She doesn't know what to do with the feeling--it lives someplace between fine and claws--but she has to do something. It's becoming too much. Not in the way coming is--this is more like the day he'd caught her following him, the sensation of his gaze alighting on her in the shadows.

"Matthias," and her voice is almost entirely breath as she tugs lightly back at his hair, trying to draw his eyes back up to hers. (A strange feeling, the conviction that feeling him looking at her will be less to bear than his singleminded focus on her body.) When his head's tipped up, she'll kiss him, taking refuge in the familiarity of his taste as her fingers find his cock again, this time stroking down the length of him in what's decidedly not an accidental touch. There's safety in familiarity, especially when so much of this still feels new.