She gives him a brief, soft kiss before standing from his lap. Before she can second guess herself, she pushes her trousers and smallclothes down past her hips and steps out of them.
The fresh air between her legs makes her shiver and she moves to straddle his thighs again.
"I'm just going to sit on your lap. That's all."
She holds his cock to get him lined up with her entrance, and holds her breath as she sinks onto him.
"Don't move. Don't touch." A reminder to herself more than him.
Gale makes a startled noise, though he must have known exactly what was happening, and then moans, an unintentional sound so raw it might have been dragged right out of his soul.
For several moments, he doesn't move at all, holding his breath and so tense he might have been turned to stone. He waits for disaster, for that hungry ache in his chest to swell and bloom into doom for Waterdeep. His body is as tight as a bow string, but when nothing happens, he relaxes incrementally.
Her warning may have been for herself, but he minds it as well, hands pressed to the bench at either side of him, determined to obey. His body wants to rebel, desperate for any relief, and he is sorely tempted just to flex his hips and thighs, the tiniest bit of friction, but he stays still, breathing shallowly. It is an exquisite torture.
"I can't tell if this is punishment or reward," he says, voice barely above a whisper.
She starts to laugh but it cuts off as she sucks air through her teeth. She had been so focused on Gale that her own wants had been entirely out of her head, and now that she's finally here her cunt weeps for release. She'll flood his lap.
"Gods, Gale," she sighs out in reverent tones. "The way you fill me."
Her hands brace on the back of the bench to remove the temptation of holding his face. Drinking in his kisses. Sliding their hips together. Her body trembles with the effort of not moving.
Gods, she needs to get her mind elsewhere.
"Talk to me about, uh. The history of Blackstaff. List the deans."
"What?" he says, not understanding how this request could relate to anything at all. His breathing is shallow and uneven, and she is the only thing in the universe that exists. It takes a few moments before he realizes that she's asking for a distraction. It's not how he'd prefer to put his practiced tongue to use, but he can oblige.
"Well, ah. Khelben Arusun was the first, the wielder of the eponymous Blackstaff that would lend its name to him, the position, and the tower itself," he says, tone professorly, hardly any tremble in his voice. "Tsarra Chaadren was the second, known as 'The Blackstaff's Hunter' before she took the position herself after his death."
Harley couldn't care less about Blackstaff. Gale could be making up the entire history, though of course his scholarly pride would never abide such a thing, but the steadiness of his voice casts some sort of spell over her. She's going to come out of this with a professor kink and a very strange reflex regarding Khelben Arusun.
She lets herself drift on the current of his voice until her breathing steadies, her heartbeat stops racing, her blood cools. She's still hyper aware of the way he's so firm and full inside her core, but her every cell has stopped screaming at her to fuck him already. She can enjoy the closeness for what it is, with no further ends to chase.
Now that her impulses are back under control, she rolls her hips to ride his cock. Just once.
"Keep going. List spell components when you run out of deans."
Gale is also just starting to steady when she moves. "Don't—" he says, a short sharp sound, and then clenches his eyes shut like he's waiting for a blow. That light in his chest briefly flares brighter.
A few seconds pass and he does not explode, literally or figuratively, and he sighs out a held breath. "I, ah- Where was I?"
"Maybe... There's no need to be totally good," he suggests with a wicked little grin. He lifts his hands to touch her face, desperate to touch but not daring to touch anywhere below the neck.
"Gods. Is that supposed to help me with my research? I can barely think of anything other than you." She is so warm and wet around him, he thinks he feels it dripping down him, but he's afraid to even focus too hard on such details. It's been so long since he's been with anyone physically that he had forgotten how erotic such tangible details can be.
She leans into his touch like he's the sun and every cell in her body is a flower reaching for his light.
"Good." Her eyes flutter and her breath catches in her chest. His mind is always moving, always chasing different ideas in different directions, but she's a greedy woman and wants all his considerable focus for herself. "Maybe it would help, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe I want a reason to do this again."
She lets her hands rest on the back of his neck. She realizes that with any motion, any new friction risking detonation, that they are trapped until he goes soft. It's her favorite prison of all, by far.
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no subject
She gives him a brief, soft kiss before standing from his lap. Before she can second guess herself, she pushes her trousers and smallclothes down past her hips and steps out of them.
The fresh air between her legs makes her shiver and she moves to straddle his thighs again.
"I'm just going to sit on your lap. That's all."
She holds his cock to get him lined up with her entrance, and holds her breath as she sinks onto him.
"Don't move. Don't touch." A reminder to herself more than him.
no subject
For several moments, he doesn't move at all, holding his breath and so tense he might have been turned to stone. He waits for disaster, for that hungry ache in his chest to swell and bloom into doom for Waterdeep. His body is as tight as a bow string, but when nothing happens, he relaxes incrementally.
Her warning may have been for herself, but he minds it as well, hands pressed to the bench at either side of him, determined to obey. His body wants to rebel, desperate for any relief, and he is sorely tempted just to flex his hips and thighs, the tiniest bit of friction, but he stays still, breathing shallowly. It is an exquisite torture.
"I can't tell if this is punishment or reward," he says, voice barely above a whisper.
no subject
"Gods, Gale," she sighs out in reverent tones. "The way you fill me."
Her hands brace on the back of the bench to remove the temptation of holding his face. Drinking in his kisses. Sliding their hips together. Her body trembles with the effort of not moving.
Gods, she needs to get her mind elsewhere.
"Talk to me about, uh. The history of Blackstaff. List the deans."
no subject
"Well, ah. Khelben Arusun was the first, the wielder of the eponymous Blackstaff that would lend its name to him, the position, and the tower itself," he says, tone professorly, hardly any tremble in his voice. "Tsarra Chaadren was the second, known as 'The Blackstaff's Hunter' before she took the position herself after his death."
no subject
She lets herself drift on the current of his voice until her breathing steadies, her heartbeat stops racing, her blood cools. She's still hyper aware of the way he's so firm and full inside her core, but her every cell has stopped screaming at her to fuck him already. She can enjoy the closeness for what it is, with no further ends to chase.
Now that her impulses are back under control, she rolls her hips to ride his cock. Just once.
"Keep going. List spell components when you run out of deans."
no subject
A few seconds pass and he does not explode, literally or figuratively, and he sighs out a held breath. "I, ah- Where was I?"
no subject
"Sorry, sorry. I'll be good. I'm being good."
She lets out a slow breath and drops her head to his shoulder.
"Maybe I'll do this whenever your research hits a snag. Make you talk me through it just like this."
no subject
"Gods. Is that supposed to help me with my research? I can barely think of anything other than you." She is so warm and wet around him, he thinks he feels it dripping down him, but he's afraid to even focus too hard on such details. It's been so long since he's been with anyone physically that he had forgotten how erotic such tangible details can be.
no subject
"Good." Her eyes flutter and her breath catches in her chest. His mind is always moving, always chasing different ideas in different directions, but she's a greedy woman and wants all his considerable focus for herself. "Maybe it would help, maybe it wouldn't. Maybe I want a reason to do this again."
She lets her hands rest on the back of his neck. She realizes that with any motion, any new friction risking detonation, that they are trapped until he goes soft. It's her favorite prison of all, by far.