Oh, at that she is really laughing, “Clothilde Decima, but I think that one isn't really mine, Lady Decima was my lord's mistress, I don't count it so much—”
she is as serious as the grave, Stephen Strange.
“It's where,” helpfully, “my nom de guerre came from, when I published originally. Ilde.”
Gwenaëlle spends about thirty seconds trying to decide how mad she is about this suggestion before instantly turning it on him, insouciant, rolling him onto his back with a push so she can knee over his lap, terribly haughty from this new vantage point above him:
“Well, that's what you have to look forward to, then, so you'd best enjoy this while it lasts.”
Another laugh; lower in his throat, now, as his hands drift down and settle on her hips. Then they slide beneath the insubstantial edge of her chemise, warm palms against the bare skin of her ass.
“Hmm. I think I could do that, yeah.”
Haughty and rightfully so, as she plays him like a fiddle, effortlessly shifting the tone in the room. The tension’s been effectively punctured, all that awful flayed vulnerability now bleeding away as they pivot back towards the safety of cheeky humour, that perpetually-simmering heat, and Gwenaëlle giving an experimental taunting rock of her hips to stir him to life, Stephen arching a knowing eyebrow up at her.
This, this was more what they’d thought the itinerary for the night and morning was going to be.
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portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
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“What? No. You’re shitting me.”
no subject
she is as serious as the grave, Stephen Strange.
“It's where,” helpfully, “my nom de guerre came from, when I published originally. Ilde.”
no subject
“Maybe the woman was a horny older version of you from the future,” Stephen says, less helpfully. “A very majestic madame.”
no subject
“Well, that's what you have to look forward to, then, so you'd best enjoy this while it lasts.”
🎀
“Hmm. I think I could do that, yeah.”
Haughty and rightfully so, as she plays him like a fiddle, effortlessly shifting the tone in the room. The tension’s been effectively punctured, all that awful flayed vulnerability now bleeding away as they pivot back towards the safety of cheeky humour, that perpetually-simmering heat, and Gwenaëlle giving an experimental taunting rock of her hips to stir him to life, Stephen arching a knowing eyebrow up at her.
This, this was more what they’d thought the itinerary for the night and morning was going to be.