( many thing happen: it begins with a warmth, a flutter around her heart as he pours himself into the kiss. her hand falls from his cheek, clutching at his sweater as the kiss deepens, and that warmth grows, filling her chest and beginning to pool between her legs. for all of his quick words and sharp tongue, he's a delightful kisser, and his professions of enjoyable sex become even more believable.
the kiss breaks briefly, panted breath from her before rowena leans in again, capturing his lips, and he'll feel a loosening in his pants, a light brush of her magic undoing the fastenings.
her hands don't touch him, loosening instead from him to grasp his hands, guiding them to her thighs, and starting to brush under her slip. where, he'll find, she doesn't wear underwear for bed )
[ Stephen gives a strangled laugh at the sensation of his drawstring loosening, Rowena’s magical signature humming around him, so much closer than their usual experimentation and arcane training. ]
Usually I’m the one using telekinesis for personal benefit,
[ he says, even as his hands go under the smooth, cool silk of that navy slip, rucking up the lace around the edges. He makes an appreciative noise against her mouth when he reaches the curve of bare skin and thigh, pleasantly surprised to find no scrap of fabric to navigate. And this, too, is an unexpected surprise: how low he has to duck his head to kiss her at all, how disorienting that gap between them is. He’s so accustomed to seeing Rowena in those towering heels that he hadn’t even realised how short the woman actually is; this is the first time he’s seen her so stripped down, in more ways than one.
Guided by her touch, he ducks even lower to allow his hands to drift. They aren’t as nimble and dexterous as they used to be, but still good enough for this, at least for a time: one hand remains on her thigh while the other slips between her legs, searching out the seam of her, a finger eventually brushing against her clit. ]
( she rests one hand on his shoulder, keeping her gaze on his as his fingers seek her out, a soft sound falling from her. rowena sways into his hand, a small rock against him, encouraging his touch )
I've experimented with it in many forms over the years, pleasure especially. ( when you get to her age, sometimes you need a little more than just a decent fuck.
especially if you had no lover. one day she'll tell you all about enchanted sex toys.
as her fingers brush over his shoulder he'll feel a tingle, sensing that magical signature again, an almost electric jolt running from her fingers down his back, a pleasurable touch of her magic )
[ That buzz of magic sparking down Stephen’s spine punches a hitch of indrawn breath out of him, a small gasp, and it instantly sets the mind to wondering. What else could she do with her magic, so mathematically precise, just straddling the line of electricity nipping his skin? He’s so often been the preeminent sorcerer in a room, arrogant and learned, and it’s unexpectedly delightful to find himself on the back foot for once. Her age is indeed a benefit. ]
I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, [ ha ] of mingling magic in the bedroom before, so you’ll have a few things to, ah, show me—
[ Rowena rocks into his hand as he finds the right angle. He’d been a surgeon, he’d played the piano excellently, he had once prided himself on being able to turn women into a quivering mess with nothing but his fingers alone: so he starts the leisurely circling, feeling her become wetter, his touch more slippery, the woman rising up on tiptoe into the press of his hand. The height difference means it’s not the optimal angle, however, and so he pauses to kiss her again, murmuring against her lips, ]
This might call for relocating. If you get on the bed, I can scribe the wards.
[ Because they’ll need that circle amended, the pentagram drawn to harness all the energy they’ll soon be generating. ]
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the kiss breaks briefly, panted breath from her before rowena leans in again, capturing his lips, and he'll feel a loosening in his pants, a light brush of her magic undoing the fastenings.
her hands don't touch him, loosening instead from him to grasp his hands, guiding them to her thighs, and starting to brush under her slip. where, he'll find, she doesn't wear underwear for bed )
no subject
Usually I’m the one using telekinesis for personal benefit,
[ he says, even as his hands go under the smooth, cool silk of that navy slip, rucking up the lace around the edges. He makes an appreciative noise against her mouth when he reaches the curve of bare skin and thigh, pleasantly surprised to find no scrap of fabric to navigate. And this, too, is an unexpected surprise: how low he has to duck his head to kiss her at all, how disorienting that gap between them is. He’s so accustomed to seeing Rowena in those towering heels that he hadn’t even realised how short the woman actually is; this is the first time he’s seen her so stripped down, in more ways than one.
Guided by her touch, he ducks even lower to allow his hands to drift. They aren’t as nimble and dexterous as they used to be, but still good enough for this, at least for a time: one hand remains on her thigh while the other slips between her legs, searching out the seam of her, a finger eventually brushing against her clit. ]
no subject
( she rests one hand on his shoulder, keeping her gaze on his as his fingers seek her out, a soft sound falling from her. rowena sways into his hand, a small rock against him, encouraging his touch )
I've experimented with it in many forms over the years, pleasure especially. ( when you get to her age, sometimes you need a little more than just a decent fuck.
especially if you had no lover. one day she'll tell you all about enchanted sex toys.
as her fingers brush over his shoulder he'll feel a tingle, sensing that magical signature again, an almost electric jolt running from her fingers down his back, a pleasurable touch of her magic )
no subject
I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, [ ha ] of mingling magic in the bedroom before, so you’ll have a few things to, ah, show me—
[ Rowena rocks into his hand as he finds the right angle. He’d been a surgeon, he’d played the piano excellently, he had once prided himself on being able to turn women into a quivering mess with nothing but his fingers alone: so he starts the leisurely circling, feeling her become wetter, his touch more slippery, the woman rising up on tiptoe into the press of his hand. The height difference means it’s not the optimal angle, however, and so he pauses to kiss her again, murmuring against her lips, ]
This might call for relocating. If you get on the bed, I can scribe the wards.
[ Because they’ll need that circle amended, the pentagram drawn to harness all the energy they’ll soon be generating. ]