medicalling | Open Post

His magic works differently than hers, but it's a relief to know that he wouldn't trigger some kind of inked explosion if he happened to let loose some of it while he was in the middle of fucking her. The chicken shop might never forgive him.

Rowan can scent that spike in her pheromones, and his own start to waft from him in a vanilla-scented wave while he nuzzled against her wrist, nibbling at it and pressing against her even as he tightened his grip on her belt loops. "All the way?" He asked with a quiet purr, rumbling so that it vibrated through him while he kept nibbling his way up her arm.

"Yeah, all the way." she breathes out, her back arching in pleasure from the subtlest press forward of his hips. And then the scent changes, and she loses all manner of tact, says what comes to mind: "You smell like a cookie."

She leans forward to seek out that scent again, nose brushing against his hair while he's bent over her wrist like this. Vanilla and something she can't put her finger on, and she wants to do more than put her finger on it. She pulls her hand of of his grip and cups his face in both her hands to bring him up for a deep kiss. He doesn't taste like a cookie, but equally delicious in different ways.

Appetite whet, she licks his bottom lip, and deepens the kiss, showing him exactly how tactile she likes to be by letting her hands roam. One down his chest, the other up the back of his neck, into his hair.

He smiles at the comment, kissing at her wrist before she decides she wants those lips somewhere else. He knew exactly what she was picking up in his scent, and he wasn't the slightest bit upset to be compared to a sweet confectionery. Not when she licked into his mouth and her hands moved over him. He responded by moving his hand from where it was gripping her waist to seek out the edge of her shirt so he could slip his fingers up under it.

Skin to skin, that's what he always preferred. Tactile contact that could either soothe, comfort, or rile up. She was doing the latter, and he made an impatient sound as his other hand started working on the front of her outfit. Clothes needed to come off. They were clearly in the way.

Skin to skin felt like an imperative to her as well, but almost as soon as he started seeking it, she regretted her choice in clothes today. The dark jeans and the combat boots were all fine and dandy (the boots had zippers on the side so could just be taken off like slippers, thank fuck), but she'd chosen an impractical - but stylish, as ever - fluttery button up shirt in black, cinched at the waist and held in place by a corset that ended near her waist and curved under her breasts.

Did she wish she could wave it off with a spell? Absolutely, especially when he snuck his hand under the edge of her shirt and could only get as far up as her ribs. She let out a huff of frustration - at herself, mind - against his lips, and broke the kiss to unclasp the five little metal clasps holding the corset together in the front.

"I know, the vibe is in the way right now. Don't tell me," she warned, with half a smile. Belatedly, this was the moment she noticed one detail that delighted her almost right away. They were lucky she'd chosen a dark red lipstick today instead of black, because she could not imagine it looking as pretty where it had smeared against his lips from the kisses.

Though there was a thought. Almost unbidden, the mental image of leaving dark lipstick stains on the length of his cock, not a single glamour in place, golden glow and onyx black, assaulted her. Another time - definitely.

She took the corset and off and let it drop on the table, reaching for his shirt next. "Your turn."

He'd lived through the time of bustles and bum pads and full corsets. He could handle the much watered down version of them that women today wore. When she worked to get it undone, he was oblivious to the images in her head, not having telepathy in his skill set, but he could pick up on something that had her scent spiking.

"The vibe is manageable. I'm not planning on going anywhere, so my time and body this evening is all yours, love." He grinned, working on pulling his long-sleeved tshirt off over his head. Working where he did, he was used to needing to change quickly. Buttons and tight things weren't conducive to quick changes when body fluids were involved. Probably best she handle hers, though, since he would be more inclined to tear it now and promise to fix it later.

That left him bared from the waist up, and his hands slid around her body, pressing in against her back, smoothing up along her skin and making a pleased sound that ended in a trilling purr. "You can send Goldfinch the bill if one of your tables happens to succumb to my rather enthusiastic appreciation of your generous offer."

She did take care of her shirt while he pulled his off, just to be on equal grounds here. And the bra, while at it, every article of clothing getting dropped on floors she'd swept ten days ago. It was part of the ritual to keep floors clean for a month. Not the getting naked in the coffeeshop, but you had to sweep while murmuring the spells, and the cleanliness lasted. Despite some common myths about witches, Ariadne has never done a single spell naked.

On equal grounds, but she stayed on the table, drinking him in - every inch of skin revealed, and lickable, and tempting. Undressed from the waist up, the collection of tattoos on her body is more visible now - there are flowers and vines and runes and unintelligible squiggles and symbols that only she knew the meaning to, spread down both arms. Under her breasts and down her ribcage, as is they were jewellery, were strings of flowers - well, plants; medicinal herbs, a wink to the potionmakers of her family, in their honour and all. And somewhere on her left hip, the precise equation for her contraceptive spell, already active, as it had been for a while.

She was almost instantly reminded of how cold it truly was outside, to be naked in the shop after dark - her nipples stiffened, goosebumps blossoming up her ribs and down her arms - so when he came back to touch her bare skin, she shivered and didn's conceal her soft moan. Her hand found its way into his hair again, just to have them there but not to grab on, her head tipped back in pleasure - she aimed her smile at the ceiling at the mention of Goldfinch. Fucking pixie.

"I'm actually a pretty good mender," she pointed out, pausing for a breath before tightening her hold on his hair, looking down to meet his eyes. "Wreck this table."

The command had him smiling, and he moved to heft her off the table, one hand under her ass to hold her up, the other undoing her jeans so he could work at pulling them off. There needed to be far less clothing involved for him to wreck anything.

He had noticed the shiver, though, and in response, he let himself warm. The glamour was still in place, but there was a heat coming from him that wrapped around her, keeping her from getting too chilled, naked or not. "Glad to hear that. Not that I intend to wreck more than a table. Or two. But if the worst happens and your bed goes... well. If mending fails, I'll happily foot the bill for a new bed."

It was the least he could do, after all. If his actions were what broke something of hers, it was only fair he pay for it. Of course, financial aspects went out of his head when he got her jeans down, moving his hand to slip between her thighs, to press up against her sex.

There was a definite rush when he picked her up, the ease with which he did it travelling down her spine like its own type of caress.

She was not unaware of what she looked like, tall and intimidating dressed in black; even if the full effects were embellished with magic (how else would her hair stay such a raven black colour?), the results of the ensemble were that few and far in between actually wanted to take charge with Ariadne.

And she'd been fine with that, happy to play whichever role while having sex, happy to keep her lovers satisfied and comfortable, but...clearly there has been a lack of this part.

The playfulness, and the heat - oh, he was so warm, it must've been magic - that Rowan showed her was sweet enough to become addictive.

Where she could, she helped him with the removal of her pants. A minor bit of telekinesis unzipped her boots and pulled them off for her, so he could pull her jeans off completely. Her reward was that hand between her legs, making her suck in a breath.

She still had her panties on, but they felt like a thin whisper of an obstacle if anything, the press of his fingers pushing the fabric to mold itself to the shape of her cunt.

"Found your worthy cause?" she breathed out, smiling when she did so. A moment of pause, before she asked to be sure: "Is there any touch you're not comfortable with?"

Rowan had grown up among beings that looked like they were unearthly. In a way, he supposed they were. He'd learned a long time ago that looks meant nothing in terms of what a being was, or what they were capable of. There were reasons why fables still told of poisonous smiles behind great beauty, and to be kind to the wretched. Warnings handed down that people seemed to forget intentionally.

What he saw in her was a female who was capable in her own right. Comfortable in her own skin. He liked competence. He already had a chasm of years between himself and the humans around him. He didn't want to feel any more like he was taking advantage of someone. He was very, very comfortable with the fact that Ariadne could and would say no or kick him out if she felt so inclined.

So... he'd just have to make sure that idea never crossed her mind. He pressed in through the thin material, feeling that bit of wet through it and running his finger along the cleft of her labia. Her comment had him laughing, then purring as she turned it into a question. "I'm not a fan of pain for the sake of pain. In the heat of the moment, aye." He'd seen things, both because of his long years and because of his occupation. Some of what came under his hands on a gurney from sexual adventures mystified him.

He noticed she had more than just a spell word or two, hearing the zip of her shoes and knowing her hands were otherwise occupied. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about upsetting her with any erstwhile displays of his own. "What of yourself? What's not to be crossed?"

Upsetting that he displays his skills with all manner of magic? Couldn't be further from the truth - she hasn't bedded any magic-practitioners yet, but even just the brief sample here was enough to tell her that contrary to being put off by it, it turned her on.

Excited her. The exchange between two competent people. She licked her lips, leaning in to kiss him quickly just for another taste.

"Same," she murmured against his lips, nipping at his lower lip with her teeth, before letting him go so she could lean back. Hands planted on the table behind her, she looked down her body to where his hand was winding her up.

She swallowed back a moan, her eyelids fluttering a little, then eyes closed to half-mast. "A little bit of pain in the heat of thing is...mmh, good. I'll tell you, if you..." Another little moan, and she ached to lift her hips. "Finish undressing me."

His grin was a wicked thing, and he used the same means to rid her of her panties as he had to move the bottle of wine. He lifted her briefly, that subtle magic tugging her underwear down until they fell off the edges of her toes. That left him as the only one wearing anything, and standing there in his pants and shoes, he felt entirely overdressed. But that didn't stop him from leaning down and fastening his lips to her nipple, or sliding his hand back against her, feeling the tickle of hair, then the wet of her arousal as a finger teased through folds to spread it around.

"Bossy, aren't we?" Not a complaint, but he kissed his way up to her throat as he nibbled there as well. "What else, mm?"

Look at that, the fae has practical magic. She had to wonder what kind of category pulling off her panties with spellcraft fell under - hospitality? Her rumination got cut short so fast, the moment he leaned over and his mouth found one nipple.

"Fuck," she managed to breathe out, arching her back up towards that perfect mouth, her nails scratching at the surface of the table. She watched him there, bent over her tits, looking beautiful, and almost missed the slide of his hand up her leg. There was no way to miss its return between her legs, though. She was slick by now, all but dripping and eager for any touch, brought to this point by his hands and the magic and the mouth.

Up it goes, nibbling up her throat - a sensitive spot, there. She couldn't help the slight rock of her hips, seeking his hand, seeking more friction. You kiss her neck, you better get ready to fuck her, Rowan. It's the rules.

What else? "I've never fucked with magic before," she admitted, letting her head tilt back to allow him better access to her throat. "I like it. And..." Here, she leaned her weight against one hand and reached down between them to grab his hand, guide it to her clit. "I prefer a rougher touch, don't go gentle on me. And talking - I like the talking."

Ah, there it was. That demanding presence. He liked the forwardness. The fact that she wasn't shy and coy about what she wanted while naked. He didn't want to bed a babe. He wanted to bed a woman that knew what worked for her and wasn't shy about sharing it. Her direction had his hand moving towards her clit, thumb grazing around teasingly before he was more firm with the brush over it.

"Well, I can definitely fuck with magic. I've a few tricks I don't get to use with humans, so if you're keen to allow me a little leeway, then I'll have you forgetting your name, your occupation, and what century this is." Was he boasting? Oh, definitely, but as it fell from his lips and landed without him biting it back, it was clearly the truth. "Lay back. I don't want you tipping the table over while I orate to a worthy cause."

"Christ," she blasphemed, before she laughed and laid herself back onto the table. "That's going to become a thing, won't it?" It would mean they've slept together more often than the once, if it became a thing. He's barely even begun to touch her, and she already knew that she'd want it to become a thing.

Is this the table they had scones together on? Probably it is. From here on, she would only think of this table as their table.

"You realise it takes one to know one, bossy."

"Oh, aye. I do." He was what he was, after all, and for the first fifty years of his life, weak or not, he was a prince. Still was, but he'd been solely a prince, and he found he liked the respect being a doctor and healer gave him over some trick of which sperm beat which to impregnate his mother.

She laid down and he knelt, pulling her legs over his shoulders and her ass towards the edge of the table without much preamble. She was partly over the edge now, but considering that he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue over her, that was exactly where he wanted her.

He called her magic balance magic once, so it almost made sense that she would be so good at staying balanced. He pulled her closer to the edge, and she lifted her legs, bent at the knees, toes on his shoulders like a ballerina.

She reached up to grab onto the the edge of the table above her head while he pulled her over the edge, and licked her open. "Good," she gasped, then melted into it so easily, legs over his shoulders, highs bracketing his head.

He dragged his tongue up to her clit, sucking at it and letting the edge of his teeth graze against her, taking her at her word for what she liked. And when he did that, he blew summer's golden glow against her cunt. He let his tongue slip into her, sucking at folds and wetness, the silky glide of the skin there was as warm as her mouth.

Rowan felt her thighs around his face, hand smoothing up to grip her thigh as he feasted at her.

She trembled under his hold, gasping as soon as she could feel the warmth of magic wash over her. Then his tongue slipping into her, every suck tugging at the coiled heat in the pit of her stomach. She felt all afloat, folds puffy and wet, clit swollen and throbbing with each heartbeat.

If she didn't know any better, she'd think she's high. But she didn't keep a grip on her reason for too long; instead, she keeps one hand grabbing the table, and reaches down with her other to grab his hair, not tugging him anywhere yet. She needs an anchor before she floats.

"Fuck, this is is gonna be embarrassingly quick," she muttered, already rewarding his next lick with a raspy groan.

All the better for her to get wet and loose so he could truly test out the sturdiness of that table by fucking her over it. But, that would come after he sucked at her again. After a thumb brushed over her clit while he mimicked the act with his tongue. She was sweet and tangy on his lips, against his nose, wet on his beard as he ate and sucked.

That comment got a rumble of some primal sound pressed against her as he waited for her to tip over.

It was a warning with only about a few more seconds to it, and then - there she goes. Tipped over the edge, or rather throwing herself over the edge. When she came, it was unrestrained and joyful, a release that felt like a long time coming. She lifted herself towards his mouth, hips bucking in some wild attempt to ride his face from below (and mid-air), the grip on his hair serving as leverage.

The coil snaps, and she let out a gasp, a sharp moan, and broke apart. Unintentionally, her senses opened further, magic emanating from her in ripples. Hearth magic, the kind that invited one to fuck and fill and meet the demands of nature for more.

He was already pushed towards the need to mate, and when that flood of magic left her, he let it wrap around him. Let it encourage him to undo his trousers, to shove pants and underwear down to his thighs, then take himself in hand as he leaned over her, thrusting in with one long, hard rock of his hips. "I'm not finished with you yet, witch," he growled, bending over her to take her breast in his mouth.

Thankfully, the contraceptive spell was there to ward her against the primal instincts that all witches of her kind get - not to mate, but to rut into exhaustion - so even if her brain is fried and she wants him so badly she can taste it, at least there's not a single chance in hell this will take root.

But, on the other hand, if he would always be this good to her, something might take root - the elusive need to settle in one place, maybe.

She didn't have time to worry about that, not with the sudden flurry of movement from below. She lifted her head, in time to see him take himself in hand, and held her breath until he was in - "Oh, fuuuuck, yes - good," rushed out of her in one breath, while he growled that he wasn't finished.

"I sure fucking hope not, fae," she said back, running her hands up his arms and over his shoulders, down his bare back. The table legs already creaked in protest from the one thrust, and Ariadne had half a mind to tell him to wreck her again. Instead of that, she pulled him away from her breasts so she could kiss him, muffling a pleased groan at the taste of her on his lips and tongue and beard.

He would have been able to scent if she was ovulating or not and would have brought that up. But knowing she took care of her own side of things in a way that he could trust would just make it better.

As for her need to settle? Well... he wouldn't be against the idea. He didn't often get to have regular sex that didn't involve a brothel or anonymity. This? This was... different. He wasn't hiding what he was. What he could do. If anything, he was willing to pull out a few of the stops to show that as far as mating partners went, he was worth spending time to get to know.

She quipped at him and he smiled, but it was into the kiss because she was a saucy, bossy little thing that rose up to meet that thrust of his hips. He ignored the creak of the table, hand gripping her thigh and lifting her higher as if he could somehow make it so he could fuck deeper into her. And when he was as far as he could go, he let that summer light out through his cock. He let it vibrate with growth and life, and with a slight vibration before he drew almost fully out, then slammed back in.

Still careful, though. Witch she may be, but he could break something if he went too far.

A lesson for her: sex with other magical creatures was a lot more fun, maybe because she didn't need to hold back. She couldn't explain those bursts of magic rolling off her with anyone else, or why her partners often claimed sex with her made them feel high, but maybe it took another one with similar heat in his veins to let the barriers drop.

She broke the kiss when he rocked up inside her again, magic rolling off him and bolting inside her. Maybe she was still coming down from the intensity of her orgasm when he filled her in that fantastic long stroke, because every thrust feels insane. She broke the kiss and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding onto him.

"You have..." she panted, between thrusts, "such a nice cock..." She kissed his shoulder, the side of his neck, letting her magic brush against his. Get acquainted. "Feels incredible." Another kiss, deep and playful and filthy. The promise pressed against his lips, "I wanna come all over it."

A soft huff of a laugh against her lips before he let his tongue twine around hers, toes flexing in his shoes as he lifted up to grind into her at a different angle. He could feel her magic rolling up and crashing down around him, as if testing to see where it could seep in and make itself at home. Their powers were like their own creations, curling around each other in an arcane mating ritual while he started moving his hips faster. "So much talk. Where's all this action, witch? Why want something when you can just... do it."

Another quicker, faster succession of thrusts, hearing the table protest as it started to get scooted along the table. The sound of it moving was irritating, but eventually, it would get somewhere it would stop. Or it would break. He was prepared for either.

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the icon is my gift to you

Is she measuring accurately? >>

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