othellovonryan

[It's a delicious sight. Seeing her on her knees before him, wings and tail fluffing under him. Clothes disheveled, teeth aching at how much he wanted to mark up her back. Watching her press back and biting at a pillow.]

Hm, sorry. It's hard to not be eager. [He slows his fingers. Returning to that pattern of pressing in a little before pulling back and pressing in a touch more. Keeping it slow as he lets her get used to the stretch.]

You're such a a pretty sight. I can tell you how much I want to take you like this. [He shifts, rubbing his thighs together for some measure of friction.] Pressed against your back. My teeth in your shoulder. Hands in your feathers. [He draws his hand down along her spine, to her tail, scratching at the base.]

Hear you singing in my ear. Holding you so close.

I-It's … hhhh, it's ok-ay — [ Between the pillow she's biting, and how very difficult it is just to think through the gently overwhelming sensations, the words come out slightly garbled. ] Fff … fuck. Just. Need, mm, slow; slow is good. [ She whines into the pillow. Rocks a little forward … and then a little back, still slow, still tentative. Her fingers twist in the blankets, kneading.

Two of his fingers together are as much as three, if not four of her own. It's a lot to take, even as relaxed as she is, as much as she wants and as good as it feels. ]

[ The imagery helps. Oh, the imagery helps a lot, actually. The whine shifts into a low, humming moan, and she shifts on her knees, unconsciously opening herself up —

Just in time for the tailscritch to strike like lightning through her veins, and she bucks back hard against him with a howl, her wings flaring out and flapping hard. … Well. One of them flaps; the other hit the wall ]

Of course, songbird. [It is hard to not be eager, especially with her in front of him. He desperately wishes he wasn't sensible, realistic. She couldn't take him. But feeling her warmth around his fingers, watching her writhe and moan, he desperately wanted to feel her around him.]

[Especially as she howls so loudly, jerks so obviously, needily. He has to let out his own shuddery moan at the sight.]

Fuck, Choco. Tell-tell me if your wing hurts, but good lord, the way you look right now... [He keeps the slow pace of his fingers, his other hand running through her tail feathers.] I want you under me when I'm buried inside you. Want to see and feel your every reaction. Want us connected as you lose your mind-

[He leans up, pressing his mouth to the base of her tail, lightly kissing her.] I'd start slow, like this... [He gently rocks his fingers in a bit further. Thumb moving to rub against her clit.] Nice and slow....until we couldn't take it anymore.

Then I'd fuck you into the mattress until you screamed my name. [And he bites down.]

[ How is she supposed to care about her wings when she has this? ]

Doesn't … [ She gasps, panting raggedly. ] D-Doesn't, nghh, doesn't hurt. [ Please don't stop. She doesn't think she could stand it if he did, not now, not when she feels so wonderfully full, the ache from the stretch giving way to throbbing pleasure; not when the gentle scratch of blunted claws through her sensitive feathers makes her blood sing with how much she wants.

And the picture he paints … ]

F-Fuck —

[ She wants that. Wants him. They can't, not yet; she knows that'd be moving too fast, but the thought, his voice, his touch, they dig deep, leave her molten. She almost sobs when he kisses her — actually does sob at the touch of his thumb to her aching clit. ]

D-Donnie, fuck, please, I -

[ And then the bite, and ]

[ Oh ]

Donnie-!

[ It's probably a good thing she used the soundproofing charm, because the bite — markingclaimingmatematemate — tears a scream of his name from her chest. Leaves her quivering, writhing, torn between the need to rock into his touch and the instinct to melt. Close. She's so close, she's so so so close …

She presses her hips back against him, into the bite, into the press and rub of his fingers, even as she lets her knees shuffle out wider, making space for him. Her tail lifts, feathers flaring. Her wings drop … and so do her shoulders; a tilt of her head all but bares her throat. ]

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