middaeg | octeuril catchall - open & closed prompts

[There's a soft shiver in reaction as he plays with the fur on her thigh, her pleasure still clear through the Bond. Sheva doesn't allow herself to be distracted by it, even if there's still an ache to continue their interrupted activities. Though, she can't help but subtly rock her hips against him as he rises to sit up with her, be it habit or residual need.

Or perhaps just to gently torment him a bit.

There's a chuff of a murmured chuckle at the note about his name as her thumb carefully smooths parallel along the edge of the blade, testing it's edge without putting herself at great risk of being sliced from it.]

No doubt it would bring great shame to be written as anything less than perfection.

[There's no great edge to her teasing either. Sheva's genuinely impressed with such a grand gift, and the thought that went into every detail. Though, without any particular occasion aligned with it, there's a shadow of wariness that looms and creeps like a fog along a moor.

Thankfully, he's physically there to distract her from that pathway of thoughts, so they remain compartmentalized for now. She'd rather lean into kisses and the physical connections they're maintaining than the implication of such a gift important enough to interrupt sex, but there's another hook that snakes her attention.

Usermaatre.

While she's not taken up any formal learning of his native tongue or the hieroglyphics that littered his home, Sheva's adept at new languages, having learned to speak many well enough at a young age through her many trips to the melting pots of markets for supplies. She recognizes several of the glyphs, but more importantly, she picks up on the nuance in pronunciation of her own name, head inclining to listen closer to him speak in his own language.

And so, she does her best to mimic his pronunciation, soft and slow, as he had done.]

Usermaatre and... Sheva.

[His reaction to hearing his name is subtle enough that if they were not Bonded, Sheva could not be faulted for missing it. Particularly while her attention is less directly upon him. Although technically, nearly everyone calls him by that name, it's never in his own language. Language that he has not heard spoken by others in so long that he's almost as pleased by it as he so often is at hearing his true name rather than one of his many titles. And yet, pleased is perhaps an understatement as joy, a bit stronger and more vibrant than even what is typical, makes its way into the Bond.]

Very good, [he says quietly before offering his praise a little more physically in the form of a kiss. The smile on his lips is obvious then. When he pulls away from the kiss, he presses his forehead gently against hers.] How does tomorrow morning sound for training?

[Except that they are Bonded, and she absolutely doesn't miss it. There's the smallest hitch in her breath at noticing it, or more accurately, at feeling it. It makes sense that he'd react as such. It's likely very few, if any mirrorbound here, speak his native tongue, a situation she understands herself. The feeling of home one can find in hearing the language of your childhood, especially now that they're a questionable quantity of time and space from their homes, be they places or people. Or, both.

Still, she keeps her attention on the weapon until she's perfectly distracted by his mouth, leaning into it while minding the blade between them. Her lips curl into an easy smile at the mention of training so soon.]

You know I enjoy vigorously wrecking you in the mornings. [That's a yes, then.] Do you think you can handle it more than once tomorrow?

Those are some bold words! [Ozymandias says with a laugh. He brings a hand up to hold her face, thumb stroking along her cheekbone.] You do realize that I've wielded a khopesh longer than you have been alive, do you not? Even if you are a quick student with an exceptional teacher, you will have some time yet to match me.

[The challenge she lays out for him is most certainly accepted.]

[There's a toothy grin to answer his exclamations, even as she instinctively leans into his touch, rubbing her face against his hand. There's a soft rumble in her chest that sounds somewhat like a purr collided with a low chuckle.

When he finishes his accurate evaluation on the matter of her training, she leans in to brush her lips slowly over his, voice dropping back into that seductive tone from earlier.]

Just so we're clear Usermaatre... I was speaking of vigorous morning sex.

[Although not as strong as the first time, there's still an unmistakable little thrill at hearing his name again. Ozymandias chuckles quietly against her lips, hand finding hers around the handle of the khopesh.]

Do you think me so easily overcome? [Carefully, he moves her hand to place the blade back onto the coffee table before lacing their fingers together.] Just a hair's breadth from swooning every time you so much as look at me, nefermai?

I would think if that were the case, I would never find you in my bed again.

[If there wasn't motivation to learn his native language before this (there was), then it's certainly at the top of her list now, right along with learning to handle this new weapon. These reactions are too delightful to Sheva to ignore and delve into further. Absently, she licks her lips and steals a kiss, mind wandering to all the things she could say to him in his own tongue, and perhaps the other way around if he's game.

There's a toothy grin that lingers as he questions her with his sass, her tail lashing as a more playful, devious urge bubbles to the surface, even more so when he sets aside the sharp and slice-y weapon.]

It sounds like you're accusing me of preferring to play with my food. [She leans in to nudge her nose against his.] What does nefermai mean?

[While she doesn't move to kiss him again, not yet, the lioness does rock her hips slowly against him.]

[It's not picking up exactly where they left off, though the hint of how her mood shifts back in that direction within the Bond and the roll of her hips against him would suggest it might not take particularly long for them to get there.]

Mai is the word for lion, [he explains.] And nefer...

[Ozymandias dips his head down to kiss at her throat again as their hips find a rhythm with one another again. There's a little pulse of magic with each of his kisses. It lingers there along her skin, tingling with warmth. Unlike the magic from his hand at her thigh. As fingers move through fur, he pushes mana through his fingertips that travels from the top to along her inner thigh. It just makes it to between her legs, as though he were just barely beginning to touch her. Ozymandias smiles against Sheva's skin.]

That means beautiful.

[There's still a tug and pull within her, slight is it may be, it's rooted in long seated fears and experiences, keeping her from entirely letting go at times when her mind engages. Like that rough, still healing scar that snags on the high-quality, fancy fabric until it fully heals over. Hers hasn't quite healed, but it's snagging less often.

Somehow, it doesn't snag here. The shift of her mood helps buffer that potential snag, for her. That combined with her fascination with language.

She's pleased with the rough translation. Beautiful lion carries none of that fancy, easily snagged fabric. It's comfortable, a truth and compliment well-worn and received with her. As are the lips against her throat, which she shifts her chin to accommodate, tail sweeping against his legs behind her. There's a soft noise of pleasure at each pulse of mana, but there's an extended one accompanied by a toothy curl of her lips at the teasing promise his fingers offer.]

Nefermai. [She repeats, voice low.] I like that. Teach me something else of your tongue.

[Ozymandias huffs a low laugh as he begins to shift their position. He slips out from beneath Sheva, moving her to lay on her back instead. Ozymandias remains between her legs, but he allows for some distance between them for a moment.]

An anatomy lesson then? [he asks, knowing full well she has no idea what he's saying.]

[Still, it won't take much for Sheva to piece it together. Ozymandias takes one of her hands into his, bringing her fingertips so very close to his lips. And then he teaches her. One part at a time, rewarding each word she repeats back to him correctly with a kiss to that part. The better the pronunciation, the stronger the pulse of magic that passes from his lips to beneath her skin. Much like his earlier touches, it travels from where he's placed the kiss to add to the growing heat low in her belly and between her legs.]

[In some ways, it is perhaps a bit of an obstacle and distraction as teasing this way progresses into genuine strokes of pleasure from his mana, the Bond serving as a minor feedback loop as he relishes in every sound and reaction she makes. Ozymandias does not wait for it to pass before moving onto the next, expecting her attention to remain on his voice just as much as the sensations he is pulsing through her. And he is certainly cruel enough to withhold it from her for any mispronunciation, merely smiling and repeating the word until she says it correctly.]

[Ozymandias tosses her bra aside, but he does not peel off her panties and she is left with the heat of his mouth through fabric instead. And of course, it's the last place he kisses her before returning to kiss her on the mouth once more. He rocks his hips into her for a bonus word for her to learn. Ozymandias smirks as he cants his hips into her again mid-word, interrupting her on purpose. He looks at her daringly, as though he may or may not allow her to try again as he begins to tug at her underwear.]

[There's the slightest of grumbles. It's not quite a protest or complaint, but the shift of moving her beneath him when she'd been perfectly content to be on top of the king, ruffles her regardless. Him withdrawing contact, however momentary, starts to draw more visible signs of hopefully temporary irritation from the feline turnskin. Namely, her tail swishes more vigorously, swatting against the side of him a bit. Nothing too aggressive, particularly not for her.

Her head tilts slightly at his question, squinting just a hair as an invitation to continue. She suspects he's intentionally taking his time, drawing whatever he's planning out longer to tease her. That and Ozymandias tends to have a penchant for dramatic effect.

Thankfully for him, she doesn't have to wait too long for continued attentions, nor does the gist of his question evade her for much longer. Any tint if irritation quickly fades as the lesson begins, and an entirely different mood blossoms in its place, growing with each new word learned. Or, more accurately, with each kiss and pulse of magic, which is a sensation that will never tire her. Honestly, she may have developed a bit of greed on the matter of sexy deliveries of mana to her. It's her Bond's fault for spoiling her, clearly.

She will request to see these words in writing later.

At some point, her concentration slips in favor of the pleasure he's building inside of her, which in turn causes him to back off his mouthy rewards, visibly frustrating her. It's a small miracle that she doesn't simply take matters into her own hands, or claws even, though the growing intensity of fire in her eyes betrays her in addition to what he feels through the Bond.

Her tail's lashing again, and her own hands have long since finding ways to add to her own pleasure, while occasionally deviating to drag finger pad or claw along his form.

All this rudeness? Retribution will follow, eventually.

And when he finally discards her bra and directs his focus on her neglected heat, a low, purring rumble leaves her only to be cut short as his mouth departs. Her eyes narrow and take on a predatory note even as he realigns himself to teach her another word, which is a challenge she's determined to meet, but then he has to be a literal prick, a gasping growl cutting the repetition short. Even so, her back arches to grind against him as her legs wrap strongly around his hips, locking him there.]

Even my patience has limits.

[It's her way of meeting his challenge, coloring outside the lines one might say. That combined with her own claws hooking along the edge of his own pants, ready to slice him free of his fabric barrier with a curl of her fingers.]

[Gods is she not the absolute worst for his tailoring bills? There isn't always a victim and not all of his clothes are left in need of repair, but when she is impatient... Still, it is a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things and Ozymandias really would never offer genuine complaint. Unless it was one of his favorite items in his closet. Then she might have to listen to his complaints for a small amount of time, much as he likely would if their positions were reversed. But he's usually wise with his wardrobe and abstains from anything that might be upsetting to find beyond repair.]

[Still, he chides,]

There were these lovely little inventions, nefermai, [he says as he pulls her panties off at least one of her legs. It's the only slight amount of resistance to being locked in place as he is otherwise quite content to remain.] Surely you have heard of them. They are called buttons.

[His hand moves along the fur of her thigh as he leans down and kisses between her breasts, just above her heart, and then at her neck just beneath her jaw. No extra pulses of magic accompany them; they seem to be purely displays of affection.]

Perhaps you might summon a touch more patience for me, [he says, fingers moving against her outer lips, sliding down and pressing again to rub circles upon her clit. Although he changes the pressure that he rubs at her with every press of her hips, Ozymandias has moved on from his teasing. It's not enough to make her desperate for release, he wants her to come. Which if that is not obvious by the couple of digits he slips inside her as his thumb continues to massage her, it's likely noticeable in the Bond. It's also perhaps a bit contradictory to his case for sparing his pants, but he is a glutton for every hitch of her breath and cry of pleasure that escapes her. If his pants must fall in the line of that duty, so be it.] And make use of them.

octeuril catchall - open & closed prompts

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