transgressings | inbox for duplicity;

[ She forgets the significant difference in their heights, when they're both seated — easier, she thinks, to enable her to settle more decisively into his lap, and even this feels like an indulgence she has not fully allowed herself in some time, just the mere act of being this close to another, of leaning into the broadest, warmest part of him with a lightly pleased sound in her throat.

It may only last for as long as they're alone, and she has no sense of knowing when that will end, but she intends to savor it, for now, hand lightly cupping the side of his face when he leans in to kiss her more deeply, more heat and hunger in it than any of the previous. ]

[He's struck with familiarity then, the touch of her fingers to his face, the way she tilts her head and the taste of her breath on his tongue. In the woods he hadn't had time to appreciate it, merely feed on what she was willing to give him, on what she had allowed him to take and he so gladly offered to her.

And as her weight settles on him, he lets out an audible sigh, brows slanting as he takes his time discovering what she tastes like, hands running up the center of her back, and then down her sides.

Those fingers still press around her hips a little too hard, and when he realizes that he pulls back - still sucking on her upper lip, dropping an apologetic kiss to her chin, another under her jaw. Back then he allowed himself to go a little rougher, his strength subdued. At his full capacity, he has to be careful, especially when he's been affected by something he doesn't yet know the full effects of.] Sorry, last time I was a little, uh... under the weather.

Were you. [ It's not a question when she delivers it across the strong shape of his mouth, those kisses they seem to drift in and out of between words before his lips descend over the curve of her chin, the underside of her jawline, closer to her neck. Closer to her mark. ] I hadn't noticed.

[ Granted, they'd both been weakened in their own ways, not existing in their full strength, the height of their power; if he has to be mindful of how he grips her now, wary of bruising, wary of leaving his touch behind long after they part from one another, she understands it, but she wants more of it in equal measure. Instinctively, she arches into the stroke of his hands over her body, experiencing the warmth of it even through the fabric of her coat and gown.

And at his apology she curls herself more into his lap, her other arm slipping around him to join the first at his shoulders, and the opportunity to leave a trail of kisses along the side of his neck becomes hers, for a moment, as her lips hover over the thrum of his pulse. ]

[This is why he had been interested in her since day 1. Some cheek to her, a sense of humor even when things seem to want to drown everything into a treacle of lust and passion, the likeliness of it even when shit hits the fan. He grins against her skin, his chuckle rumbling a little lower on his chest than usual, grittier, and he uses the stretch of his lips to rake his teeth playfully on the curve of her shoulder.

Funny how a simple thing like kisses on his neck influence the space between his shoulder blades, skin prickling in goosebumps and muscles tensing there, a shockwave of tension making his hands pull her even closer, press her harder against him. He dips his head to nuzzle at her ear when the angle permits, but when it doesn't, he just groans loudly before sighing.] Driving me a little crazy, here.

[ That laugh turns her own smirk a little more knowing, slightly impish; she sucks in a breath when he retaliates in kind by gently worrying the exposed slope of her shoulder with his teeth, tilting her head back to grant him further access, encouraging him on.

But she'd be foolish not to seize advantage of those little points of sensitivity on him, those places where even the soft press of her lips makes him fidget beneath her, keeps his hands tight on her body, and she sits back in her perch on his lap to look at him, eyes suddenly soft and fond. ] And how would you prefer I... assist you?

[A certain urge flares up upon the sight of the curve of her mouth, how she willingly stretches her skin underneath his teeth to incite him. It's an urge that Dante doesn't experience often, one that feels like teasing, pressing his fingers to her to find where she's ticklish, see if she giggles if he pretends to growl and gnaw on her playfully under her jaw.

It's unsettlingly intimate, and he reels that scenery straight back, to where it belonged, along the things that should be compartmentalized off his reach.

He's glad for her positioning and her question, making his mind focus on the now instead of the imaginable. He adjusts the hold on her if only to look at where her feet are, reach to tease at where the hem of her skirt brushes the skin of her ankle, slides his hand underneath.

He still leans in to nibble at that lower lip, finds it distracting.] Maybe best if you take the reins on this. [A soft tightening of his grip on her hip as he narrows his eyes in a half smile.] Though I like you here.

[ Beneath the hem of her skirt, she isn't quite bare, thin stockings covering nearly the entire length of her legs before ending at mid-thigh, but she can feel the heat of his touch through them as his hand roams over her, underneath and higher still — and his words about her assuming the lead on this make her mouth quirk with a sudden thought (perhaps even more distractingly). ]

Here? [ She shifts her weight in his lap, though it does take some arranging, some management of her dress; her fingers briefly firm a grip in her skirt and coax it up enough for her to ease one thigh along the outside of his hip and then the other mirroring its position so that she sits astride him instead, a whisper of fabric accompanying her easing down with a small press of her weight. ]

Or here, like this?

[ "If you love something you let it go", or something of the sort, because Dante bites a groan from releasing out of his mouth when she moves, hands raising from her just a little to have her move. The ideas that Vanessa could merely crave their closeness, not wish to escalate this encounter yet, or that maybe she wanted to play with a different kind of setting, they all cross his mind, and he's ready to allow for it.

The distance she builds to change her position is short, but it's sweet how it designs just the right amount of longing in his skin - he's not even undressed yet - to crave for her before the warmth and pressure of her body move back, settled and firm and decisive and taunting. ]

Goddamn. [ Very shamelessly he lets the sharp inhale of breath be loud and clear, both hands this time coming back to under her skirt, stroking along the curve of her thighs, grin growing from impressed to appreciative as he chuckles and leans again to press his teeth against the milky column of her neck.] Yeah, that's perfect.

[ It's closer, even if she hasn't moved to shed a single article of clothing between them, and she can perceive the warmness, the size of him at the juncture of her thighs, that hard ridge that nearly steals her breath and prompts her to rock her hips into his, craving that deeper friction.

But she refrains, somehow content to merely have his hands, his mouth roaming in the meantime, enough fervor between the two to create just the right amount of wanting in her.

She breathes a sigh, when his lips traverse her neck again, when the promise of blunter edges apply just the right amount of pressure to her skin but somehow not enough at the same time; her hand cups his nape, the rounds of her nails digging in small spurs, and she begs for more of it. ] Please.

[Spurred he is, even if her plea rings deeper than it should've. Reaches the tightness of his fingers around the flesh of her thighs, making his mouth stop against her pulse in return. At the back of his mind he's giving himself a pat on the back; if it had been the other way around it would have been dangerous. Fighter's hands, the first to react, trigger fingers inhumanely quick.

But still, he hums, lets the flat of his tongue press against the skin, opening his mouth and letting teeth brush again with the motion before he locks them there for half a second before he replaces them with his lips in a very indulgent suckle.

He moves his mouth a little lower does it a second time, and then upwards for a third, tighter and a little harsher each time, just to measure her reaction.] Here... here... or here?

[ She's rising heat against him now, over him, the wanderings of his mouth conjuring those telltale signs of her arousal that she can't hope to hide the longer she's exposed by his gaze — the flush of color in her cheeks, on her chest leading into her décolletage and beneath that neckline, the sudden tightness of her nipples into twin points, straining forward against the fabric of her gown as she whimpers in spite of herself.

Each instance of lips and teeth and lips again prompts another sound from her, the harder clutch of her fingers on the strength of him beneath her, and it's likely he can feel the heat of it in her thighs too, the ascending warmth beneath his palms.

She tilts her face towards his, lips slightly parted, gaze dark, her lips docked at the edge of his mouth. ] Equally perfect.

[The sigh he releases is pleased and aching all at once. The sounds she's making are difficult to hear beneath his own pulse ringing in his ears, but he's finding them feeding into whatever messed up blend that put him in this state - yet again.

One of his hands slips out of the heat under her skirt to cup at the side of her neck, thumb pressing hard along her jaw, but the other finds the curve of her backside and pulls her against him.

His legs move apart just enough to brace his feet on the floor, boots scraping on the floor, a motion to divert himself from rolling his hips up against her weight and to brace himself for the likely moment that control will stretch to its limit. For the moment, he merely lets himself be guided back into her mouth again, wanting to eat that breath in between her lips for himself. He finds himself wanting the air she breathes, the heat she carries and the friction she creates, not just on him but within his core.]

[ His touch slides over her, fingers guiding beneath the curtain of her hair, palm resting beneath the curve of her jawline, while his other pulls her close with a clutching against her rear; the sheer size of his hands on her skin leave her with the impression that he's nearly touching her everywhere at once, leaving her torn between which direction to incline towards.

Their mouths find one another again and this time she kisses him like she means to drown in it, lips parted for her tongue to sweep past that firm seam and swirl along his, licking deeply; it conjures a moan from her that ends up stifled between them, and she idly rocks forward in her perch on his lap.

It only occurs to her then to remove her coat, but she won't sacrifice the kiss to do it, movements hasty and haphazard as she strips the garment from her shoulders, down the length of her arms until it hits the floor with a heavy sound of the fabric. ]

[He's not sure if it's her taste, the bite of alcohol in her breath lapping at the roof of his mouth or the sound she pours into it that creates something close to a riple effect. It starts from his own vocal chords, thrumming a drawn-out hum in return. It hits against her, the motion of his hips unable to stop from meeting her subtle rocking. It reaches to painful, the strain in the front of his trousers, but this is a man who can deal with a large sword thrust through his chest and walk without much of a care. This ache, he enjoyed. It felt viscerous, born from the effect of whatever hit him and a little bit raw, bred from something that has made him give an actual damn about her. It streams to both his hands, the one kneading the flesh under his fingers, the other rubbing and stroking at the firm curve of her neck. To the roll of his tongue, raking against the edge of her teeth as if taunting her to bite him instead.

He hears the rustle of cloth in what seems to him a far distance. And only because he's wondering why she stopped carding her hand through his hair - something he hadn't realized he enjoyed a bit much until it was gone. His eyes open then, having them closed as he kissed back, and all his brain registers is a hiss of a yes. He's seen her naked; hell, felt her fully against him, inside and out, but it still awakens something in him when he's aware that she's doing this out of her own volition this time.

Dante isn't wearing his trademark leather coat, it's draped at the end of the couch they're in, unable to leave it very far, nor the guns strapped to the holsters in its seams. (The sword? That's actually propped against the wall looking more like a stage prop than anything else).

He moves the hand on her neck to the collar of his shirt, unfastening a couple of buttons - but it's difficult, to keep that up, when she's like this and he wants to guide her head just so, to kiss her deeper, so it's short-lived. He smiles through the kiss as he brings it back to stroke her cheek.]

[ She knows the requirements, those rules of existing here that they're intended to follow, meant to obey — and every part of her chafes under that yoke, never desiring to be a slave again, never wanting to be forced into compliance. This, she thinks, is her way of having it on her own terms, making it her own choice; she kisses him because she wants to and not because of some chemical sweeping through her bloodstream, removing all higher thought in favor of sheer id.

The pace of this is different, a more purposeful tempo rather than anything hurtling them forward, propelling them into something purely primal and animalistic, that ungentle fucking that had left her skin marked by badges of their need, bruises and scratch marks from where they'd consummated on the uncovered ground like feral animals.

That's not to say she hadn't enjoyed it, or that she'd be opposed to him marking her similarly now, but it adopts a different meaning when he touches her, a gentle hand sweeping over the curve of her cheek.

She resumes where he's left off on the buttons of his shirt, fingers deftly and quickly making work of opening them to expose more skin for her gaze, her hands; the latter smooth over all that newly revealed expanse as soon as the open sides of his shirt part, and then it's her turn to dissolve the kiss to his mouth in favor of pressing her lips lower, further, moving over the broadest part of him with a soft sigh in the back of her throat. ]

[Finding himself releasing a breath he had been holding when Vanessa pulls back, trailing her lips on the exposed skin of his chest, Dante also wonders at how he can't really feel any temperature shift there. He had been leaning in, into her, on his seat on the couch, eager and intent and just a little wayward, driven by the warmth of her, the thickness of the air that seemed to lather her like a second skin.

He leans back, then, on his seat on the couch. Wraps a strong arm around her waist to tell her that she's good there while giving her a better position to explore. Because for all the drunken, wanton state he's in, he reckons that Vanessa probably needs this as much as he does - even if it's just a distant shout of "screw you" into the system, a reprisal of what they had been made to do, as if a taunt about their chemistry in their previous encounter.

And man, if the sight enough of her tilting her head, dark eyelashes fanned over her cheeks while her breath ghosted over his skin, isn't enough to make him groan and tilt his head back with lips parted, then it's the zing her mouth leaves there.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, feeling them sharp, and he closes his eyes so that a possible glare of red dies down. He has half a mind to wonder if a short flare of his trigger would subdue this induced state so he could also claim doing this is out of his own volition alone. But for all the otherworldly things she's seen, he doesn't want to scare her now. Not when things are getting this interesting.

Still, that half a mind has a mind of its own, willing to break free every now and then. He snarls subtly, fingertips slipping under the hem of the undergarments she's wearing as he guides her hips into the rolls of his own languidly once again. But when he leans his head into her ear with a light nip to the shell, he manages to hide a spectral tone behind his chuckle, and that's a blessing.]

Off. Before I tear these.

[ He stretches out beneath her mouth, and she can't entirely pinpoint the source of the surge she experiences deep within her at the sight of him like that, large and sprawling and all hers for the moment, but she fully intends on seizing advantage of the opportunity for as long as she's able. She's forced to shift her hips away from his to lean further, to enable her lips' descent across all that uncovered flesh, but it's well worth the reward of tasting his skin instead.

She's mindful initially, lavishing her attentions in the form of slow, open presses of her mouth, those gentle purses that allow him to feel the entire shape of her kisses, taking a moment to truly appreciate him where there had been none before. The desire is there — some shade of it had been before, as well, even with the intoxicants surging through her blood — but the knowledge that there is nothing spurring her on now save the familiar warmth of liquor in her belly is a feeling she wants to linger in.

She can't recall the last time she'd made a man groan for her, squirm for her, arch beneath the caresses of her hands, her mouth, the squeeze of her cunt; she grins against his torso and then delivers a teasing nip along that taut canvas, hard enough for a potential mark to bloom.

Before she can move on he's already drawing her up to him, fingers curving beneath the fabric of her undergarments, and the thinly indicated threat of his intentions to rip them off her if she doesn't remove them quickly enough elicits a shiver as she presses into him, breasts straining needfully against the bodice of her gown. ]

No. We wouldn't want that.

[ But the tone in her voice makes it plain that she, at least, wouldn't object to a sudden display of strength from him in that sense, even while she idly continues to rock her hips into his, thighs tensing at either side of his waist, the friction of fabric still between them only adding to her already mounting desire. ]

[He arches into the blunt force of her teeth - a pinch that does flush his skin and teases it almost apart, breaking the blood vessels underneath. At this intensity, it only fans the embers of the already healthy heat in his core. He grins, enjoying the smile that escorts the bite, even if the red patch lingers for only a second or two; gone the next blink of an eye. The skin on his back had been smooth and flawless when he had come out of the woods that day, but he still remembers her nails digging against his shoulders and sides. It makes him wonder where else she could hold onto, what other parts of his body she would find purchase on.

Questions about how strong Dante is have been asked all his life. He usually doesn't reply to them, avoids unnecessary shows of strength, even how quick he heals is something he plays close to his chest. He'd rather save that for when it's truly necessary.

So he arches his eyebrows when she takes the threat's face value and weaves actual intent into it. Sounds as challenging as possible, the tone of her voice teasing him into actually doing it.

And there he is, shirt open, bulge straining against his pants, Vanessa's breasts tantalizingly pressed against his chest in the confines of a bodice, and her challenge to actually rip her panties off.

Talk about a Victorian book scene.

The laugh he presses against her lips and down her neck is delighted, and his hand slides over to the side of her hip, both fists bunching the fabric.]

Hold still. [Is the amused tone of his voice against her ear as a warning before the first band around her waist snaps.]

[ Now that is interesting, she thinks to herself, noting how that mark lingers angry and red for merely the span of a few seconds before fading altogether; she has a dimmer recollection of his skin being completely unmarred as they'd left the woods that day while her own had born the brunt of it, scrapes and cuts from twigs and a rough and unforgiving ground beneath her, but she'd been too addled to attribute it to anything at the time, the effects of the injection still continuing to wear off. Now, however, she can't quite strike the open fascination in her gaze, not so distracted that she overlooks his ability to heal so quickly.

On sudden impulse, she presses her fingertips into his chest, digs in hard enough for him to feel the blunt rounds of her nails before dragging them down, leaving thin red lines in their wake — not with the intention of cutting but rather to make that blood rush up beneath the surface of the skin again, vivid and inviting more scratching against that unmarred complexion.

Her breath catches at the sight of it before she can truly repress the response, lashes fluttering briefly — but that's only a small shade next to her reaction when he gathers up that delicate fabric in his hands, wrinkling it in a fisting grip.

And then he pulls, hard enough to drag her hips, and the harsh sound of that silk being torn apart makes her gasp, tilt her head to claim his mouth, to let all her subsequent moans dissolve in the fervor of their kissing while he rids her of that obstacle without her needing to disentangle herself from her perch atop him.

It brings with it a renewed rush of wanting between her legs, that dimmer pulse now an undeniable throbbing, a brighter flush residing in her cheeks as her lips part from his and her eyes search his face, fingers lightly cupping his jaw. ]

Hell, yeah. [Jaw going slack at the first cinch of her nails on his skin, he watches her drag and scratch his chest, snagging here and there in their wake, letting out an audible hiss as the flesh underneath contracts, rolls to a tension that pools in his core, makes the muscles in his stomach twitch as he stutteringly expels the air inside. He swallows a knot in his throat, feeling himself twitch under her weight, soaking up the front of his trousers.

Even if Dante loves to indulge a cliché as this is, a fervent reaction such as this makes it even the more worth it. His heartbeat is surging, eyes closing as he wishes he can drink in the sounds she's making as he tears the fabric - a final, more forceful tug snaps the other hem. He smooths his hand over the now naked fold of her hip and thigh, opens heavy-lidded eyes to hers, but not without lingering on her lips, her cheek, first. He grins, tilts his nose to brush against hers, reveling in the look of her.]

Sorry about that, [not apologetically at all, hands already exploring the skin he uncovered without much modesty - was she always this soft?] I'll make it up to you?

[ She moans, close to a purring sound, appreciation and admiration combined at the sight of him basking beneath the scoring of her nails that create marks just long enough for her to make note of them before they fade and ultimately disappear — and she can't help but wonder, then, how much time would have to pass for him to repair if she did draw blood, if the cuts she made on him ran deeper than the mere superficial lines she's delivering now.

There's another firm tug, tension that builds and then snaps and the fabric immediately gives way across her hip, reduced to uselessness with only that mere act. It feels rather like a secret only the two of them know now, if they were to be interrupted with her sitting astride him like this, his cock buried inside her; perhaps they'd be able to disguise it with her skirts arranged across his lap even as she managed tight, subtle swirls of her hips, squeezed him with her inner muscles, made him fight to repress a groan all the while.

Her mouth drifts across his again and she's certain he can feel the curving of her lips when she smiles, the shift and pull it creates before she delivers a teasing nip to his lower followed by a flick of her tongue against the upper. ] See that you do.

[Maybe it says a lot about her that Dante doesn't mind the appreciative look, even though he tends to keep this close to his chest - pun not intended - outside of a battle, where his opponent is just as able to do it. Or maybe it says a lot about the power affecting him instead, causing him to feel sated under her gaze, parched when she's not touching him intently, even if she that intention means to tear.

He makes a snap with his teeth in the air just after Vanessa withdraws her tongue, lands a soft but yearnful kiss upon the bow of her upper lip. The chuckle he lets out is almost musical, both taunting, a reaction that stems from any demands made his way, and appreciative at the smile he feels against him. ] Yes, Ma'am.

[He kisses her then, fully. Turns his face just so to deepen it, because at this point he's hungry and unable to hide it. And as weird as it is, it's kissing her that turns a fast, sharp fuse of heat into a slow burn that both feeds and soothes him. And he needs that - he figures that if he enters her then, everything else will be very shortlived.

He'll think about that particular concern, later.

When he releases her, the hand on her hips guide her upwards, and he trails nips and kisses down her neck again, across her chest - a particularly harsh bite right by her cleavage to get back at her from that last one, even if gentle enough not to mar her skin much. He scoots lower, and, with a final waggle of his eyebrows, he makes his weight slide enough - using the coffee table behind them to prop his legs and feet (how he manages to miss both the glasses and the bottle is beyond explanation) as his head disappears beneath her skirts, the flat of his tongue lapping at her folds the millisecond
after.]

[ The playfulness of it doesn't necessarily take her by surprise, but she does blink slightly, that hazy lust in her expression soon replaced by a small grin, her hands stroking over him all the while, alternating lighter grazes of her fingertips with harder scratches; it's no secret, the effect that's having on him, because she can feel it nudging against her inner thigh, hardness against that soft, freely exposed skin while he kisses her, deep and needing.

She makes her own need plain in the way she cups the side of his face, fingers spindled out across the strength of his features and palm pressed against his jaw for those few seconds before his mouth begins its descent. The kisses prompt a low laugh, the sharp bite a gasp, and her hands fly to rest upon his shoulders for those moments that he hovers close enough for her to ponder leaning in to steal another nip from the fullness of his lips, but the heat he's stoking within her is rising too hot, too intense for her to ignore for much longer.

Fortunately, thanks to him, she won't be forced to.

Confusion blooms in her features when he starts to slip further down the sofa, along her body, but then she soon learns where he's headed and it takes some maneuvering for her to work a hand beneath her layers, to pull the torn scrap of cloth from between her legs, to render herself completely exposed for the ministrations of his mouth, his tongue.

She's forced to find purchase somewhere, in the couch cushions, needing something to hold onto when his head dips between her thighs beneath the fullness of her skirts, hidden from her sight but not from her senses altogether, and she knows he'll be rewarded with the growing slickness there to collect with every sweeping lick through her folds that prompts a sound from deep within her chest. ] Oh —

[From this position, he can't really see her face, and it's a shame. It's one of the few good things from that cursed fort that is burned in the back of his eyes, her soft expression as she abandons thought, parts her lips and delivers herself to the sensation of being with him.

But the scent of her under her skirt is intoxicating, and while he couldn't see her, he sensed the slight shake of her thighs as he runs his hands over them, tilts her hips into his mouth as he takes that first taste of her. The wetness he drinks eagerly still comes as a surprise to him, and he hums, tightens his grip on her, as if molding the flesh under his fingers.

That she seems so ready for him is enough to make him ponder if he should actually pull back up, unfasten his belt. But he hears the guttural moan above, muffled as it is by the fabric surrounding him but rumbling through her down to her hips. It's similar to the ones he heard in the forest, and he remembers, that he didn't have any inclination to learn about her then, only a mean to an end. And as tempting as the idea of having her tight around him seems, he decides to rub his stubble roughly against her inner thigh, enough to make that sensitive skin pink. Leans in again, kisses the crux of her slit softly, flicking and swirling his tongue against her clit once, twice, attentive, as he runs the tip of it down her labia with insistent strokes to find just what exactly made her tick.]

[ She finds she does prefer their shared eye contact, as soon as he disappears from view, but it's not as if he hasn't offered her something else of himself in exchange, feeling over what she can no longer see, and the sensation of his chest vibrating against her body with the depth of his sounds provide an added stimulation to the gripping of his fingers against the pert flesh of her rear, the delving strokes of his tongue across the source of her arousal.

She tightens her grip on the pillows, shifts her hips a fraction of an inch along his mouth — though she twitches restlessly at the ticklish burn of his facial hair against the inside of her thigh. That pairing of pleasure and brief pain does everything to further her current state, the need that practically drips out of her now to slick his lips when he kisses her there, the caress maddeningly light until he gives her more pressure, more exploration.

Her own mouth falls open, gasps and moans leaving her more freely now as he tongues over her, that tiny bundle of nerve endings so swollen and pliant as he teases it, delves across those most intimate parts of her beneath, and her thighs shake atop his shoulders, heat building on top of heat in her core. ] Your mouth — [ It's a thought voiced out loud, almost wondrous; they hadn't spared one another the time for this before, but they have it now, enough for him to learn her. ]

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