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ximilialog2022-12-06 05:02 pm
- ! event log,
- ace attorney: yujin mikotoba,
- adventure time: finn mertens,
- altered carbon: takeshi kovacs,
- doom patrol: rita farr,
- fullmetal alchemist: edward elric,
- grishaverse: the darkling,
- gundam seed/destiny: yzak jule,
- marvel comics: gwen stacy,
- one piece: rosinante donquixote,
- original: clayton epps,
- pacific rim: newton geiszler,
- red vs blue: felix,
- star trek aos: leonard mccoy,
- the iliad: helen,
- the old guard: andromache,
- the old guard: yusuf al-kaysani,
- the witcher: yennefer of vengerberg,
- transformers: minimus ambus,
- wheel of time: rand al'thor,
- yakuza: zhao tianyou
STATION LOG.03
● ● ● S T A T I O N 3 . 0
1.0 For those of you who often cross through the sunlight room to break paths into other areas of the station, you may notice some changes in the optics around you. Where the trees had once reflected images of a lush foliage of a typical temperate planet during its warmest season, now a series of various conifers (firs, spruce, cedars, hemlocks, pines) in deep greens and soft, spiky, needle-like foliage takes its place, scattered across your field of vision in no particular pattern. Snowflakes glisten and glitter at the tips like miniature crystals, catching the simulated wintery sunlight above from a crisp, cloudless blue sky.
Follow the path into the trees and you’ll find that the room’s detritus is now covered in a fluffy white blanket of snow not yet trodden over: perfect for your footprints. It even feels just a little cooler, brisker — each breath you exhale coming out in a cloud of fog, and yet it never feels uncomfortable enough to require any sort of winter gear.
When you’ve cleared the patch of forest, on the far end of the room is a snow-covered meadow just waiting to be populated with snow angels and maybe a family of snow-people. Grab some twigs for arms and a handful of pebbles for facial features, and you’re set to spend a couple of hours playing in the snow. The rest of the sunlight room has become something of a winter wonderland: the shallow river beneath the bridge has frozen over into ice, shiny and clear, leading into a small pond perfect for sliding across even if you’re lacking skates.
The atmosphere in the room makes for a pleasant in-between to the rest of the station’s rooms, or simply a pleasant space to chill (heh) for a little while.
2.0 During the early days of the festive month, Viveca’s voice will broadcast across every Orber’s communications device, announcing the reappearance of a box to be left near the mess hall. The purpose, she explains, is for any Orber feeling the holiday spirit and wanting to spread a little joy and cheer by way of a surprise gift. Those who have been on the station last holiday season will be familiar enough with what might be becoming a new tradition.
Anyone is welcome, of course, to put in a gift request for another Orber on the station. The intention is to spread good cheer and encourage team-bonding, and honestly? It’s just a nice thing to do. Once in a while you might come across another fellow Orber on their way to the box, or you might find someone already there, inputting their request onto the box’s screen. Don’t peek (or do, we’re not your mother) or you might ruin the surprise!
3.0 This month’s supply drop arrives like Christmas itself is here. There are a lot of reds, golds, greens, and blues, and the scents are unmistakably festive.
It consists of decorations and a tree to be put somewhere and dressed with all of the trimmings. There is also a crate full of small bags of baking and cooking ingredients, as well as a modest array of equally quaint glass bottles filled with holiday-specific spices: cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, to name a few. These will need to be taken to the kitchens, of course, for those who have a knack for baking.
4.0 And of course the simulation room will be decked out like a cozy cottage on Christmas morning, reusing a template from the Doctor and Clara and may be familiar to some of you from last year, with a fire crackling in the fireplace, the scents of cinnamon and clove in the air, as well as the distant sound of traditional holiday songs being played over an antique radio in one corner of the room. There is also a tree decorated in a variety of kitschy ornaments like Santa Claus on a T-Rex, and bears in tutus. There are also ornaments representing every orber present on the station, updated to match the newcomers while also leaving those who have come and gone in the past.
There are unmarked gift boxes within the room filled with toys and games such as plastic dinosaurs and robots that come to life when you wind them up. There is also no shortage of ridiculous squeaky alien toys, marshmallow launchers, and stuffed plushies. Of course, there are also boxes left under the tree for anyone who enters the simulation room with their name neatly printed on a tag containing an ugly Christmas sweater inside, one that can be worn as long as you’re here, and has been specially picked for you.
A week into December, you may be going about your business, holding fast to your daily routines or embracing the slight changes of the festive season. Perhaps you’re in the kitchen making breakfast, in the training room just finishing your morning workout, or taking a shower to get ready for the day … when suddenly, you hear it:
Olivia’s bright, sweet echo of a voice is all you hear before the power instantly cuts off on the station.
5.0 It's in that split second that the stovetops stop functioning, the water from your showerhead no longer flows, and the lights shuts off leaving you standing in complete darkness.
There’s the quiet hum of a backup power source being turned on, but it is only enough to keep the station’s most vital functions running, supplying oxygen into the too-quiet spaces — everything else is just gone. All you can do from here is to try your best to manage: take care of any produce in the kitchen so it won’t spoil; dry yourself off if you had been showering (and hope your hair isn’t full of unwashed shampoo); perhaps find someone else to navigate the hallways with … or bump into them if neither of you can see clearly.
The blackout will last for about a day and a half before, just as suddenly as the power went off, it comes back.
6.0 But the glitches don’t end here. Throughout the days that follow, you will notice that rooms lock unexpectedly; suddenly, you might be trapped in your room, or the laboratory, or the Ximusic room, unable to leave and unable to force the door to open as no powers will work on the station’s structures. Maybe you’ll accept your temporary fate and settle in for a long wait, maybe with someone else in the room as your companion. Or maybe you’ll try to alert others and hope that someone has some abilities that could be used to spring you free.
It also appears that Olivia has managed to affect the earpieces, too: messages that you send to others might disappear altogether, never making it to the recipient; or other messages might accidentally make it to someone else entirely.
7.0 For anyone using the simulation room, either for seasonal cheer or for any other purpose, you might suddenly find it changing around you. The room will turn dark for a moment before it focuses again into a room a few of you might be familiar with: it's the room where the orbs are currently being kept, in the North Wing.
The room, however, is devoid of any such things. Only a single figure can be seen, an older man seated in the middle of the room and sagging under his own weight. Behind him, there is a trail of blood left smeared across the floor.
His voice trails off. Next to him, a faint form shimmers from the air. She resembles splintered glass, reflecting pink and turquoise off her uneven, sharp edges. Her humanoid form takes a step forward and pauses by the man.
Her voice lacks the echo. Instead there is a sharper quality to the cadence of her speech, as if her programming lacks the same level of refinement that she has now.
Still in the simulation, her form suddenly turns to look at you, her glassy eyes completely empty.
Her sweet and echo-like voice drifts around you.
Her lips turn up into the ghost of a smile, and her glassy form seems to glimmer in other colours, too: gold, white, red, green, blue, orange, violet.
By contrast, the darkness around you suddenly feels suffocating as the scene starts to fade away ... and it only takes you seconds to realize that something else is fading away too: your oxygen. You feel light-headed, suddenly gasping for breath —
With precious few minutes left, you might try and scramble to the door and hope it hasn't been locked. Perhaps someone has been with you this entire time, which would be lucky. Or if you're alone, you might try and save your breath until you can try and contact someone over the network and hope that they — whoever it is that receives your message — can get to you in time.
Some time later, Viveca’s familiar voice sounds in your earpiece.
And also — those who have any kind of powers or magic, I’d appreciate you coming, too. Not to help with Olivia, but the orb. Degar… well. Let’s say the orbs are growing in power, the more of them there are. Please, if you can, help him with them.”
After the message ends, some may notice the door to the North Wing is already open ... and even if you don’t intend to help, maybe you want to go in and take a look around.
8.0 The room you first step into is long and rectangular, and without any furniture to clutter the space — those who have not been to the North Wing will recognise it as the same room in Olivia’s simulation. In the room, you’ll find a large sphere, crackling sharply with magical energy front and centre and surrounded by open circulation, perhaps for its own protection — the barrier of this object is so powerful that even those without any magical talent can feel it, almost like static electricity. A (slightly) closer look will yield several different colours of orbs, all swirling around each other in what looks like a frenzied dance.
If you choose to take a step closer, you’ll immediately sense it: there’s an awareness, a quiet whisper in your ear, or a chorus of indistinct words, reaching out to you.
The voices whisper in your ear, calling you by name; but if you go close enough to touch the sphere, you will be flung across the room, feeling the force of all that magic course through you like electric shocks.
9.0 The other rooms in the North Wing aren’t nearly as exciting: the next room appears to have nothing of note except for a set of chairs lined up along the sides of the room, and then one larger one in the middle — a mechanical armchair with several different wires running directly into it.
On both sides of this space you’ll find maintenance rooms directly adjacent: one for the station itself, and one for the AI. Both of these rooms are filled with advanced machinery and screens — and one thing to note is how … clean the one designated for station maintenance seems to be. Not a fleck of dust to be found anywhere. On the other hand, the AI maintenance room feels quieter, looks darker … but as soon as anyone walks in, they’ll find a little cleaning robot beeping at them angrily. Whoops, it seems as though you’ve located the robot’s home, so make sure to not trail in any dirt. (This room is also spotless.)
10.0 Connected to the station maintenance room is the power and life support, a room with a large engine at its back, and closed pods on its sides. Most of them have a blue, glowing stripe on them; only one has a red one. But no matter how you try to open any of them, they don’t budge.
On the other side, connected to AI maintenance, is the old team’s living quarters. You count twenty beds in the room, half of which are divided into bunk beds on either side of the room… and most of them still have some items near them: clothes, a few books written in a language that your translators can’t seem to decipher, a soft elephant toy, and a photograph of all twenty people — a diverse mixture of women and men, older and younger, of different races, and makes; a few droids among them. Most notably, in the corner are Degar and Viveca, caught in the picture smiling at each other.
Only one of the beds is still in use — Degar’s bed, obviously; and the bed next to his doesn’t seem to have seen much use but the wall above it is decorated with the picture frames some of the team will remember from the room in the mayor’s penthouse in E-23b.
11.0 The last place to explore within the North Wing is a hexagonally shaped room that matches the ones teleporting food and other essentials onto the station. Indeed, in the middle of this one is an almost identical platform, though what it connects to is a little unclear — in any case, it doesn’t seem to be powered up right now. At the end of the room is a circular cut-out and a heavy-duty latch, currently locked into place to seal whatever is beyond it. It’s a door, of course, but it isn’t just any door … for anyone wondering about exits on this station, you’ll realize now where it’d been all along. There’s a control panel on the wall next to it but it requires a passcode … unfortunate for anyone who wanted a scenic tour outside of the station itself.
Those arriving at the North Wing to lend a hand will find Viveca waiting there for them, standing quiet and still by the door. She directs those who have arrived to help her towards the AI maintenance room, and instructs those with powers to remain in the orb containment hall and wait for Degar.
Once Rosinante, Gwen, Jyn, Cassian, Minimus, Newt, Matt, Yelena, Natasha, Itachi, Ryunosuke, Kazuma and Felix have all made it to the AI maintenance room (this time without the little cleaning robot in attendance), Viveca shuts the door, and nods to Rosinante.
Rosinante is quick to understand her meaning, and silence falls upon them, providing them with privacy that no one past these walls can penetrate ... not even a former AI.
Her tone belies her frustration and her android eyes burn with anger. She pauses and takes a breath more out of habit than out of any real need.
She pauses … and gives a wry smile.
With that, she instructs everyone to grab a seat (and as such, there happen to be enough for everyone: simple soft-backed computer chairs) before they get to work.
12.0 Those helping Viveca with the code will also be provided with their own screens, and a briefing on what the station’s coding looks like (an ever-changing multitude of complex code filled with encrypted sections) as well as a look into what the possible anomalies within it might resemble — they are small glitches, a number changing here or there, a combination that switches to another when you blink, before it flicks back. There’s no knowing how long you’ll be watching it all, and you may find it tedious… or perhaps intriguing, trying to isolate where the changes happen, why, with what frequency, and if there is a pattern to where Olivia appears, or when.
Meanwhile, Viveca herself sits next to you, or perhaps stands to the side, her eyes flickering; she needs no wires to connect to the station, and you may run into her in the code, seeing the way she shifts through it faster than you might have thought possible, constantly reinforcing the encryption that protects the station's most vulnerable and essential functions.
13.0 Once an anomaly has been detected, it will be the turn of those who have volunteered to be sent into the station’s systems. Viveca equips those crew members with a complicated-looking headpiece full of wires over them and begins to hook it into their earpieces. Once the set-up is complete and you are connected, you will feel a tug inside your stomach similar to the effects of the teleportation pad — but rather than your physical body being taken anywhere, it is your mind.
You arrive within what appears to be a large, round room. On the walls, code flickers in an endless stream of numbers that continuously switch and change. When you finally move, you notice that the code has changed ever-so-slightly; this is where stealth is of the essence. After all, the quieter and steadier you are, the less the code changes and the less chance there is that Olivia might be alerted to your presence.
As you slowly move around the room, doorways appear, seeming to correspond to different areas of the station. If you watch them for long enough, you’ll begin to detect a pattern of certain numbers that match those rooms — or do they?
Walking through that door leads you into yet another round room, then another, and then another. Doorways continue to open, close, and disappear.
A combination of 22-9-22-5-3-1 flashes in the code. Viveca’s voice comes through as a whisper.
With a pleasant ‘Right this way!’ lacking the usual Degar-like flourish, those of you helping with the orbs will be led around the large spherical container in the middle of the room, smaller bulbs of brightly glowing light in several different colours hovering within. There are also thick bands of metal wrapping around the otherwise clear container like ribbon, reflecting that crackling energy back into the sphere itself, a continuous feedback loop of the orb’s own energy. The group of magic users and teammates with power abilities: Geralt, Rand, Wei Wuxian, Yennefer, Rita, Sabriel, Helen, Rodimus, Joe, Yzak, Dante, Aleksander, Ziggy, Bucky, Zhao, and Ed might feel the room buzzing with a powerful magic they may find frighteningly familiar — and foreign all the same.
For those of the group who have been granted access into the orb containment room the last time it’d been open for visitors, you might immediately recognize how different the space looks, but especially the way it feels. There is power here, heavy enough that it seems to weigh every last atom in your body down towards an unseen gravitational pull that you can’t quite locate and calls out to you with tantalizing whispers. It almost feels like you might suffocate if you stay too long, and it’s a wonder how Degar spends almost all of his time here.
Some of you might notice the orbs within the container start to crackle and pulse with brighter light as though reacting to the Commander’s words. His usual attire consisting of his hooded cloak picks up some of the light and then dims again the moment he takes a step forward — as though his movement momentarily breaks some kind of agreement he has between him and the orbs.
14.0 He begins to speak again, but this time there’s a different air in his tone, something tired and serious and sure of what he’s about to explain next. The matter of these orbs isn’t something he takes lightly, after all — and that includes his role as Commander of the Ximilia too.
He lets out a breath and lifts both of his gloved hands up before him in demonstration of something.
“The metal bands are temporary, by the way. They’re a safety measure I’ve installed to keep you guys from getting any of the possible physical recoil that might occur. The orbs might try and speak to you but do your best to ignore them, okay?”
He’ll direct you all to spread around before him, get into your most comfortable pose, before he does the countdown to removing the first containment spell.
It’s instant the way the force of the orbs’ power hits you. And for thirty agonizingly slow seconds, you may start to hear a chorus of whispers and murmurs that grow louder and more insistent the more they begin to realize they’re free, the more the old spells continue to fall away like dust and debris. In this time, you might start to feel the effects of the orbs, angry and maniacal and eager for their own brand of vengeance.
15.0 Second after agonizing second passes before a voice rises above the rest of the commotion; it’s Degar, his presence clear and like a balm amongst the horrible discord of the orb’s voices.
If you manage to shake yourself out from the torture of voices and visions and tricks of your mind, you refocus your efforts, thinking of your magic, your power, and your ability viewed as ‘unnatural’ in your world. It takes incredible concentration but if you manage to see through the blast of bright light that isn’t the orbs’ but your own, you might catch the way Degar’s ‘sponge-gloves’ have become a conduit for your power before it seems to run through him and directly into the container, rattling against the metallic bars that groan and buck in protest, almost not strong enough against the team’s powers combined; it’s truly impressive. Degar seems almost unbothered by it; if anything, he seems to know exactly how to handle this capacity of power, where to focus it, how to direct it towards creating a coating over the orb’s containment unit like you are the palette, and he is the paintbrush. His cape glows as bright as the orbs, and for a split second, you could swear his eyes do too.
Between wisps of swirling dark magic from Wei Wuxian and the Darkling, and the deep violet of Yennefer’s magic, to the unseen sources of power from those such as Rita and Joe and Bucky, you begin to notice that the noise from the orbs speaking to you grows quieter and quieter until something snaps into place with an audible crack, like a large tree being split in two, and then the pleasant peal of a bell. It dings once, like an oven announcing a finished roast.
And then there’s silence, save for your own beating heart, before the low hum of the station’s engines start to make themselves apparent again, your ears readjusting to all of the ambient sounds you’d become so accustomed to.
You did it.
He looks more exhausted than ever, but any voices of concern are simply met with a quick hand-wave and an excuse that a few hours of real proper sleep will spring him back, good as new. He needs to start removing the metal ribbing, make sure everything is tip-top shape, and starts off to do just that, removing the gloves (which now look … a little worse for wear, full of burns and holes) and goggles. But the deed is done, and you can feel it in the room. It feels lighter now, easier to breathe in a way that has nothing to do with the oxygen levels, and it’s thanks in part to you.
F Y I
• If you have questions about any of the prompts or the mission in general, please direct them HERE.
• If characters want to speak face to face with Viveca or Degar (or both of them), they can do so HERE, or of course through the usual reach the residents page.
• And finally, your soundtrack for this log: ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪
no subject
[You are not alone, Yennefer had said. A brief moment of breathlessness for him as he had stared at her, disbelief and want warring on his tongue before he had slipped it in to the back of his mind. Something to remember as the missions took their toll, as the suffering kept coming.]
I want to see you, when I kiss every inch of your body. [how her skin would glisten, her cheeks flush and the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her usually neutral expression twist in to something softer, as he pressed passionate kisses against her warm skin.] Every hitch of your breath- every little sigh, Yennefer.
no subject
Then is this enough? [ Enough light to see her by, enough power by which to do all of the things he is vowing, enough to satisfy the instincts he has to keep reaching for her. There are also the parts of it she won't say or even so much as imply, whether she's enough for him in this moment, in truth because she doesn't want to know the answer.
She steps back by a pace, once and then again, putting enough of a distance between them so that when she drops her shoulders and leads her dress down, it falls from her in a whisper to the floor, rendering her bare again as she steps out of the puddle of fabric and leaves herself as open for the taking as she'll likely ever be to him. ]
no subject
The chill hits him all at once, the warmth that doesn't come from the wall anymore, vanishing like the light, and he shivers, eyes on her the whole time. He doesn't look away, only a brief flicker of his gaze down as he takes her in inches at a time.
Beautiful.
Dark hair cascading down her shoulders, a wet tangle of it but no less breathtaking for it. How it plasters to her skin, clinging like his hands did and he takes a step closer.]
Yes.
[It isn't a lie, but it isn't the truth either. It's the careful balance between what he wants to take for himself and what he needs, it's the temptation to make promises he won't keep to make her stay, and to be honest. To let her see him, and the light is more than enough for that.
Another step closer, his fingers already pulling on the hem of his shirt.]
And how much do you want to see, Yennefer? What do you want. [Fingers already itching to touch, to feel her again. To feel all of her, pressed against his own naked skin, to feel the warmth of her. He wants, wants to feel something, anything, but the desperation that claws at his mind and his memories.
The futility of hope that won't leave him.
And he wants her, the teasing, smirking mouth of hers. Her clever, powerful fingers and that little tilt of her head that means that she sees. Seeing with the edge of scorn or judgement in her gaze. Wants to reach out and know that she will reach back, even through the deepening shadows between them.
There is naked hunger in his eyes as he closes the distance, finger tips skimming across her throat.] Is this what you want.
[Am i?]
no subject
In fact, maybe it would be better altogether if they just dispensed with talking for the rest of this — however long it lasts, whether it involves her bringing him down over her, his weight bearing her into the bed, or her pinning him down with her own strength and taking her pleasure from him no matter what. There's less of a risk of treading too closely to territory that both of them would prefer to avoid if their mouths are too occupied to betray their truest selves. ]
Good to see that I don't need to drop any further hints.
[ He's already leading it in the right direction with the removal of his shirt, and she closes more of the distance between them again, her hands moving to rest against his bared arms, touch skimming along the length of those limbs until she can make a direct and purposeful contact with his chest.
His fingertips roaming across her neck temporarily skew her focus, and she lets him tilt her chin up with a slight catch in her breath. It would be easy, all too easy, for him to close a hand around her throat, to claim his kisses from her and feel the damning flutter of her pulse against his palm, but instead she takes his hand and leads it down, over the swell of a breast and toward the apex of her thighs. ]
Feel for yourself. [ Her want is there, painting evidence against his fingertips, but she'll only let the moment pass without moving for the smallest instant before she's leading herself in to slant her mouth against his again, intent on stumbling them both together in the general direction of the closest bed. ]
no subject
[He doesn't need pretty words, or promises made in the dark while they were both too naked and the truth lingered on the back of his tongue. To spill something of himself to her, words that he could never take back if the lights came back.
If this wasn't the end, or a break-down of the station.
Something that would null the deals they have made, and force him back to the life he left behind. The regret still very much present.
Fingers hooked in her, he follows, devouring her willing lips as she kisses him back, as the room vanishes in to shadow and the rest of the station can burn alone for a while.
While he smooths sticky fingers across her thigh before scooping her up in his arms, stumbling the last few feet to the bed. He lays her out like an offering, like an altar to pray to, hands shaking to get her naked and dripping, heart pounding in his ears and mouth tingling from her.]
Are you sure?
[Even as he sinks to his knees between her spread thighs, hands running up a leg.]
no subject
[ She doesn't need him to serve as a replacement, and she isn't picturing anyone else in the moment itself — which could very well have happened in a scenario like this, the two of them in the shadows with only the floating light of her power to see each other by. But more and more, she's finding that she isn't focused on any other faces save for the one right in front of her.
They've been dancing around this very thing for months now, mission after mission of leveraging mutual interest against the idea of letting themselves be distracted, but here on the station, it seems there are fewer excuses to be found in the darkness.
She isn't expecting him to lift her, but once she's in his arms the ultimate destination is less of a surprise, and she reclines across the familiar landscape of the bed once he deposits her there, watching him drop to his knees like he's intent on his own brand of worship. ]
If you have a woman arranged like this for you, Aleksander — [ The corner of her mouth ticks upward slightly, a subtle smile. ] — then chances are she's very fucking sure.
no subject
[Before his eyes drift down to settle on the shadowed space between her legs as his fingers trail up her calf.]
'Yes, please, Aleksander' is even better.
[The sorrow from just minutes ago lifting a little from the sight of her, spread out and on display for him. All pale skin and glistening eyes, the wet, red bow of her lips and how easy it is to slip back in to teasing.
To rub his beard against the softness of her inner thigh as he works his way on to the bed, knees braced against the bedframe and nosing his way across her hip. Peppering small kisses in his wake.]
Spread your legs, Yennefer.
no subject
[ The glint in her eyes, visible in spite of the darkness of the room, might serve as a potent indication otherwise — but the curve that shifts over the shape of her mouth is a hint that she's more amused than put off by his demeanor.
This part feels remarkably, instinctively easy, the space in which they've always inhabited together; she finds it simpler to reach for that repartee even within the anticipation of the moment, even when she is bared and pretending to debate the idea of complying for him while they both know it will only go one way.
Besides, she thinks she might want his mouth exactly where it is for the foreseeable future, and without needing any further guidance, her knees fall open as she props her weight up on her elbows, the better to regard him properly. ]
Yes, Aleksander. [ She'll give him that much, voice low and playful, which might speak more to their unique rapport than anything else. ]
no subject
No, she doesn't look like a woman who would beg.
But everything they had done so far- a dare that had been issued so many months ago with her ass pressed in to his groin on a rattling train, her lips curling up in a teasing smile on the station again and again. The double-edged blade of their conversations. Who would yield? Who would be the first to ask - for a kiss, a touch, a moan half-hidden beneath a whispered word.
To be make her gasp or groan, to watch her cheeks flush a hot pink and her eyes go wide, back arching and hands clenching in to tight fists against the rumpled bedsheets.]
Yes.[An echo of her affirmation, whisper-soft and spoken in to her stomach as his knuckles drag over her cunt, spreading her slick over the back of his hand.] No begging [with his fingers poised at her entrance and his lips trailing down] No pain, Yennefer.
[Begging could be as painful as shards of glass pushed under fingernails, and this wasn't about that. It wasn't about pain or degradation, of pushing too far when all he wanted was to sink in to her arms and quiet the rush of darkness inside his own head.
Words spoken as he pushes a finger inside of her, watching her face as he lowers his mouth to flick his tongue over her clit.]
no subject
Perhaps it was always building to the moment when she would have him sliding down the length of her body, perfectly content to serve her need as well as his own from this position. Yet somehow she doesn't feel as though she's lost or won; there is no victory to be claimed here, just his touch, almost reverent in its exploration. ]
Not this time.
[ She's under no illusions that there won't be pain, or suffering, or one of them won't find a means of hurting the other someday. That's just what happens, what has always happened, and she has no reason to believe it will transpire any differently now. But that doesn't mean they won't find pleasure in the interim, either.
He lowers his head between her thighs, pairing the thrusts of a single finger with the lashing of his tongue, and she gasps toward the hovering shadows, fills the room with her moan. It even seems filthier, somehow, in the darkness, the slick sounds amplified without the station's normal hum of power to cancel them out — but she strains toward him, needing, wanting, and unafraid of asking for it besides. ]
More. [ His fingers are thicker than hers, she thinks, and that's why she'll demand at least two. ]