inbox.

[sophielicious]

SOPHIE CUCKOO INBOX

un. fiveinone -> justsophie | voice, text, action

dwbi

CODING

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[querulus]

[If she's expecting a thank you for the blanket, she'll be waiting a while. Look, he's got an entire person on him keeping him warm. If she's cold, that's her own problem.

Anyway, kissing.

Quentin steps forward, pressing into her space until she has to back up, and wow, how convenient that there's a balustrade of slightly over waist height immediately behind her all of a sudden. That sure may come in handy very soon! Whoever arranged for that must be a genius or something. He breaks away from the kiss briefly, but just so she doesn't feel neglected, his hands slide down her back to grab her hips and pull her against him.]

How much company do you want?

[Quentin tilts his head toward the other side of the terrace, where a brightly lit room bustling with miscellaneous unrecognizable party-goers blips into existence.]

Or more of an exclusive affair?

[He smirks, blinks, and the noise from the room dims. Another blink, and it gets quieter still, and after a few more blinks the sound eventually disappears entirely.]

Or anything in between. Your choice.

[sophielicious]

(She's extremely smart, thank you, so the moment she feels the coldness of metal on her back, she gets exactly what he was planning by placing it here. Not at all sneaky. She sees you, Quentin Quire. She so sees you.

And she accepts you, because, wow, how convenient, it's not like she also thought of that very briefly when she suggested a place with limited options of positions, wow.

With her arms properly wrapped around his shoulders, she peeks over them to the lights, unknown faces, and then silence, and she presses her chin on his collarbone as she thinks for a second.)

People noise, curtains, close the door?

(It's an in-between.)

[querulus]

Done and done.

[Quentin grins smugly and raises a hand to snap his fingers. The result is a quieter room, clearly an event with a smaller number of attendees (though that does imply a more prestigious guest list), curtains drawn and doors closed. Which makes Sophie and Quentin "alone" out here, unlikely to be bothered unless, you know. There's an excess of noise out here or something. Like maybe noise coming out of a certain someone. Wouldn't it be a shame if whatever stuffy important muckity-mucks are in there got alerted to something salacious happening out here because there were a whole bunch of obscene sounds of unbridled lust that no amount of dull house music and droll conversation could mask? Yes, yes it would. Good thing that totally won't happen.

Anyway. Back to business.

He returns to kissing her and crowds her against the balcony railing, quick to get his hand back on her body. This time, though, it lands on her upper thigh and slides smoothly up under her dress. Good thing she happens to be wearing one so short, eh? Serendipity. As for whether she's wearing anything underneath? He does a quick scan of her mind to determine which she finds hotter. That's the beauty of doing this on the astral plane, after all. No need to compromise.]

[sophielicious]

Show-off.

(She couldn't make a mindscape this detailed. Her own is a trip; he's been there before, liminal spaces and confusing what-is-up-what-is-down galore. Illusioning, she's fantastic at, but it's hardly the same when the shit she illusions isn't a goddamn city with distinguishable music and chatter. Sophie notices the tiniest details, the wind that blows through her hair, warm and refeshing, the weight of her dress, the comfort of her heels, the fabric of Quentin's clothes...

... Show-off. She likes it, her nerdy telepathic brain is immensely pleased. Exceptional job.

Part of the fun of being here for her is just the little things Sophie would never do outside of it. To be a Sophie Cuckoo who perhaps would wear this dress and not immediately set it on fire without a second thought, or a Sophie Cuckoo who would actually come to an event like this without anything under her dress, like she had known this was going to happen all along. She would never, but here? She absolutely would. She'd also not make out where there's a great chance of her falling over, self-preservation and all, but she's not going to — so she absolutely would, her leg raising to hook around him to reveal that, indeed, nothing underneath as she kisses him silly.)

[querulus]

[He is a show-off, and he smirks against her mouth when she says it. But this mindscape isn't 100% perfect, and that's by design. The faces of the people aren't quite distinguishable, the music reminiscent of something recognizable but not something you can put your finger on. Another way he's showing off, obviously. See, she's hit the nail on the head here, understood the assignment perfectly: the point isn't realism.

Quentin Quire and Sophie Cuckoo have never and will never attend a fancy party together in matching outfits. They'll never find themselves alone on a romantic terrace outside said party and be so mindlessly horny they need to fuck each other's brains out where anyone and everyone might catch them. In the real world, Quentin would never be sliding his hand up her dress to find that nope, nothing underneath. That would be pretty risky for her, if this was real. Good thing it's not. This place is pure escapism, "real" in all the ways that enhance the experience but not somewhere either of them will ever mistake for reality. A perfect middle ground.]

Hell yeah I am. And you love it.

[He pulls back to watch her reaction both to what he said and to him starting to teasingly stroke between her legs. And then, because the point here is fake shit they know is fake just like 95% of everything else they've been doing lately, he decides to lean more into the "character". He has a hunch she'll be into it. So with that in mind, the hand that isn't busy splays on her lower back, and he leans forward to speak against her lips before going right back to kissing her again.]

Come on, we both know you went commando to this thing because you want me that bad.

[sophielicious]

(And bless him for it. He got the complete picture of what she needed to make this work, and how ironic is it that the person who gets her like that happens to be Quentin Fucking Quire? That's fucked up, karma. Cruel, sick joke of destiny, but whatever, not at all a thought in her mind because how can she even think? This is goddamn perfect, and she can't really focus on anything that isn't just how perfect it is.

Well, until he hits her with that line, and since they have a carte blanche?)

I really fucking do.

(It's what makes their lives so exciting, at the end of the day. He's not only a show-off, but he's creative, thinks in a different way than she does so their expertises intertwine in the most insanely delicious ways. Again, unfair, but what makes her so fascinated with it at the end of the day.

And this? Incredibly fun. Her moan is clear, crisp against his lips as she enjoys the attention, heel pressing a little against him to encourage the touch.)

What gave it away?

[querulus]

[Bingo. The stage is set, characters chosen, and now all that's left is to play their parts. And he has a really good feeling they'll take to that with gusto.]

You did. Obviously.

[Wait, no, does that sound like he's slut-shaming? Saying she "gives it away"? No, no. That's not the vibe at all. Okay, we're workshopping here. He can fix this.

Quentin slides the hand on her back downward to her ass and rubs her more firmly with his other. A carte blanche, huh? Alright. Let's fucking go, then. This isn't gonna be a stellar recovery, but he has a feeling she'll be pretty forgiving. He leans in close to her ear and, with a slowness he hopes will be deliciously excruciating, sinks a finger into her.]

You're gonna give me what's mine.

[sophielicious]

(Hah! Sir, please, you overthink this, which is unsurprising, because he does overthink just about everything; that's why he's often the justifier of their bullshit. Works wonders for her, who, too, signs under said bullshit. It sounded more as an independent woman who knows what she wants and makes assertive notes to her, thank you, so the thought process makes her grin against his lips.

And, fuck, they're doing possessive shit today? She's in so much trouble. See, this is why they can't get freaky like this in the real world, with her endorphins hitting them as a tsunami from a simple word, her leg raising so he can reach further, and while she does adore fingers? It's torture when she knows exactly how other parts of him make her feel, so she has to hold on him a little as her head tilts back in a sighy groan.)

Then you come and take it.

(Goddamn carte blanche.)

[querulus]

[See? It all worked out in the end, and he's clearly a genius.

And yes, they're doing possessive shit. He let her ride him, okay, he deserves this. Never mind the fact that she wasn't exactly topping because... she doesn't with him. But still. First round he was nice, so now he gets to be mean. You know. Relatively speaking.]

Oh, I'm gonna do both, don't you worry. Not in that order though, that'd be rude.

[God, he's hilarious. More people should appreciate how witty he is, honestly.

Meanwhile, he slides a second finger inside her alongside the first and starts a lazy thrusting rhythm, his thumb rubbing her. As for that nice neck exposure she's got going on, he rewards her by finding a lovely spot under her jaw to kiss and suck hard enough to certainly leave a mark if they were in the real world.]

I just haven't decided if I want to make you come once before I bend you over this balustrade and, well. You can fill in the rest.

[Torture? Yes. Absolutely. Good luck, Sophie.]

[sophielicious]

(Obviously, she doesn't hate possessive shit, okay. It goes really, really well with the scenario he provided, because is there something so impossibly hotter than going back to a party they escaped from with clear ownership of what had happened? No regrets? Couldn't be here, but hey, fun that technically, it isn't.

At least the murder attempt on her cringe receptors has been taken, and if he is paying attention to the Sophie Cuckoo that is resting on his chest, he'll have a very clear view of her slight blushing and her nose crinkling in both frightening cringe and endless amusement, a little giggle ensuing.

Back to mind matters, though, she has chosen to respond with:)

Good, accidents can happen at this height.

(Just for kicks, because, haha, he would never, and she would never. Look, fake danger, meaningless threat, and he's managing to take away a lot of her willpower to keep up with her own side of witty. Unimportant, when there's the combination of filling, stimulation — fuck, a hickey, right on the sensitive spot of her neck. It's a divine sound that leaves from her, clenching around his fingers and she has to bring him closer to encourage him to keep at it.

And then he fucking says that. Real Sophie might have turned her maximum shade of red, and this Sophie? She gets demanding.)

You better do both.

[querulus]

[Oh, that's a very good noise. Very good indeed. But the demanding? Hmmm. Well, it does make it all the more satisfying when she eventually gives in if she's given him a little fight beforehand, and it's not like he doesn't agree that both sounds like a mighty fine suggestion. But it's the principle, you see. Quentin is a contrarian at heart, and this particular fantasy version of Quentin is no exception. So he draws his fingers nearly out of her and for a moment almost, almost seems like he's going to pull away entirely. Just long enough to make her start wondering...]

Yeah? Try asking nicely.

[And then he pushes them back in and continues that same motion as before, though he adds more stimulation with his thumb for good measure. Not enough to really ramp up her pleasure that much, because he's a vindictive little shit. But certainly enough to tease. Which is, of course, the intention. You think she's wriggling her way out of some good old-fashioned begging? In this economy? When he's in this kind of mood? Get real. She'll be puddle by the time he's done with her. Only question is if he wants to get there with edging or with multiple orgasms. Both equally good, but alas, diametrically opposed.

Guess we'll see if she can handle making a request that meets his standards. That should be fun. Oh, and since she liked that hickey so much? She's getting a second one under it. He's such a giver.]

[sophielicious]

(He's a contrarian at heart, and she's a fighter, so of course this shit gets them going. Because naturally. Why wouldn't it? So, she intends fully to make his life "difficult", which in turn makes her life deliciously adventurous, because they're both competitive assholes. See? Life is unfair. Another point is that one of her favorite things about this? About him? He challenges the living hell out of her. If that's not maddening hot to a girl who is used to having just about anyone wrapped around her dainty fingers, she doesn't know what else could be.

So, when he slides out, like he's about to stop? She squints at him, she gave him very clear instructions verbally, and then he doesn't. She really did buy that, fuck, and she has to hold onto him a little harder to ride the pleasure that intensifies with the hickey, an even louder noise leaving her lips. It makes every single hair on her body stand, and she holds his curls in her hand in a pull.

Time to make him probably lose it as much as she is.)

Give me reasons to, and maybe I will.

(Big words from someone who moaned as loudly that if that party were real, they would definitely be in trouble right now.)

[querulus]

[Hm. He stops again, this time with his fingers buried deep inside her. Because really? He's tempted to pull away, let her stew in her own choices. The part of him that is an incorrigible troll wants to see how desperate she'd get if he did that. But... he doesn't. Why? Because despite her sassing him, he likes everything else she's doing. Already making such lewd noises, and they've barely even begun. And the way she's clinging to him, hooking her leg around his waist, riding his hand? And fuck, that tug on his hair? So hot. And look, he's not made of stone over here, okay? He is but a mere mortal. Even Quentin Quire has limits.

That said, she needs to be taught a lesson. He's decided that right now. Clearly the problem is too much ability to use her brain. He can do something about that. As for that adorable little "challenge" of hers? Well, first he scoffs and finds a new place to mark further down her neck closer to her collarbone.]

You know, you're being pretty loud. I think they might have heard you in there.

[And before she has a chance to turn that around in some irritating way (aka a way that makes him want to fuck her senseless) he curls his fingers inside her, seeking out any particularly sensitive spots. Once he finds something, he pulls his hand away, but only to add a third finger, thrust back in, and curl again. Then that repeats. And another time. Yep, that's the new rhythm now, both faster and more demanding than what he was doing previously. Oh, and his thumb is working harder too, since obviously, she can't have any breaks whatsoever. Is he going to actually let her hit her peak? Undecided. But she earned herself the fast track to getting pretty damn close.]

[sophielicious]

(She hasn't even touched him yet. It's not that she doesn't want to, because if there's anything she wants right now, it is to do just that, but he's making it so hard for her to concentrate on anything that isn't encouraging him to keep doing just what he is doing. It's hard to move in this position to get a rhythm with his hand, but she has never been a quitter, and she isn't starting now, thankfully her body is moving much more on instinct than her own thinking, because she's busy pulling him closer to her skin.

She's this close to jumping the shit out of his bones, but he keeps giving her those hickeys, which she is finding are goddamn fantastic on her pale skin. She isn't even noticing the fact that they keep getting lower, too stimulated by the hand (which, well, she hasn't seen what he has in store for her yet) and the mix of pain and pleasure that he's providing with his mouth. Good thing this is the astral plane, because with how much her hand is gripping on his curls, he'd bitch at her for an eternity, but she needs it whenever there's a jolt of ecstasy that runs from her nape to her lower back.

They're still doing the talking thing that they found out won't kill them, so she has one word of a reply.)

Good.

(If the fake people in the fake party in their fake world were real, well, they'd have heard every single sound she's producing when he finds a a spot. There is no possibility of bringing him closer than he already is, which means her hands have to hold harder wherever they are — hair, which gets another tug, and his belt.)

... Edge me.

[querulus]

[Okay, so you know that thing about being a contrarian and refusing to give her what she asks for specifically because she asks for it? Yeah, well, he's making an exception. Why? Because she asked him to edge her, that's why. I mean... fuck. Is he supposed to say no to that? Of course not. Who would?? Idiots, that's who. And Quentin is not an idiot. He laughs breathlessly over the most recent hickey on her collarbone.]

Yeah... Yeah, of course. You're not allowed to come unless I'm inside you.

[There, see, he turned it around to make it a kinky possessive thing. Man, he's such a genius it hurts sometimes.

And speaking of hurting, the pain-pleasure they're sharing from all the hickeys and hair-pulling is absolutely glorious and 100% needs to continue, so he grips her waist with his free hand and hoists her up to the railing, where there is now enough space for her to sit without feeling like she might fall. There, now he doesn't have to crane his neck as much to leave his next mark just below the previous. The neckline of her dress may or may not have mysteriously gotten much lower in the past few seconds. Also convenient, he now has a much better angle for his hand to pleasure her. And when he feels her approaching her climax? Well, he doesn't stop. That would be cruel! He just... gradually slows his pace, decreasing the intensity of stimulation without removing it. The hickeys though, those don't slow down at all, and he leaves two more at the top of her chest, one right after the other. And it's sensitive skin, which means those suckers are gonna sting like a motherfucker.]

[sophielicious]

(See, wonderful, could this be a win? Making Quentin Quire be contrarian to himself? Not that she has any brain to gloat, anyway, the thought can't be produced by her mind. Quentin knows this shit gets her going like nothing else, this mildly rough, lustful approach, with just a touch of possessiveness that makes her think of nothing else but him. He's getting that latter very often today, one with her focused on how he feels while she feels, and now with him giving her no break to think of anything else but him. It's working wonders, which she's not bothering to hide in any shape or form.

The mild exhibition only intensifies — not only does she have absolutely no complaints about being moved, but she drops the shoulder straps out of the way to move the dress down so he has all the access to skin that he needs, even with the dress conveniently shifting to allow it. He's not allowed to not do this when they're in the astral plane, because if he hasn't noticed, her chest is possibly the most sensitive part of her body, and with how sensitive Sophie generally is? She's nearly in heaven with the paired sensations, and he will very soon notice that even with the decreased stimulation, she's not at all any less pleasured. He's found something very precious here, mind him.

She's overstimulated, as she often finds herself, but God, he can keep kissing, biting, and leaving those hickeys all he wants. She might cross the edge just from that, and she pulls at his belt to try to undo it if he lets her breathe for a second.)

[querulus]

[Damn, this pain kink stuff is really doing it for her, isn't it? Not that Quentin is judging. Considering the way he literally asked her to bite him not an hour ago and how he reacts every time she tugs on his hair, he gets it. Never thought it'd be Sophie's thing, but here we are. Hell, he thinks he could probably push her over the edge with like two more hickeys, even if he withdrew his hand entirely. Which is... wow. Something to make a note about for later, definitely. But he made a promise just now, and he intends to keep it.

Then she starts fumbling at his belt, and he decides you know what? Fuck it. This time he really does stop—look she said to edge her, so she can't get mad—and pulls away. Not completely, of course. He's not leaving or anything. He's just giving her some room for what's next.]

Turn around.

[Could he reposition her with his mind? Yes, with a single thought. He could also forego the process of actually undoing his belt, which he does while he waits for her to obey. It's more fun this way.]

[sophielicious]

(Surprisingly so. Can't say it would work for other things, but biting and leaving little marks that she would strut with all her glory to that party showing? She's surprised herself.

She isn't mad, because she did ask for it, but hey, the belt, she was actually finally going to touch him, give herself a moment, but then she stops for a second to think. Thing is, what he is asking is really reasonable. She has a deep interest in it, and isn't what he proposes technically touching him, anyway? It's not like she is, by any means, a lazy partner.

She does, but not before moving the waterfalls of hair forward. No reason, she just loves being kissed.)

[querulus]

[Lazy? No, she's anything but lazy. But, well. She had the thought earlier of hands not being as good as certain other body parts, and he just happens to agree. And also he's kinda impatient. Sue him. Not that you'd know it with the way he's taking his dear sweet time getting adjusted, pressing up against her back, making sure her arms are properly on the railing and of course, sweeping her hair entirely to one shoulder. Why? Because he has Plans for that now-bared shoulder. Is it a coincidence that it's the side of her neck he hasn't already put his mouth all over? Nope, sure isn't.

Also, real talk for just a second? He's very aware that this is the first time she's let him be behind her while standing. Not that she was remotely hesitant when he told what he was planning. Far from it, in fact. But, well. You know. New territory and all that.

He holds her hips and eases himself in slowly, not out of gentleness, but because he knows how much she likes to savor being filled the first time. She's gotten a little bit of a breather, but she's still probably pretty overstimulated. He, meanwhile, is understimulated, so she gets to enjoy a nice husky groan against the back of her neck. And when he's all the way in? That's when he gets to try something.]

Ready?

[For what? For him to put his hand firmly on her chest, press his lips and teeth to her neck below her ear, and give her the biggest, angriest hickey yet. Didn't he say he would edge her? Yes, yes he did. But consider this: if she came apart around him right now that would be so fucking hot.]

[sophielicious]

(It's little things. Regardless of what psychosexual game these two might be playing that day, it doesn't escape her that Quentin happens to be... Soft. Attentive, even when the idea is not being so, even when it's not particularly needed. She wasn't going to fall over, but making the space she was sitting on wider, making sure she was comfortable, not to mention that he always ensures her comfort much more than she even thinks of it, well, perhaps those are the things that make Sophie trust him so much when it comes to exploring, so she squeezes his hand to let him know she's okay, archs her back to tell him further that she wants this.

This position has been a gigantic win — subconsciously, so much has been worked through so that she could comfortably allow it to happen. He couldn't see her face if she did it, so of course, the intrusive thoughts of what that could possibly imply or accidentally bring up made her hesitant, until she realized... Well, he sees her face, obviously. He has routinely seen her face several days a week. He sleeps next to Sophie, and she came to realize that even if it took her a while, considering all the things they do are the exact opposite of what she is expected, or wired to do.

Secondly, it's been a slow process of testing and carefully analyzing her safety so she could, day by day, remove a brick of the monumental wall that separated him from her. It's so... Vulnerable, like this. Her brain thrives on stability, and without his mouth on hers and her nails on his back, she's left with very little to hide behind and straighten out the buzzing in her pleasure synapses — he gets to see her most when he can't see her, and there's something addictive about that. Sophie wasn't ready before, but since she did, all resistance has evolved into eagerness. He earned it, and by now, fucking six months later, she finds no reason why she should keep all these stupid worries against her chest.

She's busy now, nerves sparkling with the feeling of filling, the hands on her hips she so happens to adore mixed with that groan. It's, ugh, perfect, and she can't help but press her hips against his so she can aid the angle as her hands grip on the handrail, a breathy noise gifted that morphs into a confused, half-word.)

Huh? —

(She doesn't even manage the intonation right, the cry she leaves out takes over the word as loud as she can. Fuck, he found the secrets, and it's her will that takes over. Her hips chase his like a high, she's doing the work so she can finally climax since that pushed her dangerously close... And it comes, a tsunami of pleasure so intense that it perhaps might have made some of the lights flicker around the city as she feels her entire body on fire, melted, mush, electric but—

She isn't stopping, either. She's already so damn ruined, what is to ruin her more?)

[querulus]

[Holy shit. He can feel her eagerness where there was once hesitation, and yeah, that helps. But what really puts to bed is when she starts moving against him like a woman possessed, even after her first orgasm of this round hits her like a freight train. God damn he loves it when she gets like this, absolutely wild with need, and the fact that it's for him is icing on the cake.

That said, making her come that first time was just a bit of wish fulfillment for him. A warm-up. He could've even come with her if he wanted—no pesky refractory period here—but that was never the plan. He's done too much set-up to just jump straight into mindless fucking. You think the Quentin persona he's been crafting here would give up that easily? Hell no. He's given himself a risk-free scenario in which to vent every possessive desire and dominant urge in his dirty little mind, and by god (as though the big guy upstairs has anything to do with this shit) he's gonna use it to the fullest.

Which means he lets her ride out her climax, scrapes his teeth on her neck with a low moan to show his approval, but when she keeps going, he interferes. First his hands, one staying in its place at her waist, and one going to her jaw and using it to tilt her head back, not far enough to be too uncomfortable, but hey, finding that line is what telepathy is for. The point isn't to hurt her neck, after all. It's to force her spine into arching, both changing his angle to something exquisite and, more importantly, restricting her movement. And as a bonus, if she looks up she can probably partially see the devilish look on his face, at least until he leans in to her ear again.]

Don't get it twisted, that was a really good start. But we're doing my pace now.

[And what is his pace, you ask? Well, at the moment it's maddeningly slow. It always does something special to both of their nervous systems when he fills her more gradually. So perfect yet not enough at the same time. And as an extra tease, his mouth finds another spot on her neck, but this time he kisses it oh-so-gently.]

Want another?

[Another hickey, obviously. To which the answer is equally obvious. But he wants her to say it.]

[sophielicious]

(That's where they disagree, because again, from her point of view it's a sick joke of destiny to make them so compatible. She's sure this is divine retribution for both of them — one so she repents for being cruel, and well, whatever lesson he's ignoring from this. But, fuck, if he doesn't feel like a lego, fitting perfectly and undeniably so, whatever they're trying. She hates him so much. And karma, mostly karma, but if she can't curse out Quentin Quire for driving her absolutely insane, then life loses all meaning, down is up, left and right, if a Sophie Cuckoo doesn't swear him out twice a day, did she Sophie at all?

Either way, fuck, dangerously compelling. Blue eyes watch him for a second in a small show of confusion, but that dies so quickly when he meets the expression on his face. She was self-ruining, but apparently, he's taking over that job, he knows she's a sucker for the ends of the scale. Rough, passionate, lustful, or slow, gentle, mellow. She can't move sufficiently like this, but it's fine — she's not complaining at all regarding his rhythm, her loud sounds nearly synced to each time he thrusts in.

She'd usually just tilt her head as a yes, but they're trying something new and she finds that she likes it, so, she'll turn a little to sneak a kiss on his cheek.)

Yes — slow.

(So she can feel all he does. God, fuck you, Quire.)

[querulus]

[Yes, "fuck you, Quire". That's the idea.

Anyway, this plan is a massive success, and he's a genius and also very sexy. And she clearly agrees, based on how loudly she's moaning. Her answer was also sufficient, so he complies, taking his time with mouth, and since they're both freaky as hell today, he times the especially sharp pings of pain to match up with his hips meeting hers. That should be a fun little cocktail of sensations.]

You've been wanting this all night, huh?

[Yeah, they're back to pretending they came to a party and snuck away to fuck on the terrace. He's got a feeling he's gonna need that kind of very distinct separation from reality for the rest of this little adventure.]

This whole damn party—fuck—couldn't stop thinking about it. You've been all but begging [he punctuates the word with a sharper thrust for emphasis] for me to fuck you since we got here.

[It's ad-libbed, nothing they discussed or decided on, nor anything that would ever occur in real life. That's fine. That's the point. The less this whole thing resembles their real life, the better. And honestly? Kinda seems like she'll be into this narrative he's weaving. She did choose a setting where they could get potentially "caught" and enthusiastically played along with the whole "nothing underneath" situation. It might take a little more finagling to get all the ins and outs of this kink she's decided to explore with him, but hey, they've got plenty of time.]

[sophielicious]

(With anyone else, Sophie would never be this submissive, and she's well-aware of it, and she assumes he is, too. The power scale here has always been the opposite, until they stepped into bed — Sophie is someone who dominates and demands as her programming requests, but it's not something she wants to do with Quentin; it's exhausting, it's tragedy-prone, but it's hardly that part that makes her so compliant to it. To see him stand up to her and assert himself has always been something so delectable since they got to this place, the first thing that made her double-take.

Confident. Bold. Cocky. Having the audacity? That does things to her that she doesn't even know how to name. Ever since they got back from Earth, they've been throwing possessiveness in the mix, and that, mixed with her feeling safe enough to do things she could not have imagined she would be into? It gets her seriously hooked, which again, goes back to her tremendous disbelief that the universe put two people with horrible history to fit, but once she stops rolling her eyes at it, fuck, she has decisively no complaints.

The pace is also highly bewitching, slow, sensual, but blended with pain that gets her neurons firing even more in delight. What he says helps very little; it nearly feels like something she'd rip his clothes off for, but the thing is, she is so into the dichotomies. Why can't 'she' want to bolt from a party to fuck leisurely, deliberate, and loudly on a balcony where some randos could definitely see from their windows, the guests wondering where they went, and she's here, nearly dying to be taken in slow, like there's not a single care about any of this? Total fantasy, would never happen at the slightest, so it's so fucking flawless that she has no qualms whatsoever in taking his hand to hold on the railway so she can squeeze whenever a thrust pulls a particularly unruly sound from her.)

You — can't blame me for that.

[querulus]

[Funny thing about being an Omega level telepath: Quentin can overpower nearly any mind he wishes. He's intensely aware of how fragile others are, how easily he could enforce his will if he wanted to. It's overwhelming, maybe a little intimidating occasionally, but well. It is what it is.

With Phoebe he was never... this. Never wanted to be this. She was hungry, demanding, and she fucked him like she didn't give a shit that he was an infinitely stronger telepath. She devoured him, worshipped him, and he worshipped her back and fucking relished every minute of it. With Sophie? At first it was just... trying to do the opposite. Trying to navigate separating two people in his head who happen to have the exact same face and body. And then they got back from Earth, and it kinda became... something else. Became what? No fucking clue. But he's into it, and she's into it, so for the foreseeable future that's good enough. It's completely new territory: pretending to be some kind of exhibitionist sex freaks who slow-fuck in a semi-public space to be heard and seen by anyone nearby, twisting her body into a pretzel and chomping a thousand hickeys all over her body while declaring her "his". It's weird as shit if he thinks about it too hard.

Good thing he's not thinking about it. Like... at all. He's much, much too busy thinking about what insane new direction to take this sexy/bonkers fantasy of theirs.]

Who says I'm blaming you?

[She moved his hand to the railing, which means he lost the leverage to hold her hip where he wants it and get as deep as possible every thrust. Oh well, guess that means he has to go a little harder, a little rougher, though still nice and slow. Just to make sure. He doubts she'll mind. Especially not when he scrapes his most recent hickey with his teeth before continuing with the charade.]

I'd fuck you in front of any of them. All of them. You just had to ask.