[ on any other day, he'd probably balk. being an easy fuck isn't exactly one of his shining traits — it's too ingrained in him to say no, to be contrary, to fight against his own desires and everything that's good for him. but three rounds of this illness has effectively knocked him on his ass, and jisu's sweetly commanding tone still tickles at the part of his brain that responds to a direct order. maybe the soldier in him, or the politician that hates coming to work and does anyway. or being with ash has altered the chemistry of his brain in ways he manifestly does not want to examine.
really — he's tired. he's sore. the kind of sex he's been having should probably earn him a trip to a head doctor, so something that doesn't leave him battered and bruised appeals to his pathetically tender sensibilities right now. ]
Sure, doc. [ his eyes travel from the pleasant slant of her face to her exposed breasts, his hands reflexively cupping one and dragging his thumb across her nipple, feeling it bloom beneath his touch. ] Nothing rigorous.
[ embry's hands are long and elegant, better spent sailing yachts or reading poetry, but four deployments mean they're far rougher than her silken skin, softer than his nicest and most expensive lambskin coat. maybe it's because he feels wildly feverish that her body is like cool water against him as he pulls her easily into his lap. he's naked beneath the thin sheets, having never bothered with the clinic's dressing gowns.
he sucks at one of her nipples, teasing the rosy bud with his tongue, his warm breath cascading over her skin while his arm slides easily around her waist. a trail of wetness from his mouth follows as he kisses along her chest, up to her collarbone, stopping at the thrum of her pulse as the fierce itch in his throat turns into pressure, and then into pain, and he pulls back, turning his head away as his coughs dissolve into choking sounds, a long-stemmed tulip lodged in his throat as the head of the flower springs into his mouth. ]
no subject
really — he's tired. he's sore. the kind of sex he's been having should probably earn him a trip to a head doctor, so something that doesn't leave him battered and bruised appeals to his pathetically tender sensibilities right now. ]
Sure, doc. [ his eyes travel from the pleasant slant of her face to her exposed breasts, his hands reflexively cupping one and dragging his thumb across her nipple, feeling it bloom beneath his touch. ] Nothing rigorous.
[ embry's hands are long and elegant, better spent sailing yachts or reading poetry, but four deployments mean they're far rougher than her silken skin, softer than his nicest and most expensive lambskin coat. maybe it's because he feels wildly feverish that her body is like cool water against him as he pulls her easily into his lap. he's naked beneath the thin sheets, having never bothered with the clinic's dressing gowns.
he sucks at one of her nipples, teasing the rosy bud with his tongue, his warm breath cascading over her skin while his arm slides easily around her waist. a trail of wetness from his mouth follows as he kisses along her chest, up to her collarbone, stopping at the thrum of her pulse as the fierce itch in his throat turns into pressure, and then into pain, and he pulls back, turning his head away as his coughs dissolve into choking sounds, a long-stemmed tulip lodged in his throat as the head of the flower springs into his mouth. ]