[ were they really duds? w's pretty sure she's just seen a wolf explode, felt the blast run molten down her arm and soak her thighs and the hem of her dress, watched her twitch like a crushed and dying insect in her arms. it's mission accomplished honestly — sometimes w even impresses herself.
she coos softly, almost-but-not-quite apologetically: ]
Awww. I can't risk a solid plug or I would have given you the moneyshot. It's nothing personal, I swear.
[ that bomb will turn to ash in her throat, probably not made of the kind of stuff you'd wanna swallow, though she supposes it doesn't matter in this specific case. it's really difficult to miss the now glistening oripathy lesions on lappland's thigh, even harder not to dream of igniting them, of feeling that explosive release of tension where they root into bone, a possibility she can't even allow herself to contemplate because in a manic enough mood it's obvious that neither of them would think better of it.
just as it's obvious that that meddling old hag has probably been keeping them well off each other's radar for a good reason, but anyway. ]
I really was serious about the dress, though.
[ it's good and filthy, worse now that w's delighting in digging every last splashing pulse of come out of her. she doesn't care if lappland can't cross her legs for a week, her fingers twist and curl and rake down her walls until there's a pool gathering at her heels and all she can rattle out of lappland anymore is those full-body tremors.
she's also not too concerned with whether or not lappland's legs work. it just makes it easier for w to shove her down to kneel in her own slippery mess, and if she can't get her bearings on w's time, she guesses she can grip lappland by the hair until she does. more importantly, w's hips rock forward so lappland can take a good look at what she's done to her tights. ]
Now you gotta clean this shit up. No way I'm going back out there reeking of wolf nut, put that nasty mouth to good use.
no subject
she coos softly, almost-but-not-quite apologetically: ]
Awww. I can't risk a solid plug or I would have given you the moneyshot. It's nothing personal, I swear.
[ that bomb will turn to ash in her throat, probably not made of the kind of stuff you'd wanna swallow, though she supposes it doesn't matter in this specific case. it's really difficult to miss the now glistening oripathy lesions on lappland's thigh, even harder not to dream of igniting them, of feeling that explosive release of tension where they root into bone, a possibility she can't even allow herself to contemplate because in a manic enough mood it's obvious that neither of them would think better of it.
just as it's obvious that that meddling old hag has probably been keeping them well off each other's radar for a good reason, but anyway. ]
I really was serious about the dress, though.
[ it's good and filthy, worse now that w's delighting in digging every last splashing pulse of come out of her. she doesn't care if lappland can't cross her legs for a week, her fingers twist and curl and rake down her walls until there's a pool gathering at her heels and all she can rattle out of lappland anymore is those full-body tremors.
she's also not too concerned with whether or not lappland's legs work. it just makes it easier for w to shove her down to kneel in her own slippery mess, and if she can't get her bearings on w's time, she guesses she can grip lappland by the hair until she does. more importantly, w's hips rock forward so lappland can take a good look at what she's done to her tights. ]
Now you gotta clean this shit up. No way I'm going back out there reeking of wolf nut, put that nasty mouth to good use.