You— ( he half-starts, doesn't quite finish as her hand presses against his dick, unaware of the unasked question. (he doesn't, has a wardrobe — back home — of the same suit countless times, knows a good tailor who doesn't ask any questions (specific days depending on occupation, a sticking point when it came to 'moon knight' — hero or villain? they'd settled, vaguely, on whatever. whenever MK deigned to turn up because it was complicated, even if he was insulted by the insinuation.
(monday, wednesday, friday for the "good guys".) ) ) Didn't put up a fair fight.
( skipping past her questions, the ones he doesn't really want to answer. it's a he doesn't know, something he's not about to vocalise. her tongue is rough, pleasantly so. it makes him shudder, shiver, and he makes a noise that's part acknowledgement, part frustration as her kiss turns into a sharp nip, one then two.
(he barely even notices the dimple this time.)
a flicker of surprise, a glance, sidelong and undecided — not because he disagrees, but because he's restless. caught up. ) What? ( a huff of breath that's almost a laugh. ) Best of three?
[She laughs and with a flick of her wrist she undoes the top button of his trousers, giving him a little space.]
What conversation have we ever had that made you think I fight fair?
[She gets her hand on his dick, then, hoisting herself up a bit on his lap to give her a little space to work. It's a tight fit, but she starts with a squeeze and then a rub, another, her hand moving firmly against him.]
Marc.
[She says it and bits his neck again, nip, nip.]
If you think it wasn't fair and you want me to leave, I can...just go.
( she speaks and he hmms, a murmur that'd be more contemplative if her hand wasn't on her dick, if she wasn't manoeuvring herself to a more convenient position to squeeze and then rub, the movement, her grip confident and easy and self-assured. it does nothing to focus his attention on her words more than on her, and there's a hitch of breath before an exhale of breath that's half-laugh, half-agreement.
it's not that he doesn't have any smart response to her remark — or, he doesn't, but he'd have something a little smarter if circumstances were slightly different.
it's good in a way that's not unexpected — he hadn't expected anything else really — but is pleasurable in an unguarded way that marc doesn't often allow himself to express around others. in spite of himself then, there's a moan, a twitch, and he lifts a hand to push her away from his neck, to tilt her head up, because as good as that is—.
he presses his mouth against her jaw, her lips, the curve of her neck. )
[She smiles, a predator's smile, the kind of smile that says she's a dangerous creature. He can't see it, thought, because his mouth, hot and good, is against her neck. She thinks she'd like to try his mouth out between her legs, to see how he uses those beautiful lips and that absolutely idiotic tongue.
She hums her pleasure.]
Good.
I'm glad we agree on that.
[She moves her hand, just a little, just tiny and barely-there twists of her wrist. She writhes just a little bit and tips her head to catch his mouth with hers. She kisses him and hums, and presses their foreheads together.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
(monday, wednesday, friday for the "good guys".) ) ) Didn't put up a fair fight.
( skipping past her questions, the ones he doesn't really want to answer. it's a he doesn't know, something he's not about to vocalise. her tongue is rough, pleasantly so. it makes him shudder, shiver, and he makes a noise that's part acknowledgement, part frustration as her kiss turns into a sharp nip, one then two.
(he barely even notices the dimple this time.)
a flicker of surprise, a glance, sidelong and undecided — not because he disagrees, but because he's restless. caught up. ) What? ( a huff of breath that's almost a laugh. ) Best of three?
no subject
What conversation have we ever had that made you think I fight fair?
[She gets her hand on his dick, then, hoisting herself up a bit on his lap to give her a little space to work. It's a tight fit, but she starts with a squeeze and then a rub, another, her hand moving firmly against him.]
Marc.
[She says it and bits his neck again, nip, nip.]
If you think it wasn't fair and you want me to leave, I can...just go.
no subject
it's not that he doesn't have any smart response to her remark — or, he doesn't, but he'd have something a little smarter if circumstances were slightly different.
it's good in a way that's not unexpected — he hadn't expected anything else really — but is pleasurable in an unguarded way that marc doesn't often allow himself to express around others. in spite of himself then, there's a moan, a twitch, and he lifts a hand to push her away from his neck, to tilt her head up, because as good as that is—.
he presses his mouth against her jaw, her lips, the curve of her neck. )
Sometimes it's the only way to win.
( "no." )
no subject
She hums her pleasure.]
Good.
I'm glad we agree on that.
[She moves her hand, just a little, just tiny and barely-there twists of her wrist. She writhes just a little bit and tips her head to catch his mouth with hers. She kisses him and hums, and presses their foreheads together.]
Can you move your hips up with me on your lap?