kingdomcomes | A Little Winter Atmosphere

A Little Winter Atmosphere

[Winter arrives slower than usual, thanks to the Snow Queen's mid-year horny spell giving her a bit more time before her libido kicked back in. But now she is returning to the fullness of need. And that's where winter comes from.]

[This time, the Kingdom is better prepared to engage in the usual yearly orgasm denial of a goddess. Winter clothes are easier to come by, and every public hearth has some hot something-or-other simmering away. There's a coziness and comfort as farmers retire for the winter, and herds provided all the oats and meal they need, but that doesn't stop them from rooting through the snow for withering crispy treats.]

[Not that Guards are allowed to actually wear clothes or take full advantage of that cozy warmth, heavens no. Not everything is about sex even under the Mistress' reign. Sometimes, it is about Control. She figures everyone should suffer some nipple chafing and shrinkage as a character building exercise, so they get to have some extra shifts outside.]

[The native guards will take to using the snow to prank the Apprentices in as many ways as they can dream up: anything from convoluted plans to hide extremely fresh soft snow in your entire wardrobe, to the more direct approach of "one gets you in a lock while the other dumps snow down the back of your clothes." The off-worlder guards are encouraged to join in the bullying, at least in passing. They won't actually be targeted with snow, though. Call it a token of respect, perhaps.]

[Hey Outliers, having fun out there in the snow being poor? Haha, suckers. But hey, maybe you can make some money running errands, or performing services out in the cold? Or even... "services." At least you probably won't freeze to death. The townsfolk will generally keep an eye on you, unless you're an unpleasant jerk. Then have fun being dead, nerd.]

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[She's not really paying attention to what he's doing when she comes back, in fairness. She's carrying a blanket over one arm, and his journal in that hand, and her expression could curdle milk.]

[Tossing the blanket down, she sets the book down on top of it and crosses over to the cell, sighing in exasperation.]

I have been told...

[Another sigh. She's not actually rolling her eyes, but somehow the essence of eye-rolling still pervades the air around her. She rakes her hand back through her hair, curling her lip.]

Apparently, I am to take you up on your bail offer. [Because apparently, the Mistress is even less reasonable than she thought.]

[He's honestly not surprised. This is exactly the kind of place where that would be the go-to solution. That sour expression isn't promising, but he is determined to give this the old college try. It wouldn't be the first time he's seduced his way out of something.]

Well! I guess the question then becomes what you'd consider a reasonable payment.

[It won't be a very good bribe if she doesn't enjoy it, right? It'd be like trying to pay a monetary bail with bottlecaps.]

For myself? I should accept only the truth, and just cause to release thee.

But as I am not my own master here...

[Damn, what's a reasonable answer? How does one even quantify sex? Especially when the truth is that she's willing to let him go anyway - if the Mistress isn't going to take this remotely seriously, there doesn't seem much point in holding him here.]

[But her orders were pretty explicit on the having-sex-with-him front. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, it's cold as balls outside and the longer this lasts, the longer she can be on duty without falling on the ice all the time.]

[She unlocks the cell door, closing it behind her as she steps inside.]

Let us say... Bring me off twice, and we shall call it even. [Well, she might as well get something out of this embarrassing mess, anyway.]

[Look, he could have made some offers, but it's kind of on the warden to set bail. Though he's a little surprised and pleased to be given a number but not a specific act, mainly because with how this place worked he assumed it would be specific and probably stupid.]

Twice I can do. You might even enjoy it. [Y'know. If you get that stick out of your ass. Not that he'd judge anyone for wanting to have anything inserted up their ass, considering, but there are nicer choices.]

Though I have to ask if there's anything you don't like. I'm not looking to get stabbed for crossing a line I'm not aware of.

[This isn't haggling, this is just checking to make sure he's paying in the right currency. The money metaphor is going to keep going until I can't figure out how to stretch it further.]

[That gives her some pause, actually. Is there anything she knows she doesn't like? For being here so long, she has surprisingly little experience, most of it vanilla.]

[For a moment, her uncertainty probably shows quite clearly, before she clears her throat and gets hold of herself.]

If I mind, you will know long ere that point. Believe me, I may not have intended this exactly, but I mean you no harm and will do you none.

We ought, perhaps, to... [She trails off, going rather pink, but the fact that she means "...undress" is probably clear from the way she's fiddling with the clasp of her cloak.]

Oh, probably. I can't imagine that uniform's comfortable.

[It's a lot easier to find pants and shirts that are serviceable, and he's even managed to expand his collection of sweaters, though traveling light through the multiverse means his wardrobe is never going to get too extensive.]

Here. Let me.

[Her clothes being off is the important thing here, really. They can worry about his in due time. He steps forward and his hands rise to hers briefly, before he takes the clasp of her cloak and undoes it with a lot less fiddling and lot more intent.]

[There's a moment of uncertainty, because on the one hand, she barely knows him and is less than comfortable with having things done for her. On the other hand, at least someone has a sense of intent. It makes it a little (a very little) less awkward.]

[She clears her throat, and shrugs the cloak off, turning her own attention to getting his coat and sweater off. It doesn't feel particularly fair for him to be wearing this much more than her, after all.]

[Also, if she's being brutally honest with herself, she's kind of curious to know what he looks like underneath.]

'Tis not remotely comfortable, no.

You may have to get the bodice. It fastens at the side.

[The coat flumps to the ground with a lot more weight than a coat probably should have, but that's Ford's fault for keeping half of his worldly possessions inside it in various pockets and compartments. He pays it no mind. He wouldn't put things in there if they were easily damaged, especially by a short fall to the floor.

His sweater goes easy too and then he's left in just his white undershirt. It's difficult to tell when he's fully-clothed, mainly because he likes it that way, but much of the space on his neck, shoulders and arms is taken up by tattoos. He got one while drunk in space and then just sort of kept doing it. Some are better than others, but some are also thirty years old. He's been working on getting all the truly terrible ones covered up, since his niece and nephew reminded him that was a thing he could do instead of just wallowing in his Past Regrets^TM.

Unfortunately, HEY NOW I'M AN ALL-STAR is never going anywhere. In certain universes that particular symbol can get you in a lot of doors, stupid as it looks, so he's stuck with it.

Where there aren't tattoos there are scars (and there are even more scars under some tattoos, if you squint). He's had a lot of time to collect them in his many years on this and other earths. So basically the answer to her unspoken query is: Very Interesting. More fit than a man of seventy has any right to be, too, but that's come from hard work.]

You would think the elite defense force protecting the most powerful woman in this part of the world would be better-equipped for actual fighting.

[Like. All you have to do is aim for the legs or the stomach. It's ludicrous. Still, now that his arms are free of their sleeves, he starts working at the fastenings on her bodice. He's undone more complicated closures than this, this is fine.]

Though I guess a lot of the fighting here is also sexual in nature. If you didn't agree to the bail idea I was going to challenge you to some variety of sexy single combat.

[Oh. That... Well, that isn't what she expected. The scars, yes, and she had some idea of his fitness from when they worked together in the fields, but where she comes from, tattoos are rare and largely worn by foreigners or barbarians. They certainly aren't the riot of colour and inexplicable designs that he seems to have all over him.]

[There's something rather fascinating about them, about the way they overlay scars, are scars in their own way. And there's also something unsettling, even disconcerting, about a man whose skin is not his own.]

[She breaks off from staring in order to give him another of those very flat looks at his comment.]

And you would have been likewise rebuffed. How would one even make single combat... sexy?

[All this time, and she still says the word "sexy" like it's a foreign word.]

[Which, well, it is. But that's not the point.]

In any case, I told thee already, I do not mean to hurt thee. And had we fought, I would have done.

[Probably. Maybe. He is quite tough-looking, but he's also old, and she's got quite a high opinion of her own fighting prowess.]

[She rolls her neck, takes a deep breath, and pulls off her bodice the rest of the way. Nothing so interesting as his tattoos under there. Just pert breasts and abs you could cut yourself on.]

Oh, there are ways. Trust me.

[Maybe he's a little biased because at least a couple of his sexual experiences while in the portal were with Rick 'don't look at my boner while we fight' Sanchez, so he is very well-aware that sexy fighting exists.]

There isn't actually much difference. You're in close physical proximity with at least one other person, there's often a great amount of skin to skin contact, your heart rate elevates, someone might get bitten -- the line is blurrier than it first appears.

[It says a lot about Stanford Pines that he is honestly more interested in the abs than the breasts. Not that the breasts aren't nice, mind you, and he does plan to get acquainted with them, but he appreciates a person who takes care of themselves.]

[She goes noticeably pink, not even because she's now basically naked, but more because it's just occurred to her that what he's describing is... essentially her fantasy. Which isn't allowed. Get out of her head, old man.]

[She clears her throat, and mostly to distract both him and herself from how embarrassed she is right now, grabs his shoulders to pull him into a kiss.]

[It's not what you'd call gentle. Or particularly skillful. But at least it's a definite move towards the sex. Hey, she's making an effort!]

[He wasn't even sure kissing was kosher in this situation, so this neatly absolves him of having to ask. The force behind the kiss is a little unexpected, but given what they were just talking about he can absolutely roll with it. Unexpected isn't bad. He'll take a little unskilled enthusiasm over apathy any day.

One of his hands rises to rest on her upper arm and the other finds the small of her back, pulling her in against him so that her breasts press against his chest. There are a lot of ways in which Stanford Pines is not like his brother, but one thing they have in common is a thick and healthy crop of salt-and-pepper chest hair. At least he's warm?]

[Well, this is a new experience. She's made out with a few people now, but none of them have been particularly buff, and they certainly haven't been this hairy. She can feel it crinkling against her chest, and it feels absolutely bizarre.]

[But not, it has to be said, unpleasant.]

[She puts an arm around his shoulders, pushing her hair out of her face with the other. Kissing someone she doesn't know is pretty weird, but he's pretty good at it, and she does relax very slightly after a moment, her kiss softening a little.]

[Oh, good. He'd hate for this to be unpleasant. He's kind of a dipshit but he's not out-and-out a jerk, so when she relaxes he takes that as a good sign, confirmation that this is an odd situation but not necessarily a horrible one. One that can, handled well, probably be nice.

The hand on her arm slips down, rests briefly on her hip, and then begins to creep back up again. He's hyper-aware of his hands in moments like these, but he's also now old enough to be cognizant of the fact that they're an oddity but not necessarily a dealbreaker. Oftentimes the person most bothered by them is himself, when it comes right down to it.

So it's with only a modicum of hesitation that he cups one of her breasts. His hands are rough with the wear and tear of age but, he hopes, not to an offputting degree. He rubs his thumb across her skin, over her nipple. He hasn't done a lot with human woman but he has done plenty with beings that possess breasts. A startling number of aliens have them.]

Edited 2018-01-23 03:33 (UTC)

[Truth be told, she's barely noticed the extra fingers. She took note of them the first time they met, but they don't feel different enough to be worth worrying about now.]

[Under his calloused thumb, her nipple hardens, her pale skin flushing a little. The roughness of his hand isn't a problem to her - on the contrary, it's much more appealing to know that those hands have seen some use, some hard work. It probably shouldn't matter in a moment like this, but it does.]

[Bolder now, she traps his lip between her teeth, pulling away.] You may as well see to the other, as well. [In case it's not clear what she means, she reaches for his other hand, to pull it onto her other breast.]

Oh, sure. That's just fair.

[His voice is maybe a little less smooth than he'd like it to be, but exchanging smoothness for a certain kind of roughness tends to go over just fine. His voice is deep enough that it lends itself well to both. It's just the bolder she gets the more attractive she gets, and she was already attractive to begin with.

Of course if both of his hands are up there then neither of them are free to delve lower, but a little foreplay never hurt anyone.]

[Truth be told, she's not thinking that far ahead. Given that, apparently, this is happening, she fully intends to just do what feels good, and improvise the rest.]

[That said, his hands are quite effective there, and it's remarkable how quickly foreplay starts to feel not enough.]

[For a moment, she lets him work, biting her lip and arching against his touch, while her fingertips trace idly over the scars and tattoos on his neck and shoulders. She wonders, not for the first time, about the stories behind them, about their meaning - but she's also wondering, at the back of her mind, whether he'd react the way Remus did to her kissing them.]

[Her tongue darts out and wets her lips, and she groans, flattening her palm on her shoulder and pushing down.]

Enough. I would have thee use thy mouth.

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A Little Winter Atmosphere

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i love an excuse to use this icon

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i heard you were in the market for porn

o gosh i can't imagine where you got such an idea

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