08-07-2024, 09:10 PM
No desire ever kindled in Esper from flesh, and she didn’t watch Roza’s teasing command of Voxel’s clothes. She didn’t need it for arousal to shiver her skin. Instead her gaze moved upwards, attention drawn by changes in the mood of the party above them as it seeped down into her being. There was no way out of here but back up the stairs and through it. Emotions were harder to douse the more widespread they raged, and its strength made her feel a little delirious at the edges – lulling her to succumb and not to fight; to soak it all in like a drug. She had no preferences in bodies, but no interest in any arrangement that did not also include Roza.
The kernel of her own ire did not abate, but it became less urgent. She gave no jealous regard to the touches and attention stolen only feet away, for she felt what Roza felt; thrill and fear and everything in between, as though they shared the same skin. Yet had Voxel made the mistake of reaching out to her then, Esper would have shared the sting of her own gift without hesitation.
Though she considered now that all she actually needed was for Voxel to be spent.
Everything magnified with two sets of power in the room, and she felt the twinge of Roza’s surprise, but it was a drop in an ocean. If Esper seemed high it was because she was. The next thing she knew Roza was close, and she blinked and listened to the words, a little dazed. Her expression did little, though an unsmiling Esper did not mean much of anything. The skin to skin touch was not just intimacy but connection between them, and it was an act of reassurance on Roza’s part, but not one Esper needed; or at least not for the reasons Roza might think. Her hands slipped over the other woman’s hips, caressed the curves of her waist with familiarity.
“Anything you like,” she said, and meant it, as her body pressed close. Her lips hovered like a promise, pooling an ache inside, but she knew from Roza’s sashay they were still playing. Fire burned an ethereal torchlight, like centre stage, and Esper did not look to their audience in the shadows to see what he made of the show. Her hands wandered; from hip across stomach as she circled behind instead. Her breath tickled soft across Roza’s cheek, across the glinting scales. “But not that. Will you promise? As yourself?” Those words were quiet, meant only for the ear into which she whispered them. She did not wait for Roza’s answer now; it was a real question, and a real plea, but this was a performance.
Her attention turned to Voxel then, as she caressed the hair back from Roza’s slender neck and rested her chin on her shoulder to look at him. It was not in possession so much as something intrinsically entwined and paired. With her heavy-lidded gaze she noted the shirt still on his shoulders. His expectant pose. She had no problem with a voyeur. But he asked for a boon when he could not even follow a simple instruction, and she felt the faint echo of Roza’s pique for the control he robbed from her. Esper had a performer’s inclination, but also an immovable regard for what she perceived as fairness. It was very straightforward, actually, but she hated when people were loose with words. A promise was a promise. And an offer should be honoured.
She smirked lazily, and if she whispered still, this was one was clearly meant for the stage. “He strides so confidently into the devil's lair but does he actually know what bargains he makes?” Her laughter was throaty. When she peeled away, it was to make an elaborate bow, the roll of her hand preceding the deep and elegant curve of spine. Her hair tumbled a fiery mass in the light, entirely purposeful; she angled for a spotlight. “Voxel Adams, at your service” she reminded. Esper spoke it with his brusque Russian accent, as theatrical as the flourish of her gesture. It was an exaggerated mimicry, as close as she might parody of his mannerisms in the brief moments they’d spent in his company. The speech was for him. The eerie white globes of her eyes did not blink as she added. “He fails at the first instruction. By proxy I'll make a better example. Perhaps he will learn something.”
She straightened with the feral glint of a smile, and shifted back, the glow of the flames readjusting over her skin as she recaptured into Roza’s orbit. Her fingers coiled a lock of dark hair. The other hand drew Roza in at the waist. He wants a kiss, she had said only moments ago. But with sultry devotion Esper leaned to ask the question back, lips indeed only a hair’s breadth away. “But what do you want?”
The kernel of her own ire did not abate, but it became less urgent. She gave no jealous regard to the touches and attention stolen only feet away, for she felt what Roza felt; thrill and fear and everything in between, as though they shared the same skin. Yet had Voxel made the mistake of reaching out to her then, Esper would have shared the sting of her own gift without hesitation.
Though she considered now that all she actually needed was for Voxel to be spent.
Everything magnified with two sets of power in the room, and she felt the twinge of Roza’s surprise, but it was a drop in an ocean. If Esper seemed high it was because she was. The next thing she knew Roza was close, and she blinked and listened to the words, a little dazed. Her expression did little, though an unsmiling Esper did not mean much of anything. The skin to skin touch was not just intimacy but connection between them, and it was an act of reassurance on Roza’s part, but not one Esper needed; or at least not for the reasons Roza might think. Her hands slipped over the other woman’s hips, caressed the curves of her waist with familiarity.
“Anything you like,” she said, and meant it, as her body pressed close. Her lips hovered like a promise, pooling an ache inside, but she knew from Roza’s sashay they were still playing. Fire burned an ethereal torchlight, like centre stage, and Esper did not look to their audience in the shadows to see what he made of the show. Her hands wandered; from hip across stomach as she circled behind instead. Her breath tickled soft across Roza’s cheek, across the glinting scales. “But not that. Will you promise? As yourself?” Those words were quiet, meant only for the ear into which she whispered them. She did not wait for Roza’s answer now; it was a real question, and a real plea, but this was a performance.
Her attention turned to Voxel then, as she caressed the hair back from Roza’s slender neck and rested her chin on her shoulder to look at him. It was not in possession so much as something intrinsically entwined and paired. With her heavy-lidded gaze she noted the shirt still on his shoulders. His expectant pose. She had no problem with a voyeur. But he asked for a boon when he could not even follow a simple instruction, and she felt the faint echo of Roza’s pique for the control he robbed from her. Esper had a performer’s inclination, but also an immovable regard for what she perceived as fairness. It was very straightforward, actually, but she hated when people were loose with words. A promise was a promise. And an offer should be honoured.
She smirked lazily, and if she whispered still, this was one was clearly meant for the stage. “He strides so confidently into the devil's lair but does he actually know what bargains he makes?” Her laughter was throaty. When she peeled away, it was to make an elaborate bow, the roll of her hand preceding the deep and elegant curve of spine. Her hair tumbled a fiery mass in the light, entirely purposeful; she angled for a spotlight. “Voxel Adams, at your service” she reminded. Esper spoke it with his brusque Russian accent, as theatrical as the flourish of her gesture. It was an exaggerated mimicry, as close as she might parody of his mannerisms in the brief moments they’d spent in his company. The speech was for him. The eerie white globes of her eyes did not blink as she added. “He fails at the first instruction. By proxy I'll make a better example. Perhaps he will learn something.”
She straightened with the feral glint of a smile, and shifted back, the glow of the flames readjusting over her skin as she recaptured into Roza’s orbit. Her fingers coiled a lock of dark hair. The other hand drew Roza in at the waist. He wants a kiss, she had said only moments ago. But with sultry devotion Esper leaned to ask the question back, lips indeed only a hair’s breadth away. “But what do you want?”