Octavia Blake (
okteiviakom) wrote2021-01-30 02:04 pm
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Entry tags:
The Samsara, Port of Fandom, Saturday Morning
Last night had been okay. The margaritas had been tasty, and Octavia had acquiesced to Lucifer's request of not letting him go home alone by dragging him back to her boat with her at the end of the night. She'd passed out hard not too long after because, again, tasty margaritas.
Of course, now it was morning, and she was finally stirring again.
And the muffled little groan was almost immediate.
Goddamn margaritas.
[ooc: For the Devil, unless the neighbour wants to drop by too! ETA: NSFW downthread!]
Of course, now it was morning, and she was finally stirring again.
And the muffled little groan was almost immediate.
Goddamn margaritas.
[ooc: For the Devil, unless the neighbour wants to drop by too! ETA: NSFW downthread!]
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Could he tell the headache had mostly gone away?
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"A sheet isn't a loincloth," he said, stretching out over her, "and you are a brat."
Who was getting kissed now.
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Even slid that hand from his chest to the back of his neck, just to tell him how welcome he was right there.
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Octavia made a low humming sound in her throat, bringing her other hand up to brush over his collar bones.
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Her nails were short and blunt, but still something to drag down the top of his chest.
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His fingers trailed down her cheek, smoothed over her collarbone, cupped her breast gently.
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There was nothing at all unusual about that, so Octavia wasn't sure why it caught her attention the way that it did. Maybe it was just because this whole thing seemed so cozy, all between the sheets as they were.
She liked it. More than liked it, really.
Her hand shifted again, trading nails for palm. He didn't exactly have a breast to cup, but she could feel muscle under his skin.
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"You're very good at being beautiful even when you're hungover," he teased, and nipped gently at the skin under her ear.
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"Please."
She was a hungover mess! (With a tendency towards disconnection to applying words like 'beautiful' to herself.)
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He played idly with her breast.
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Brat, remember?
"And I'm not sorry about it, either." Just running her hand down his chest and over his ribs, instead.
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"I stand by what I said," he said, "Your opinion is questionable."
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It was a joke. Her tone sounded like a smirk.
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"Is it all you want?"
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"You should tell me more about your wants."
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Her nails raked over his ribs.
"Yeah, I think I want your mouth between my legs, too."
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"Any other desires?" he asked her belly, brushing kisses against old scars.
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