Octavia Blake (
okteiviakom) wrote2022-10-02 03:51 pm
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Lucifer's Mansion, Sunday Evening
The main course of the evening would be a nice salad, this week. And that meant Octavia was chopping a lot of fresh things into a bowl that was fast filling up.
"Finally a dish that caters to my skills," she rasped, glancing over at Lucifer putting his finishing touches on the dessert.
[ooc: For that gently modded guy, and likely some SP because that is the Sunday mood.]
"Finally a dish that caters to my skills," she rasped, glancing over at Lucifer putting his finishing touches on the dessert.
[ooc: For that gently modded guy, and likely some SP because that is the Sunday mood.]
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Or that shameless little grind of her hips against his leg.
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Even if her hips ground against his leg some more.
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One hand slid out of her bra. Down, under the waistband of her trousers.
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And then further down.
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As if her hips didn't press into the touch.
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He didn't. If he only got this moment, then, well-- he wanted to see if he could get a noise out of her with a rub or two, something to remember her body by.
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"You're running out of -- time."
She cupped him through his pants. Lightly, and a little distracted.
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With-- very-- deliberate-- circles.
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She did not reply.
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Lucifer was taking a moment to memorize this-- her warm skin underneath both of his hands, the slight resistence of the bundle of nerve-endings under his fingertips, the look on her face.
He pressed more firmly on the next stroke of his finger, intent to push this until she stopped him. Firmer and firmer still.
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She swallowed as warmth pooled in the pit of her stomach. "You're... starting to get it. The point of this."
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She bit her lip, made another noise. Chose to grind against his hand a little, which did not help with her focus, but it did make her feel just wonderful.
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"You'd like that too much."
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A sigh.
Her head tilting, slowly, to leave her jaw and her neck more open.
"No knees for you."
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He pressed a sucking kiss against her neck.
His finger moved faster, the rest uncurling to sit between her lips.
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She was very wet against his fingers, by now.
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He did.
His fingers strayed between her folds, pressing against her entrance. They could go no further, not with him abandoning the rhythmic motions he was making against her. He had no interest in doing so.
Perhaps he would fill her later. Perhaps not. But not now.
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