[ He never makes anything easy and he is going to make her insane because of it. Lottie doesn't think he understands the fire he's laying withβ nipping and sucking at the inside of her thigh, mouth just shy of the soft skin that's dappled wet with her arousal. Mouth just shy of where she needs him, at her throbbing clit. It's terrible, watching him not even take his time but stay where he is just to be a pain in her ass.
(And she's seen him take his time. Lottie has felt him take his time, the way he'd kiss and suck and latch a every inch of skin in front of him. The way his moans would turn so doting, full of adoration, like he was drunk on her, and how she'd feel the timbre of it against her skin. He'd steal her breath away each time and she'd sigh out sweetly, soaking in his love and attention. In the way his incisors would dig deeper before smoothing a wet tongue over the mark, mumbling Lottie and baby in equal parts.)
She thinksβ fine, he wants to do this? Still? Fine. Whatever! Fine. The hand at his head draws away, not without letting those nails scratch at his scalp once her presence is gone. But she doesn't leaveβ no, Marc has a companion alongside him between her thighs, and it's her hand. Adorned with her usual silver rings, long slender fingers run up and down the length of her sex. She lets him hear how her breath catches when she brushes against her clit β swollen, eager β before doing it all over again.
He'll feel her thighs twitch beneath his mouth before he feels those very same fingers draw away from her folds to prod at his mouth. Just a touch to his lower lip, suggestive, imploring. She looks down at him between thick strands of green, through the valley of her breasts, simply waiting, watching, to see if he'll take her in his mouth. Suck her dry. ]
( marc is a contradiction in that he hates being told what to do but that he's very good at it. he complains and he rebuffs and he argues, but ultimately, he does. he'd say — incorrectly — that he doesn't take pleasure in being argumentative, but he doesn't not.
it's a game, almost. marc seeing just how far he can push before too much is too much, and as soon as he sees — feels — lottie's hand join the fray, he almost pauses. barely a second, attention shifting as lottie's breath is inhaled and exhaled in juddery, pleasured spurts, and truthfully, he doesn't need her fingers probing at his lips. her sounds, her smell, her taste, his hardness still tight, enclosed in his pants is encouragement enough.
he licks at her fingertips, coy, deliberate, before acquiescing. giving in and giving her what she's asking for, even if she hasn't asked for it. he presses his mouth to her clit, wet and slick and lottie. his. he sucks, tastes her and his fingers dig harder into her hips, hard enough to bruise, but he's not thinking about that, not thinking about much of anything.
he starts off slow, a straight-forward up-and-down with his tongue, listening to the pitching and catching of lottie's breaths, the way she tenses, the noises she makes. then circles, faster, then slower, then faster—. )
[ It's the prettiest sight she's ever seen: Marc giving in to what she wants. Prettier than when his tongue was on her thigh, or licking at her fingers. He sinks his lips onto her clit and she doesn't really think so much as she feels. She whines out something weak and wanting, so full of desire her voice feels thick on her tongue as he works his.
She remembers the first time they did thisβ Lottie almost shy about spreading her legs. Bashful, edging on demure as he figured out what she liked, stared up at her to see what would happen if he flicked his tongue like this, or pressed the flat of it like that.
Sometimes they dabble in that same innocence, its own sort of game. But this is not thatβ this is Marc utilizing how well he knows her body against her and it's working. Her heels dig into his back, the sharp point digging into his suit, Lottie groaning out low and needy, ] Marc, [ biting deep into her bottom lip to muffle the warble that leaves her lips whenever he starts flicking tight little circles at her. It's dizzyingβ it shows on her face, the way he edges her so eagerly only to back off.
She doesn't even realize she's smiling, too busy hyper-focusing on the dig of his fingers on her hips and seeing her wet slick coat his face (Marc Spector belongs there, she thinks, nestled between her thighs, always proving he's hers and she's his). She should be embarrassed by how soaked she is, how much worse it's getting, how her hips are starting to twitch up into him. But it only serves to make her burn hotter, sink that same hand she offered to him back into his hair to keep him there, so she can watch him with blown out eyes and parted lips. ]
( she makes that noise and it's like a punch to his gut, warm and all-encompassing, the sort that makes him want — need — to touch himself, or for lottie to but—. but. her fingers wrap his hair tighter, to pull more and he groans into her, his hands pressing deeper into her skin, sliding against the curve of her body, her ass, lingering and taking pleasure in the knowledge that every part of her is his.
how wet she is is so hot, so arousing, and though he notices — of course — her saying his name, the way it's slightly truncated, the way she seems to be trying her hardest to keep all of her contained, it hits a part of him that is more primal than it is him. she jerks up into him and his hands squeeze against her skin, against her ass cheek and against the slight flesh of her hip, pulling her closer towards him.
now he stops with the games, with playing. now his attention is fully, entirely on lottie, on making her come. it's not as selfless as all that, in part it's because he enjoys it, in the same way he finds enjoyment in moon knight, in being pushed down just to get back up again. he doesn't look to her face, doesn't catch the way she's looking at him, half-lidded and barely in control.
he holds her in place instead, manages a— )Lottie, ( vaguely demanding and low and wanting, because he wants her as much as he needs his. )
[ It's, frankly, embarrassing, and she is never going to live down just how quickly he gets her there. She tries her best to make it last once he presses her pussy firm to his face and effectively traps her, makes her squeal and yelp because he's a man possessed. Because once Marc sets his mind to something that's it. And as soon as she feels herself locked, his nails biting her ass, a low and so very sexy Lottie sounding from his lips? She knows she's doomed.
It's a full body spasm, her hands moving from the crown of his head to the desk, to her thighs, to her mouth (she bites at a finger, weakly cries around it as she chants just like that, right there, oh Marc, please in rapid fire succession). She can't seem to decide where to graspβ ] O-oh, fuck. [ βwhen she comes with a loud and sharp cry, voice breaking pathetically at the end, blood rushing to her ears and thighs threatening to squeeze his head with how they flex around him.
It lasts forever, how her body jerks and stutters when she comes down, after she's effectively soaked his face. Lottie's breathing is heavy, the shaking of her legs pronounced as she tries to weakly squirm up and out of his hold, overstimulated and so, so sensitive. ]
( she might think that she won't be able to live it down, but that's not what this is, not to marc. it's about the end result. it always is with marc, in every facet of his life — not, strictly, the what or the how, but the end. what happens.
she comes and it's not quiet, it's not subdued. it's loud and it's wet and it's all-encompassing. she jerks and tenses and marc's thoughts are not on how long (or not) it took, his thoughts are on her, her taste and her smell, the way she tries to move out of his grasp, slightly breathless and still so hot.
he lets her move, just a touch, pressing his lips, wet with her, against her leg, soft kisses working their way back up towards her navel. a breath of a pause and an actual breath, warm against her skin, punctuated by a glance up at her face. smug satisfaction pulls at the corners of his lips even as one of his hands lets go of her, slides towards his pants, to his zip, to his dick. his turn—
—as he leans up and forwards, presses his face into her hair and asks, whispered and deliberate, ) Was that what you had in mind?
[ It's wet kiss after wet kiss on her skin, up her thighs to her navel, upper abdomen. Lottie quivers and shakes, feels the corner of her eyes water from the sheer intensity of it all, even the aftershocks, and finds herself pleasantly (and always a little uncomfortablyβ finding how wet she gets a bit too overwhelming) sticky.
Stickier, when she manages to get a glance at one arm of his snaking down, her brain delightfully filling in the blanks when he noses at her hair. She whines in response, clenches around nothing and pulls Marc in, even as he is attempting to catch his breath. Hopes to maybe feel the thick of him already out and waiting at rest by her wet thigh, by the time she does. ]
Coming on your face? Fuck, my god, yeah.
[ She tilts her head to kiss at the space below his ear, at the delicate corner of his jaw. To work her way towards his lips so she can taste herself on him. ]
( she barely gives him time to pause, to orient himself before she presses her mouth, her lips to his skin and he moans, a low, deep noise of wanting that might be the result of her comment or might be the result of her attentiveness, or it could be both. there's no indication, nothing beyond the way that marc tilts into her kiss, into her lips, his stubble — near permanent unless steven gets his way, or jake — grazing her smooth, soft skin. )
Then you didn't need to make it so difficult, ( he says and it's whiny in the way that only marc can sound — gruff and petulant all at once, irritable even if he's not irritated at all. ) I'm not that disagreeable, ( he adds, and it's murmured more than spoken, and she will — she'll feel the length of his dick against her thigh, hear and feel his hand against the shaft, warm and slightly desperate. quick, hard pumps, and he tells her more than asks— ) Do you know how good you look like that?
[ Marc would be ruining this with his attitude if he didn't sound so cute doing it, if he weren't already jerking himself off at the same time. She fists his hair into the palm her hand, kisses him harder. Moans even louder despite the uncomfortable graze of stubble rubbing at her skin, because he's getting her slick wet on her lips. Smearing her lipstick onto his mouth, messy and hot.
She grins against him, mmmms into his lips at the way he praises her. It's no question she does, has utilized both her pretty privilege and her body against him when he's particularly upset or broody (sometimes to bug, sometimes in lieu of an apology). ]
Hmmm. I dunno, [ She playfully nips at his lower lip, ] I think you should show me how much you like it.
[ Lottie's offering him an invitation to use her however he likes. However he needs, if he wants to jerk off and spread his seed on her or inside, it doesn't matter, because she's eager for it either away. The anger of the night gone and forgotten with the fresh buzz of him, his smell, the sound of him pumping himself desperately. She coos, ] Get it a little wet, c'mon.
( this is the part that really gets him going, after lottie's had her due in every way that matters, in the way that she's slightly rougher. the way that he's had to wait, desperation and need sitting on edge together, pulling at his fraying patience. he knows she knows how she looks, knows she knows she's fucking gorgeous and gorgeous fucking, but that doesn't mean she gets tired of hearing it, doesn't mean that marc gets tired of seeing it, tired of saying it.
it's an easy win for her, using her body against him to distract him. to force him into a for-him-and-by-technicalities-only early night. she nips at his lip, the sensation sharp and not particularly painful, not by marc's definition, but it's enough for his breath to hitch, to catch. he's hot enough for her, wants enough for her that the tip of his dick is wet with pre-cum, and he nuzzles against her body. trails his kisses haphazardly down the line of her ribs, below the curve of her tits. across the tender skin, enough that he can feel the minute changes in her breath, feel her words as she speaks and fuck. he moans into her, heavy, the motion of his hand running up and down his dick seeming loud in the interludes, the silence between the few words they share.
marc is not a smart man, and despite everything, despite what he'd prefer, he is an emotive man. everything he feels and thinks is ready to read in his expression, his gaze, the deepness and clarity — or otherwise — of his gaze.
now it speaks of his adoration of lottie, of how much he wants her, how close he is. how desperate, how much words — really, anything that's not base and instinctual &madsh; is beyond him. )
[ He bows his head and nuzzles into her, weak and pathetic and so very needy. For her, for her help. He begs with his grunts, his kisses on her skin that is sweat dappled and blazing hot. He pleads with his moans, how his shoulders heave and tremble as he sits on the precipice. He looks at her like he so desperately wants to take the plunge but he just needs a push, maybe wants her to take his hand and do it with him.
And god, maybe she willβ later. Her pussy is starting to throb painfully again because Marc, as always, never knows how stupid hot she finds him. How seeing him like this ruins her, makes her so turned on her brain is starting to think me me me and not Marc Marc Marc. She wants to swallow every sound he makes and wear him like a blanket, mark his body in her designer lipstick and give him hickey after hickey. So everyone knows mine mine mine. ]
Where d'you want it? Huh? On my tits? My face? Inside?
[ He makes her feel so special and loved and possessive that she begins to ramble, finally settles on wanting to make him feel good above all else. But then she says inside and she can't help but whine weakly, the authority leaving her voice for the briefest of moments. She nudges him closer with the back of her heel on his ass, ]
Stick it inside and come in me, babe. Wanna feel you when you do it.
( if her voice hadn't wavered when she said inside, marc's response would have been different. lottie's body is everything, from her tits to her ass to her legs, and he'd have said tits, but her voice catches, hitches, whines, and it's enough to have the thought catch, to halt, to be interrupted — abruptly — between consideration and utterance.
marc is difficult. contrary. dislikes agreeing inherently, but—.
this is different. it's an odd balance, the middle-ground between marc agreeing with and bucking obstinately against what he's told to do, but lottie has an advantage in that she's her. truthfully, he doesn't need to be insider her to come, just needs to know that she wants it, wants him, and he presses against her, presses into her even before she nudges him with his foot. his noise, his utterance, is guttural and underliberate. it escapes his throat and he barely notices, his everything fixed on lottie, on the feeling that seems to extend from head to toe.
(no, that's not quite true—. —throbbing and rush; intense and tight and warm—))
—Fuck, ( in spite of himself. strained. ) Lottie—.
[ Her jaw hangs slack and her fingers clench around his stupid, stuffy, shirt, when he makes his decision (like she gave him much a choice, cooing into his ear where she wanted him) and eases himself inside. They've done this so many times before, but it will always feel electric every time. She trembles, sounds a decibel shy of pitiful at how he stretches her β even if, arguably, she is so very wet he just slips right in, so easy, so eager β at how full and good she suddenly feels. Like she's ascended someplace that isn't quite the Mission, that isn't quite atop Marc's stiff desk. But still very much here with him, him sinking into her pussy to the hilt. She sees starsβ ]
Ohhh, [ He throbs inside her and she pulls him even closer. ] yyyyes.
[ It's drawn out, stretched and so very pleased it might as well be a purr. And it doesn't matter how strained he sounds, Lottie is still very intent on getting words out of him. Especially if it means knowing just how much she's got him in a chokehold, her creamy cunt clenching tight around him with each second he stays stationary. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
(And she's seen him take his time. Lottie has felt him take his time, the way he'd kiss and suck and latch a every inch of skin in front of him. The way his moans would turn so doting, full of adoration, like he was drunk on her, and how she'd feel the timbre of it against her skin. He'd steal her breath away each time and she'd sigh out sweetly, soaking in his love and attention. In the way his incisors would dig deeper before smoothing a wet tongue over the mark, mumbling Lottie and baby in equal parts.)
She thinksβ fine, he wants to do this? Still? Fine. Whatever! Fine. The hand at his head draws away, not without letting those nails scratch at his scalp once her presence is gone. But she doesn't leaveβ no, Marc has a companion alongside him between her thighs, and it's her hand. Adorned with her usual silver rings, long slender fingers run up and down the length of her sex. She lets him hear how her breath catches when she brushes against her clit β swollen, eager β before doing it all over again.
He'll feel her thighs twitch beneath his mouth before he feels those very same fingers draw away from her folds to prod at his mouth. Just a touch to his lower lip, suggestive, imploring. She looks down at him between thick strands of green, through the valley of her breasts, simply waiting, watching, to see if he'll take her in his mouth. Suck her dry. ]
no subject
it's a game, almost. marc seeing just how far he can push before too much is too much, and as soon as he sees — feels — lottie's hand join the fray, he almost pauses. barely a second, attention shifting as lottie's breath is inhaled and exhaled in juddery, pleasured spurts, and truthfully, he doesn't need her fingers probing at his lips. her sounds, her smell, her taste, his hardness still tight, enclosed in his pants is encouragement enough.
he licks at her fingertips, coy, deliberate, before acquiescing. giving in and giving her what she's asking for, even if she hasn't asked for it. he presses his mouth to her clit, wet and slick and lottie. his. he sucks, tastes her and his fingers dig harder into her hips, hard enough to bruise, but he's not thinking about that, not thinking about much of anything.
he starts off slow, a straight-forward up-and-down with his tongue, listening to the pitching and catching of lottie's breaths, the way she tenses, the noises she makes. then circles, faster, then slower, then faster—. )
no subject
She remembers the first time they did thisβ Lottie almost shy about spreading her legs. Bashful, edging on demure as he figured out what she liked, stared up at her to see what would happen if he flicked his tongue like this, or pressed the flat of it like that.
Sometimes they dabble in that same innocence, its own sort of game. But this is not thatβ this is Marc utilizing how well he knows her body against her and it's working. Her heels dig into his back, the sharp point digging into his suit, Lottie groaning out low and needy, ] Marc, [ biting deep into her bottom lip to muffle the warble that leaves her lips whenever he starts flicking tight little circles at her. It's dizzyingβ it shows on her face, the way he edges her so eagerly only to back off.
She doesn't even realize she's smiling, too busy hyper-focusing on the dig of his fingers on her hips and seeing her wet slick coat his face (Marc Spector belongs there, she thinks, nestled between her thighs, always proving he's hers and she's his). She should be embarrassed by how soaked she is, how much worse it's getting, how her hips are starting to twitch up into him. But it only serves to make her burn hotter, sink that same hand she offered to him back into his hair to keep him there, so she can watch him with blown out eyes and parted lips. ]
no subject
how wet she is is so hot, so arousing, and though he notices — of course — her saying his name, the way it's slightly truncated, the way she seems to be trying her hardest to keep all of her contained, it hits a part of him that is more primal than it is him. she jerks up into him and his hands squeeze against her skin, against her ass cheek and against the slight flesh of her hip, pulling her closer towards him.
now he stops with the games, with playing. now his attention is fully, entirely on lottie, on making her come. it's not as selfless as all that, in part it's because he enjoys it, in the same way he finds enjoyment in moon knight, in being pushed down just to get back up again. he doesn't look to her face, doesn't catch the way she's looking at him, half-lidded and barely in control.
he holds her in place instead, manages a— ) Lottie, ( vaguely demanding and low and wanting, because he wants her as much as he needs his. )
no subject
It's a full body spasm, her hands moving from the crown of his head to the desk, to her thighs, to her mouth (she bites at a finger, weakly cries around it as she chants just like that, right there, oh Marc, please in rapid fire succession). She can't seem to decide where to graspβ ] O-oh, fuck. [ βwhen she comes with a loud and sharp cry, voice breaking pathetically at the end, blood rushing to her ears and thighs threatening to squeeze his head with how they flex around him.
It lasts forever, how her body jerks and stutters when she comes down, after she's effectively soaked his face. Lottie's breathing is heavy, the shaking of her legs pronounced as she tries to weakly squirm up and out of his hold, overstimulated and so, so sensitive. ]
no subject
she comes and it's not quiet, it's not subdued. it's loud and it's wet and it's all-encompassing. she jerks and tenses and marc's thoughts are not on how long (or not) it took, his thoughts are on her, her taste and her smell, the way she tries to move out of his grasp, slightly breathless and still so hot.
he lets her move, just a touch, pressing his lips, wet with her, against her leg, soft kisses working their way back up towards her navel. a breath of a pause and an actual breath, warm against her skin, punctuated by a glance up at her face. smug satisfaction pulls at the corners of his lips even as one of his hands lets go of her, slides towards his pants, to his zip, to his dick. his turn—
—as he leans up and forwards, presses his face into her hair and asks, whispered and deliberate, ) Was that what you had in mind?
no subject
Stickier, when she manages to get a glance at one arm of his snaking down, her brain delightfully filling in the blanks when he noses at her hair. She whines in response, clenches around nothing and pulls Marc in, even as he is attempting to catch his breath. Hopes to maybe feel the thick of him already out and waiting at rest by her wet thigh, by the time she does. ]
Coming on your face? Fuck, my god, yeah.
[ She tilts her head to kiss at the space below his ear, at the delicate corner of his jaw. To work her way towards his lips so she can taste herself on him. ]
I think about that all the time..
no subject
Then you didn't need to make it so difficult, ( he says and it's whiny in the way that only marc can sound — gruff and petulant all at once, irritable even if he's not irritated at all. ) I'm not that disagreeable, ( he adds, and it's murmured more than spoken, and she will — she'll feel the length of his dick against her thigh, hear and feel his hand against the shaft, warm and slightly desperate. quick, hard pumps, and he tells her more than asks— ) Do you know how good you look like that?
no subject
She grins against him, mmmms into his lips at the way he praises her. It's no question she does, has utilized both her pretty privilege and her body against him when he's particularly upset or broody (sometimes to bug, sometimes in lieu of an apology). ]
Hmmm. I dunno, [ She playfully nips at his lower lip, ] I think you should show me how much you like it.
[ Lottie's offering him an invitation to use her however he likes. However he needs, if he wants to jerk off and spread his seed on her or inside, it doesn't matter, because she's eager for it either away. The anger of the night gone and forgotten with the fresh buzz of him, his smell, the sound of him pumping himself desperately. She coos, ] Get it a little wet, c'mon.
no subject
it's an easy win for her, using her body against him to distract him. to force him into a for-him-and-by-technicalities-only early night. she nips at his lip, the sensation sharp and not particularly painful, not by marc's definition, but it's enough for his breath to hitch, to catch. he's hot enough for her, wants enough for her that the tip of his dick is wet with pre-cum, and he nuzzles against her body. trails his kisses haphazardly down the line of her ribs, below the curve of her tits. across the tender skin, enough that he can feel the minute changes in her breath, feel her words as she speaks and fuck. he moans into her, heavy, the motion of his hand running up and down his dick seeming loud in the interludes, the silence between the few words they share.
marc is not a smart man, and despite everything, despite what he'd prefer, he is an emotive man. everything he feels and thinks is ready to read in his expression, his gaze, the deepness and clarity — or otherwise — of his gaze.
now it speaks of his adoration of lottie, of how much he wants her, how close he is. how desperate, how much words — really, anything that's not base and instinctual &madsh; is beyond him. )
no subject
And god, maybe she willβ later. Her pussy is starting to throb painfully again because Marc, as always, never knows how stupid hot she finds him. How seeing him like this ruins her, makes her so turned on her brain is starting to think me me me and not Marc Marc Marc. She wants to swallow every sound he makes and wear him like a blanket, mark his body in her designer lipstick and give him hickey after hickey. So everyone knows mine mine mine. ]
Where d'you want it? Huh? On my tits? My face? Inside?
[ He makes her feel so special and loved and possessive that she begins to ramble, finally settles on wanting to make him feel good above all else. But then she says inside and she can't help but whine weakly, the authority leaving her voice for the briefest of moments. She nudges him closer with the back of her heel on his ass, ]
Stick it inside and come in me, babe. Wanna feel you when you do it.
no subject
marc is difficult. contrary. dislikes agreeing inherently, but—.
this is different. it's an odd balance, the middle-ground between marc agreeing with and bucking obstinately against what he's told to do, but lottie has an advantage in that she's her. truthfully, he doesn't need to be insider her to come, just needs to know that she wants it, wants him, and he presses against her, presses into her even before she nudges him with his foot. his noise, his utterance, is guttural and underliberate. it escapes his throat and he barely notices, his everything fixed on lottie, on the feeling that seems to extend from head to toe.
(no, that's not quite true—.
—throbbing and rush; intense and tight and warm—))
—Fuck, ( in spite of himself. strained. ) Lottie—.
no subject
Ohhh, [ He throbs inside her and she pulls him even closer. ] yyyyes.
[ It's drawn out, stretched and so very pleased it might as well be a purr. And it doesn't matter how strained he sounds, Lottie is still very intent on getting words out of him. Especially if it means knowing just how much she's got him in a chokehold, her creamy cunt clenching tight around him with each second he stays stationary. ]
Feels good, huh? You like it?