Funerary Rites 34: Teeth, Hands, Hips


Senga balanced on her toes, kissing Erramun.  There was a split second where she thought he wouldn’t respond before he kissed back, pressing his throat against her hands.  As she drew on the kiss, letting her thumbs brush against the tattoos she’d inked into his skin, he put first one hand and then the other on her waist to brace her.

She snaked one hand around to the back of his neck and drew out the kiss; he pressed his hand against the small of her back, holding her to him.  She caught a breath and stole a glance at him; he had closed his eyes.  He leaned in towards her; she kissed him again, her fingers all pressing into his neck.

At the moment when she thought that her toes might give out, he lifted her up.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and kept hissing him, pressing her whole body against his.  They were still wearing quite inconvenient clothing; she wanted to do something about that, but that would require either that she stop kissing him or stop touching him.  Possibly both. Neither were acceptable.

He turned slowly around, so slowly she almost didn’t notice what he was doing, and set her on the bed.  A moment later, he set her on the bed and, very slowly, disengaged.

Senga opened her eyes and made a soft noise, not quite a complaint.  He froze.

“I think,” he murmured, “that Mistress-“

“Senga,” she managed.  “Please.  When we’re, ah.  When we’re kissing, I’d much rather you use my name.”

“If you want to continue with anything more than kissing, maybe we should do away with some clothing?”

She moved her hands away from his neck, letting the pad of her thumb leave in a lingering stroke against the tattoo.  “Yes.  Yeah, I’m afraid you’re correct.”

“What’s to be afraid of in that?”  He dropped down to his knees and set his hands on the waist of her jeans.

“Well, there is the fact that I might have to stop touching you for a moment,” she admitted.  “If you had a way to-”

“Well, I do, but the problem is, you might like these jeans, and then they’d be gone.”

“I paid good money for these jeans,” she agreed with him.  “You can peel them off the old fashioned way.”

“Oh, are we being old-fashioned?”  He looked up at her with mischief in his eyes and ducked his head, even as he folded his hands very firmly behind his back.  “I suggest you hold still then.”

Senga watched him, letting out only a little squeak, as he – he- “Oh.”  It was almost a purr.  He was unbuttoning her jeans with his teeth.

She gasped again as his tongue found her navel, which shouldn’t have been sexy and somehow was anyway. And then, with his hands very clearly still pinned behind his back, he peeled her jeans off of her hips and down to the floor.

“Is that – ah.”  He was going back for her panties.  “Is that how they did it when you were a young buck?”

“Was?”  He looked up at her; she could hear the unspoken Mistress but he couldn’t seem to transition to Senga.  Maybe next time.  “I still am a young buck, thank you.”

“Well, if you stand back up, maybe I can see exactly how … much of a buck you are, mmm?”

“I’m fairly sure you’ve seen it all before.”  He stood up anyway, his hands never moving from the small of his back.  Senga wondered if he remembered holding them there had been his idea, not hers.

She did not peel his pants off with her teeth – not because she didn’t think she could, but because right now, being on her knees before him was a series of body language cues she didn’t want to send.  Not with his hands like that.

Instead, she used her hands and a great deal of time, literally peeling them off, until he was groaning under his breath, the sort of sound that she wasn’t certain he knew he was making

“Woman-!” he muttered, and then, sounding perhaps a little chagrined, “-mistress.”

She leaned in and bit the flesh right over his collarbone. “Senga,” she corrected.  “We’re getting naked.  There is kissing involved.  Senga.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He looked down at his pants, which happened to be around his knees. “Are we?  Getting naked, that is?”

“We are.”  She sat down on the bed right next to him and continued the work of peeling off his pants.  “Short of me getting a ladder, I think you’d best take your own shirt off.”

“I was kneeling.”

She was grateful for the sass: it told her he was coming back to himself.  On the other hand, she wanted to sass him right back.  “Well, if you want to turn this into an aerobics routine…”

“What I want… Senga… is to kiss you.  And I’m facing away from you.”  And his hands were still behind his back.

“Then I suppose you’d better fix that.” She finished pulling his pants down and patted his ass – it was a very nice ass, perfectly formed, and she imagined you could bounce a quarter off of it.

She had the entirely irreverent and not-completely-kind thought that at least Mirabella had blackmailed her into taking as her Bond Servant someone who was handsome, and then she stood up on the bed, because his shirt was still on, and began working it up towards his arms.

It only took her a moment of doing that for the clasp of his hands to loosen and another moment for him to lift his arms.  “But you, you’re still wearing your shirt… Senga,” he protested, seeming a little off-base.

“I noticed.  Well, if you lie down on the bed, then I can take my shirt off, and we can go for that test drive that we were talking about.  How does that sound?”

She was not expecting his snort. “You’re being very careful not to phrase things as orders.”

“I’m glad you noticed.  I’m generally quite bossy.”  She pulled his shirt carefully over his head and tossed it to the side.

“Even with your lovers?”  He turned around and put his hands on her hips, his face nearly to her navel.

“Especially with my lovers.  After all, I want to be sure I get what I want, don’t I?”

This time, she was almost expecting the laugh, but not the wonderful way that it felt against her stomach.  “I have a feeling that you have almost no trouble at all getting what you want… Mistress.  And what you want right now is me on my back?”

“It is,” she agreed.  “Unless you’d rather start out in this position…?”  She looked down at him and grinned.

His returning smile was a slow thing, warm and lewd.  “Well, since you’re offering… I will.”  He shifted her with his hands and then ducked his head a few inches lower.

Senga’s hands tangled in his hair.  She tilted her head back and was loudly vocal with her pleasure.

Owning an older fae definitely had some advantages.


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One thought on “Funerary Rites 34: Teeth, Hands, Hips

  1. Another one that didn’t make it to Dreamwidth.

    It’s good to see them getting more comfortable with each other — and you can take that euphemistically if you want, but I at least began by intending it otherwise — particularly him getting his attitude back. That mutual relaxedness will likely pay off in the future in different tense situations.

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