They didn't say much. He was heavy, and she was pinned. Like always. Him hovering over her like always. And for a guy with such a disdain for breasts, he sure was attached to hers. Attached by the mouth. The mouth that should have been saying things but wasn't. Wasn't because it was full.
They liked to make stupid excuses like that. "My mouth is busy- I'm too distracted." There were words on the tips of tongues at every pause, and in ever corner. They remained there. Unsaid. Unrecognized. Invisible. Like if they were ignored they would float away.
Flone was right. They were hopeless.
Etna grabbed him by the hair, using it like reins to steer him lower. It was with surprising ease that he complied. But of course he would. She knew how far gone he was. He wasn't thinking. He hadn't made a sound other than those of annoyance for the last twelve minutes at least. There was always that about Laharl. He didn't shut up unless his brain was starved of blood by his dick or he was sleeping.
"You're dying in those shorts, aren't you?" she asked. He whined, teeth catching her hip bone. He usually retained his composure for longer than this, but there had been a certain urgency in the way he requested her services this time.
Urgent. He was down right needy. There was only an element of pride forcing him to continue with any sort of foreplay. It was probably Flone's fault. Everything was after all.
Or maybe it was the fact that lately everything had been going south. South like his tongue. South like the teeth he was burring in the flesh of her thigh. She moaned, and ground down against him.
Laharl tended to get horny when he felt stress come down on him. Horny like hell. She'd been thrown on desks, and shoved up against walls in the past couple days, and while that was nice, and all, nothing compared to a bed. Where you were supposed to do it in her opinion. Where thrusting had the aid of a mattress, and your hips didn't get slammed into anything hard.
The springs creaked underneath them as he gave up trying to focus his way through giving her head. He was over her again. Mouth by her ear, hips up to hers, breath heavy as he rolled into her. He didn't bother to undo the fly on his pants. They were left on. Zipped up so all she got was the feeling of his erection through the fabric.
And there were still words on his tongue that weren't said as she wrestled with his button. Emotions that went unacknowledged as he pushed into her, the strange sentience of his cape wrapping around them.
She didn't say it either, but it was implied in the way her arms wrapped around his neck, and she demanded more. It was implied in how her tail bound his legs to hers. And after all they were just words. You didn't always need words to convey sentiment.
"I -vv you," he said into the pillow when everything was done, and she wrapped her body more tightly around his to pull him in closer.
"I know."
He wasn't always so easy to laughter as he was then. The words "I love you, too" stayed stuck somewhere in the back of her throat.
