(no subject)
It really wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Really. Really and truly. Though it was spring, the day had been promisingly clear, and the area wasn’t really prone to sudden storms. Not normally at least. Fortunately for both of them, though, he had the forethought to bring his cloak, and the woods were fairly decent cover to be in during a spring storm.
He had, of course, been certain to bring her under his cloak with him, though she had initially hesitated. “But we’re not even engaged yet,” she had protested as he had drawn her in. It bloody well didn’t matter to Arthur that her pigheaded guardian hadn’t deigned to give him permission to marry her-he had chosen Maria and she was bloody well his, now.
The problem, however, with sudden downpours is that unless you were prepared, you were almost certainly bound to get soaked before you could think to react. Maria, dressed in a sweet little frock and pinafore, was no exception. She shouldn’t stay in her wet clothes, but moving out of the forest and into the thick of the storm was just as unwise, and besides, it’d involve Vash giving him another good shouting.
And of course, there was a second problem with sudden downpours and getting wet, then taking a girl in quite close to you; wet clothes sticks. Though he couldn’t see much below her neck, the hand that was on her side, keeping her close, could. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the wet fabric, feel the bones that lay beneath. He swallowed-this was intimate. He let his hand fall further, down to her waist, hoping that would feel less-no. In fact, the slight curve of her waist was enough to remind him that there was a perfectly viable, if a little flat chested, woman in his arms. His hand slid to her hip, and, well. Maria wasn’t looking at him, her face buried in his chest. But she wasn’t moving away-and she wasn’t shy about saying no.
“Maria,” her name is a hoarse groan on his lips, and she curls in closer to him. He’s never been a good man before, and he’s trying to be the best of men for her, but this probably isn’t being very good, let alone the best. And yet, his hand moves to curve over her rear (and he’s pleasantly surprised to find that whatever development was missed in her chest seemed to have found it’s way to her arse) and slide up, up, up, until he’s found her shoulder blade, and what a delicate thing it is--like a bird. Arthur looks at her, not entirely certain he could take meeting her eyes right now. Instead, he bows his head down, lips pressed to her neck. He repeats her name, and she turns to look at him.
Perhaps he’s been a better man than he thought-she doesn’t seem disgusted. If he knew, however, that she could so easily see the almost desperate want in his face, and could hear the plea that was her name, he might have felt embarrassed, but all he can see are her eyes, her gentle eyes that seem to be darker in this light. She raises a hand to his cheek; her fingers are cold. She hesitates for a moment, then leans forward to kiss him. It’s soft, so soft, like he imagines the rest of her to be. Her lips are closed, and the pressure is feather light. Innocent.
It delights him in ways that shouldn’t-but he’s never been a good man before, no matter how hard he’s tried. His hand tangles in her hair, and he kisses her back, harder. But not too hard-she’s too like a little bird, and he’s afraid of startling her. She follows him, so obedient and clever, echoing whatever he does. Her hands on his chest clench at the fabric of his shirt, and though he likes the thought that her knees must be feeling quite weak to be holding on to him like that, he’d rather her be closer, front to front. But one step at a time, and kissing her seemed to be the best option for the moment.
And she was a delight to have like this-perhaps lacking in experience, but she was unafraid to follow him, to try things on her own. He swipes at her lips with her tongue, and she lets him in, cautiously touching her tongue to his. He lets her try and experiment, lets her learn, but eventually he begins to pull away-and then…
Then she nips at his lip, maybe trying to keep him there, and that little nip, that tiny spark of pain, undoes him. Arthur moans; he’s not a good man, but he’s decided on her, and really, being the best of men doesn’t always require being good. He won’t allow for another kiss, instead moving back to her neck, where he had almost been brought to begging, smearing a wet kiss along the side of her throat. Her breath catches, and he smirks, trailing down to her collar, letting his teeth scrape across her throat as he moves. She gasps, fists clenching and unclenching at his chest before reaching up to tangle in his hair. Her fingers pull a little at his hair, and there’s a slight twinge of pain in his scalp, but with her arms up, he has the perfect opportunity to pull her closer.
Or, alternatively, it’s just as good of an opportunity to rake his hands down her sides, and then more slowly up her chest, keeping a keen ear out just to hear the little noise she makes as he very purposefully slows over her breasts, not quite squeezing but adding just the slightest bit of pressure. She squirms against his hands, pressing closer to him. He kisses the underside of her jaw and keeps touching, letting his hands rove over her chest, back to her breasts. This time he lingers, exploring more fully the (very) slight curve of her breast. Though in the past he’s always favored busty women, there’s something almost sweet about her slight endowment, making him want to almost coddle her. She’s leaning into him, now, letting him take most of her weight. Maria’s almost featherlight, so small and tiny, so it’s no burden on Arthur to support her, but… He pulls away from her-Maria stumbles forward, but Arthur steadies her, stroking her hair. If she couldn’t stand on her own feet, then he would make a bed for her. He could be good enough, at least, to not just push her against the tree and have her there. No, not now. He has little, but the rain has stopped, and besides, it’s not like he wasn’t going to be keeping her warm, after all.
It’s almost difficult to untangle himself from her, and she simply looks confused. He presses one last kiss to her lips before unclasping his cloak, moving to spread it across the forest floor. He turns to her again-she’s flushed, ever so flushed, and he can’t find the words to tell her to lie back on the cloak. Instead, he picks her up and carries her bridal style, gently resting her down on his cloak. Her eyes are wide, and she reaches up to cling to his damp shirt. Arthur swallows, kneeling beside her and simply looking at her. Her wet clothes are clinging to her, and he can only wish that her frock was white like the pinafore. But no matter-it’d all come off, eventually. Wouldn’t want her to catch cold, now. But before that… he’s not foolish enough to simply strip her as soon as she’s on her back. No, nowhere near that stupid.
Enough-he’s had enough looking at her, and moves over her, settling between her thighs. He looks at her face cautiously before getting too comfortable-was she scared? There is a vague look of uncertainty, yes, but more importantly, there is curiosity, overshadowed by a dark sheen of simple lust. He smiles, leaning down to kiss her, and she responds eagerly, nipping again at his tongue and lips. Though it’d be nearly impossible to get him to admit to thinking about what Maria would be like in the situation, he had never quite imagined her to be so… aggressive. It wasn’t at all a bad thing-though it’d also be hard to get Arthur to admit that he occasionally liked to be dominated. In any case, Maria didn’t have the experience or know-how to get anywhere near that sort of thing, and Arthur was more than glad to take the lead now. Kissing only satisfies him so much, and he can’t deny the humid heat that’s building in his stomach.
He trails kisses down her throat, this time not stopping at her collar, nuzzling her breasts with a happy sigh. He turns his head to mouth at her-the fabric obscures most anything, but she whimpers when he goes over her nipple, drawing her knees to rest lightly against his hips. Good, so good, and a quick little learner. Arthur groaned, burying his face in her chest. It was so very hard to not just grab her and take what he wanted, but he didn’t want to hurt her. She was so little-would she be smaller there, too? His train of though is derailed when she wiggles against him, her hips gently rubbing against the front of his trousers, and there’s no stopping the moan the erupts from his throat, and he can’t catch himself before his hand slips under her rear and jerks her to him, grinding against her without any other sort of thought.
It feels good, damn it, and he’s almost amazed at how close he is to just coming there and then. It’s not like he’s sixteen anymore, though it has been quite some time since he’s last been with anyone else. And… and Maria isn’t complaining, echoing his moans (getting embarrassingly loud) with soft whimpers and cries of her own, twisting and moving right along with him. He lifts his head up, just enough to peer at her face. Though he’s dreamed about this sort of thing, thought about it when he was particularly lonely, the visions in his mind hardly could stand up to the reality of her flushed countenance. He stills, licking his lips before speaking in a low rasp.
“A bed-feather pillows, and down blankets,” he begins, letting his head rest in the crook of her neck. She reaches up to gently stroke his hair as he speaks. “Blankets-pretty quilts. Wine if you want it.” He’s not the biggest fan of the stuff, but that Francis bastard had always told him it was far more romantic than beer, and he was willing to try that to woo her. “And our wedding night. I’ll make a bed so soft-I’ll take care of you, I’ll make it feel good.” He has to be the best man, after all. “For you, for you, my pet, anything at all.” He nuzzles her as he trails off, and his nose feels cold against her neck, but Maria won’t mention that.
“I know,” she replies, pressing a kiss to his hair. They’re both still hot and flushed, but the mood has dissipated into the air. He doesn’t mind, not exactly, though memories of this will probably be keeping him up all night, but Arthur wants to make her first time special. It should be special-they can continue in the forest another time, and that will probably be special, too, but she deserves to be set down in a princess’s bed, pampered and petted so that if she experienced any discomfort, it would be easily be washed away with sweet words and gentle touches.
They lay together for a while longer-eventually the damp of their clothes and the air is enough to cool them. He murmurs things into her neck, little things that Maria can’t make out, but is amused by none the less. She has been in his company long enough to know when he’s mostly talking to himself-she won’t interrupt. Eventually, though, he’ll push up on his elbows, looking down at her. “You’ll get sick in these wet things,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.
“I’ll get better,” she replies, smiling. Something about that doesn’t sit quite right in his stomach, and maybe it’s guilt. She shakes her head. “I’ll be even more sick if we don’t leave soon.” She’s still smiling, and it unsettles him a little.
He had, of course, been certain to bring her under his cloak with him, though she had initially hesitated. “But we’re not even engaged yet,” she had protested as he had drawn her in. It bloody well didn’t matter to Arthur that her pigheaded guardian hadn’t deigned to give him permission to marry her-he had chosen Maria and she was bloody well his, now.
The problem, however, with sudden downpours is that unless you were prepared, you were almost certainly bound to get soaked before you could think to react. Maria, dressed in a sweet little frock and pinafore, was no exception. She shouldn’t stay in her wet clothes, but moving out of the forest and into the thick of the storm was just as unwise, and besides, it’d involve Vash giving him another good shouting.
And of course, there was a second problem with sudden downpours and getting wet, then taking a girl in quite close to you; wet clothes sticks. Though he couldn’t see much below her neck, the hand that was on her side, keeping her close, could. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the wet fabric, feel the bones that lay beneath. He swallowed-this was intimate. He let his hand fall further, down to her waist, hoping that would feel less-no. In fact, the slight curve of her waist was enough to remind him that there was a perfectly viable, if a little flat chested, woman in his arms. His hand slid to her hip, and, well. Maria wasn’t looking at him, her face buried in his chest. But she wasn’t moving away-and she wasn’t shy about saying no.
“Maria,” her name is a hoarse groan on his lips, and she curls in closer to him. He’s never been a good man before, and he’s trying to be the best of men for her, but this probably isn’t being very good, let alone the best. And yet, his hand moves to curve over her rear (and he’s pleasantly surprised to find that whatever development was missed in her chest seemed to have found it’s way to her arse) and slide up, up, up, until he’s found her shoulder blade, and what a delicate thing it is--like a bird. Arthur looks at her, not entirely certain he could take meeting her eyes right now. Instead, he bows his head down, lips pressed to her neck. He repeats her name, and she turns to look at him.
Perhaps he’s been a better man than he thought-she doesn’t seem disgusted. If he knew, however, that she could so easily see the almost desperate want in his face, and could hear the plea that was her name, he might have felt embarrassed, but all he can see are her eyes, her gentle eyes that seem to be darker in this light. She raises a hand to his cheek; her fingers are cold. She hesitates for a moment, then leans forward to kiss him. It’s soft, so soft, like he imagines the rest of her to be. Her lips are closed, and the pressure is feather light. Innocent.
It delights him in ways that shouldn’t-but he’s never been a good man before, no matter how hard he’s tried. His hand tangles in her hair, and he kisses her back, harder. But not too hard-she’s too like a little bird, and he’s afraid of startling her. She follows him, so obedient and clever, echoing whatever he does. Her hands on his chest clench at the fabric of his shirt, and though he likes the thought that her knees must be feeling quite weak to be holding on to him like that, he’d rather her be closer, front to front. But one step at a time, and kissing her seemed to be the best option for the moment.
And she was a delight to have like this-perhaps lacking in experience, but she was unafraid to follow him, to try things on her own. He swipes at her lips with her tongue, and she lets him in, cautiously touching her tongue to his. He lets her try and experiment, lets her learn, but eventually he begins to pull away-and then…
Then she nips at his lip, maybe trying to keep him there, and that little nip, that tiny spark of pain, undoes him. Arthur moans; he’s not a good man, but he’s decided on her, and really, being the best of men doesn’t always require being good. He won’t allow for another kiss, instead moving back to her neck, where he had almost been brought to begging, smearing a wet kiss along the side of her throat. Her breath catches, and he smirks, trailing down to her collar, letting his teeth scrape across her throat as he moves. She gasps, fists clenching and unclenching at his chest before reaching up to tangle in his hair. Her fingers pull a little at his hair, and there’s a slight twinge of pain in his scalp, but with her arms up, he has the perfect opportunity to pull her closer.
Or, alternatively, it’s just as good of an opportunity to rake his hands down her sides, and then more slowly up her chest, keeping a keen ear out just to hear the little noise she makes as he very purposefully slows over her breasts, not quite squeezing but adding just the slightest bit of pressure. She squirms against his hands, pressing closer to him. He kisses the underside of her jaw and keeps touching, letting his hands rove over her chest, back to her breasts. This time he lingers, exploring more fully the (very) slight curve of her breast. Though in the past he’s always favored busty women, there’s something almost sweet about her slight endowment, making him want to almost coddle her. She’s leaning into him, now, letting him take most of her weight. Maria’s almost featherlight, so small and tiny, so it’s no burden on Arthur to support her, but… He pulls away from her-Maria stumbles forward, but Arthur steadies her, stroking her hair. If she couldn’t stand on her own feet, then he would make a bed for her. He could be good enough, at least, to not just push her against the tree and have her there. No, not now. He has little, but the rain has stopped, and besides, it’s not like he wasn’t going to be keeping her warm, after all.
It’s almost difficult to untangle himself from her, and she simply looks confused. He presses one last kiss to her lips before unclasping his cloak, moving to spread it across the forest floor. He turns to her again-she’s flushed, ever so flushed, and he can’t find the words to tell her to lie back on the cloak. Instead, he picks her up and carries her bridal style, gently resting her down on his cloak. Her eyes are wide, and she reaches up to cling to his damp shirt. Arthur swallows, kneeling beside her and simply looking at her. Her wet clothes are clinging to her, and he can only wish that her frock was white like the pinafore. But no matter-it’d all come off, eventually. Wouldn’t want her to catch cold, now. But before that… he’s not foolish enough to simply strip her as soon as she’s on her back. No, nowhere near that stupid.
Enough-he’s had enough looking at her, and moves over her, settling between her thighs. He looks at her face cautiously before getting too comfortable-was she scared? There is a vague look of uncertainty, yes, but more importantly, there is curiosity, overshadowed by a dark sheen of simple lust. He smiles, leaning down to kiss her, and she responds eagerly, nipping again at his tongue and lips. Though it’d be nearly impossible to get him to admit to thinking about what Maria would be like in the situation, he had never quite imagined her to be so… aggressive. It wasn’t at all a bad thing-though it’d also be hard to get Arthur to admit that he occasionally liked to be dominated. In any case, Maria didn’t have the experience or know-how to get anywhere near that sort of thing, and Arthur was more than glad to take the lead now. Kissing only satisfies him so much, and he can’t deny the humid heat that’s building in his stomach.
He trails kisses down her throat, this time not stopping at her collar, nuzzling her breasts with a happy sigh. He turns his head to mouth at her-the fabric obscures most anything, but she whimpers when he goes over her nipple, drawing her knees to rest lightly against his hips. Good, so good, and a quick little learner. Arthur groaned, burying his face in her chest. It was so very hard to not just grab her and take what he wanted, but he didn’t want to hurt her. She was so little-would she be smaller there, too? His train of though is derailed when she wiggles against him, her hips gently rubbing against the front of his trousers, and there’s no stopping the moan the erupts from his throat, and he can’t catch himself before his hand slips under her rear and jerks her to him, grinding against her without any other sort of thought.
It feels good, damn it, and he’s almost amazed at how close he is to just coming there and then. It’s not like he’s sixteen anymore, though it has been quite some time since he’s last been with anyone else. And… and Maria isn’t complaining, echoing his moans (getting embarrassingly loud) with soft whimpers and cries of her own, twisting and moving right along with him. He lifts his head up, just enough to peer at her face. Though he’s dreamed about this sort of thing, thought about it when he was particularly lonely, the visions in his mind hardly could stand up to the reality of her flushed countenance. He stills, licking his lips before speaking in a low rasp.
“A bed-feather pillows, and down blankets,” he begins, letting his head rest in the crook of her neck. She reaches up to gently stroke his hair as he speaks. “Blankets-pretty quilts. Wine if you want it.” He’s not the biggest fan of the stuff, but that Francis bastard had always told him it was far more romantic than beer, and he was willing to try that to woo her. “And our wedding night. I’ll make a bed so soft-I’ll take care of you, I’ll make it feel good.” He has to be the best man, after all. “For you, for you, my pet, anything at all.” He nuzzles her as he trails off, and his nose feels cold against her neck, but Maria won’t mention that.
“I know,” she replies, pressing a kiss to his hair. They’re both still hot and flushed, but the mood has dissipated into the air. He doesn’t mind, not exactly, though memories of this will probably be keeping him up all night, but Arthur wants to make her first time special. It should be special-they can continue in the forest another time, and that will probably be special, too, but she deserves to be set down in a princess’s bed, pampered and petted so that if she experienced any discomfort, it would be easily be washed away with sweet words and gentle touches.
They lay together for a while longer-eventually the damp of their clothes and the air is enough to cool them. He murmurs things into her neck, little things that Maria can’t make out, but is amused by none the less. She has been in his company long enough to know when he’s mostly talking to himself-she won’t interrupt. Eventually, though, he’ll push up on his elbows, looking down at her. “You’ll get sick in these wet things,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of hair out of her face.
“I’ll get better,” she replies, smiling. Something about that doesn’t sit quite right in his stomach, and maybe it’s guilt. She shakes her head. “I’ll be even more sick if we don’t leave soon.” She’s still smiling, and it unsettles him a little.